Colin
Here we go.
Tim
I’m sorry, but I’m not letting my sister walk into holy matrimony without a cake that’s been spiritually evaluated by someone who understands trauma frosting.
Gage
We chose the cake. It’s done.
Tim
That’s not legally binding. Did I sign anything? No. Was I given a fork and a flight of buttercream options? No. Therefore: mistrial.
Marin
Wait. What was the flavor? And does it reflect their bond, or was it just...a flavor? Because this cake is a symbol. Of love. Of growth. Of sexy emotional healing.
Gage
It’s chocolate raspberry. With actual frosting. Not trauma. Not symbols. Just cake.
Tim
Chocolate raspberry?? Okay, love that for the taste, but what is this, a 2003 bridal expo?? This isn’t just dessert. It’s the final chapter of your wedding day novel, and you’re calling it “Chocolate Raspberry Cake.” Where’s the narrative? Where’s the emotional layering?? Does that description say “forever” or does it say “we panicked and picked the first tier that didn’t collapse”?
Colin
Tim. It’s cake. Not a metaphor.
Tim
It’s both. Also, I had a vision of a three-tiered brown butter pistachio masterpiece with a caramel center that whispers “we healed our mother wounds.” And maybe a fourth secret tier for my emotional closure.
Amelia
You are not getting a secret tier.
Tim
Then I demand a formal tasting. Blind. Curated. Elegant. Possibly candlelit.
Gage
No.
Tim
You keep saying that word but it’s not stopping me.
Marin
What’s the frosting texture though? Because if it’s giving fondant, I’m hexing someone.
Gage
It’s buttercream. And you’re all exhausting.