Sprinkles: Part II

They married on a Wednesday. Someone else brought up the walkie talkies. We were asked to ferry the cupcakes. The order was left in my name, not that of the bride and groom, and I said it like a code word, like a question, to the perky young woman behind the counter, who returned with a pair of bags. And then another pair, and another pair, and, don't go yet, another pair. They were mini-cupcakes, and there were so many of them, packed into boxes by flavor, the vegan ones set to the side because a butter frosting need not be chilled but a vegan frosting will come undone in the heat and so it goes right back in the icebox until it is ready to debut. Instead we put that bag, with the others, in the trunk and drove north. And though it had looked ready to rain all day, as we drove out of the city and into the pasturelands, the clouds began to lift. And at the wedding the clouds broke and the sun came through in fingers. And maybe they had blown away completely by the reception, when it was dark and the music was good and the bar was drunk dry and the bride and the groom had a moment to themselves, in which they picked through the last of the cupcakes.