Caleb arrived at his abode, and entered the kitchen through the back door. His mother was working intently at perfectly plating a variety of fruits. 

“Hi, sweetie! I’m so glad you’re here, I need your help with something,” Mrs. Smith said. “Sure Ma, what is it?” 

“Which do you think looks better: grapes, apples, kiwis or kiwis, apples, grapes?” His mother asked, while simultaneously moving fruit around on a large blue platter. 

“How should I know? I’m clueless when it comes to this stuff. Besides, it doesn’t even matter, no one will notice the difference,” Caleb said. 

Mrs. Smith sighed. “I know, I’m just so nervous about your party. I want everything to be perfect for you.” “Stop it, if you get any cheesier you’ll be a cheesecake,” Caleb said, rolling his eyes. 

“I know, but I can’t help it! You’re my sweet baby boy, and my only child. I’ll feel like a failure if I mess something up.” “Okay.” “Caleb! You’re supposed to reassure your poor old mother!” Mrs. Smith complained. 

“Since when have I ever done things just because I’m supposed to?” Caleb replied, downing a glass of water. “Well, now would be a nice time to start,” his mother said sternly, her hands firmly planted on her hips. 

“No thanks. Gotta go, I need to pick up the cake!” Caleb yelled, walking through the living room to the front door. “But Caleb, you just got here!” Mrs. Smith protested. “And now I’m leaving. Bye.” 

Caleb grabbed his house key from a hook on the wall, opened the front door and walked through it into the great unknown, slamming the door behind him and making sure it was properly locked so that his mother wouldn’t be able to complain to him anymore.

Caleb made his way to North Ontario Street, and walked into a small white building comically named “Piece of Cake”. A small bell rang as he walked in, and a large person towering behind the counter looked up. The large person gasped. 

“Caleb! Happy birthday! You here to pick up your cake?” Caleb smiled. “Yes, Mr. Walker.” “You haven’t visited me in so long! You and your mom used to come over all the time, but you haven’t come by in months! And what did I tell you about being so formal? Please, it’s Peter,” Peter scolded. 

Caleb laughed sheepishly. “Sorry, Peter.” “Now that’s better! And here, your cake,” Peter said, sliding out a large box from behind the counter. “Thanks, Peter. Here,” Caleb dug into his pocket and pulled out some wadded up dollar bills. 

“Oh no no no, I can’t let you pay! You’re like a son to me! Besides, it’s your birthday. I’ll tell you what: I’ll give you the cake for free if you promise to swing by more often. And maybe bring your lovely mother too sometimes.” Peter grinned and winked at Caleb. 

“Oh no, I couldn’t.” Caleb handed him the money. Peter shoved the bills back, vehemently shaking his head. “Take it.” He pressed the box into Caleb’s hands. 

“Thank you so much, Peter. And I promise I’ll visit you more often!” Caleb walked out the door with the cake box, cheerfully whistling the tune to his favorite song, when he ran into a tiny old lady. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs. Scottlesbee,” Caleb apologized frantically. 

“Stop apologizing, Caleb. You’ve always apologized too much. Stop being so concerned with what you think others will be concerned with and start living in the moment. Have fun! After all, you’re in the prime of your youth. I wish I had learned that sooner instead of figuring it all out when I turned 80.” She chuckled jovially. 

“Now you get along, boy. I saw a handsome young lad down the road who seemed desperate to see you.” She smiled knowingly and patted his cheek.