Alisha flicks on her blinker and pulls into a sparse lot. A fluorescent yellow sign flickers against gray clouds. The word ‘Memory’ written vertically, ‘Cake Shop’ scrawled beneath. Alisha unbuckles and turns to face me. 'You trust me, right?'

I roll my eyes, 'You know I do.'

A bell dings above the door, two empty booths sit to our left; red leather, cracked and ripped, each with a dormant ceiling fan above. Restrooms and a jukebox illuminated by purple neon tubes line the back wall. In the center, an enclosure displaying slices of cake. Alisha nudges me, 'Cinnamon streusel, your favorite.'

'It was my Dad’s favorite too,' I whisper to myself. 

'AI is getting more realistic every day,' Alisha assures. 'It’s supposed to help provide closure. Just try. For me.'  

We look at the menu. 

1. Provide a loved one’s photo. 

2. Connect headphones. 

3. Eat selected cake.

4. Your loved one will appear as the fan whirls.

'It might be cool, right?'

'I don’t see how an animated photo could feel like my dad.' 

Alisha signals the waitress and orders one slice. 

'Aren’t you going to try with me?' I ask.

'Today is about you, babygirl. Eat up.'

I follow the steps. A shiver runs through me as the image forms. The picture Alisha brought is my favorite of dad; the one at his retirement party, his blue eyes sparkling. 

A tinny voice crackles. 'Mallory, is that you?' 

'Hard pass,' I say, standing. 'That voice will never be Dad.' 

'Mallory, wait.' I’m pretty sure a robot can’t plead, but I listen anyway. 'The streusel slice is preloaded with the story about adopting Yogi, which is admittedly adorable, but that’s not the story I want to tell…Damn, this voice sucks.'

'What story would you tell?' I mock robotically back. 

'The time you begged me to take you fishing. I hooked the worm, and you said, ‘if the fish bites the hook it’ll hurt him.’ I tried explaining, but you lost it; running up and down the dock, yelling not to hurt the fish. You chose the right thing over the fun thing. It was the first time I felt I was doing something right as a parent if your moral compass was that strong. I had never been more proud.'

The fan shuts off. The image of Dad disappears. I wipe a tear from my face and shove another bite of cake in my mouth. 

'Sorry,' Alisha says, 'one story per slice.' 

'Once you get past the voice, it almost feels real.' 

*

Every day, I return, tasting a new cake. Lemon, coconut, chocolate. First day of kindergarten, driving test, prom. Now the final fitting flavor remains: angel food. I’m not ready to say goodbye.

'Mallory, is that you?' I’m starting to like the voice. 'No story today. Just a final I love you. And that Alisha, she's a keeper. I hope we meet again.'

'Daddy?' but the cake has dissolved in my mouth, and the fan whirs to a stop for a final time.