All the Daylight We Were Promised

For the first time in our lives, my parents decided to throw a joint twentieth birthday dinner for my twin sister and me.

Toward the end of the evening, my mother pushed two identical, unmarked white bakery boxes across the mahogany dining table, her eyes twinkling with theatrical excitement. She announced that she wanted to give us a little mystery—a birthday blind box, she called it.

I reached for the one directly in front of me and untied the satin ribbon. Inside sat a palm-sized, dry sponge cake slathered in synthetic whipped cream, looking like something plucked from the discount rack…