The cake box on the dresser.

The two paper plates that had never been used, one with a purple napkin folded into a square, one with a smear of frosting where I had tested the knife.

The gift my parents had brought by earlier in the week and then never carried through our front door, still wrapped, still sitting where Marcus had set it down.

Why are you taking pictures of the plates, Marcus asked, coming in with a stack of leftovers.

I don’t know yet, I said.