The Wedding Cake Debate
A small town in America
July 2023
It was a perfect summer day in a charming small town. The sky was a bright azure, not a cloud in sight, and it was pleasantly warm, not too humid. For Miri Coppens, an artist in her late twenties, this day felt like a good omen for the future, and for the wedding she was eagerly planning for September.
As Miri walked down the sidewalk of her one-streetlight town, she gazed at the shops, restaurants and the pedestrians meandering from one to the other. She wondered who they were, where they were going and why they were going there. Miri had always liked to imagine other people’s lives, ever since she was a child who drew sketches of all her neighbors.
As she passed an antique store, she caught her reflection in the windows. By all accounts, Miri was average—average height and weight, with light blonde, wavy hair and a smile that was just a little crooked. She didn’t stand out in any way, which had probably added to the surprise of her friends and family when she came out as a lesbian five years ago.
“But you don’t look gay,” one of her friends had blurted.
“How is a gay person supposed to look?” she’d asked him.
“You know,” he fumbled. “Tomboy. Short hair. Butch.” Which had led to Miri having to explain that not all lesbians looked alike.
Now, as she passed the antique store, Miri spotted the bakery up ahead, a pretty, light blue store with bright yellow shutters and a sign hanging above the door: The Finest Cakes.
A bell chimed as Miri pushed open the door, causing the young woman at the counter to look up. “I’ll be with you in a second,” she called, then turned back to the customer she was already serving.
Miri waited her turn, studying the cakes behind the glass. Each looked tastier than the last, from a large two-tiered cake with buttercream vanilla icing, to a small one-tiered chocolate cake with a colorful rose decoration made of icing. Miri had come here a couple times before, once to buy a cake for her mother’s birthday, and another time to pick up a cake for her high school graduation. This place really did have the finest cakes, and Miri and her fiancée already had one in mind for the wedding.
The other customer walked away and the red-haired woman at the counter smiled. “Can I help you?”
“Yes. I’d like to order a cake for my wedding.” Miri approached the counter. She studied the nametag. Danielle. “Don’t worry, the wedding isn’t until September, I just wanted to give you time to make it. It’s a bit different.”
“How so?”
“Well, my fiancée and I are chocoholics, so we talked about having a chocolate cake with chocolate icing, instead of vanilla. I know that’s not traditional…”
Danielle waved a hand dismissively. “That won’t be a problem. I once had a bride come in here asking for a pink, strawberry cake with glittery icing and sprinkles. Her husband didn’t seem that keen, but the brides are usually the ones who decide.”
Both women chuckled. Miri went on to describe the three-tiered cake with roses made from chocolate icing on the edges, while Danielle nodded her head and scribbled things down on a notepad. She’d just finished when a back door opened, and a tall, elderly man came into the main part of the room.
“Another customer?” he asked, nodding briefly to Miri.
“Yeah, Dad. Wedding cake.” She frowned. “Did you need any help in the back?”
Danielle’s father chuckled. “I’ve been baking longer than you’ve been alive. I think I can handle myself.”
“You try to do too much,” Danielle clucked, but she didn’t push the issue. Instead, she addressed Miri. “For what it’s worth, I too, prefer chocolate icing on my cakes.”
“Not me,” her father interjected. “Give me a carrot cake any time.”
“So, how much will it cost?” Miri asked.
Danielle consulted her notes. “Well, it would be about—”
The bell above the door tinkled again. “Miri, here you are.” Miri turned to see her fiancée, Iris Haskel. With long, wavy black hair and large, earnest brown eyes, Iris turned the heads of many of the men she passed. Which amused her to no end, since she had no interest in any of them. “Did you order the cake yet?”
“I just did. Danielle was just about to tell me how much—”
“Whose wedding is this for?” Danielle’s father asked, an intense stare suddenly appearing on his face as he glanced from Miri to Iris.
Miri felt a subtle change in the room, almost like a chill breeze had blown through, but she forced a smile. “My wedding. Well, ours.” She gestured to Iris, who smiled, too.
But Danielle’s father was no longer smiling. His face had become stern, his eyes cold with anger. “You’ll have to go elsewhere.”
Time froze. The air felt like it’d been sucked out of the room. Miri and Iris exchanged glances. Danielle stared at the counter and began wiping at it with a washcloth. Her father stood as still as a statue.
“Excuse me?” Iris said.
“You’ll have to go elsewhere,” Danielle’s father repeated the frigid words.
“But—but Danielle said she would make the cake,” Miri protested. “She said it wouldn’t be a problem.”
Danielle scrubbed even harder at the counter.
“Well, she didn’t know who the cake was for,” Danielle’s dad said slowly, as if speaking to two simpletons. “See, we don’t service gay weddings. We’re God-fearing Christians, and doing so would be against our religion.”
There was a stunned silence. Miri couldn’t think of a thing to say. The hatred in the man’s eyes scared her.
But that wasn’t the case with Iris. “Wait, what?” she demanded. “What do you mean?”
Danielle’s father was only too happy to explain, perhaps feeling like he had the opportunity to preach to sinners. “Homosexuality is a sin. It’s a deviant lifestyle choice, which the Bible says is an abomination.”
“Choice?” Iris scoffed. “I didn’t choose to be lesbian. I have no control over it. No one controls whether to be gay or straight.”
“Well, you can decide whether to live that way, and I—”
“It’s not a bad way to live!” Iris’s voice rose a notch. “We’re not hurting anyone. We’re in love, and we just want to get married. No different than any straight couple.”
“You’re corrupting this country and its values,” Danielle’s father’s voice rose too. “Well, I’m a religious man, and I want no part of it!”
“Let’s go,” Miri started to tug Iris’s arm, but her fiancée stood firm.
“You think being religious means that your bigotry is okay?” Iris snapped.
“I know my rights.” Danielle’s father jabbed his finger against his chest. “I don’t have to do anything against my religion.”
“So, it’d be okay with you if a Jewish baker refused to serve you because you’re not Jewish?” Iris challenged. “Or if a white supremacist refuses to make a cake for an interracial couple?”
The man’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything.
“In Islam, dogs are considered impure,” Iris went on. “Would that make it right for a Muslim taxi-driver to refuse service to a blind woman with a seeing-eye dog? Well? Answer me: do you think it’d be within his rights to do that?”
“We live in a Judeo-Christian country.” Danielle’s father said. “It’s not the same thing.”
“The hell it isn’t!”
Miri turned to Danielle, who hadn’t looked their way since finding out they were a lesbian couple. Even knowing it was hopeless to change their minds, Miri still tried anyway. “We’re not hurting anyone, we’re not thieves or killers or anything. We just want a wedding cake! We have a right to that, don’t we?” She addressed the woman who’d been so friendly until now. “Danielle?”
“You should go,” Danielle mumbled, barely glancing up for more than a second. “I’m sorry, but it’s against our beliefs.”
“So, your beliefs are more important than equal rights?” Iris spat.
Danielle’s father leaned forward, placing his hands on the counter. “In case you’ve forgotten, last month the Supreme Court ruled in favor of a web designer who, like me, would not serve homosexuals. You can’t make me do anything. Now get out.”
Miri’s mind flashed to history class, to stories of black students having to stage sit-ins for the right to be served at lunch counters in the 60s. She thought about the women who’d had to stage marches and hunger strikes to gain the right to vote. Had this been what the black students felt like when they approached the counter? Had they seen equally hateful looks in the eyes of the store owners who refused them? Was this how women in 1917 had felt, every time they argued with men who insisted their place was in the home, not in line to vote?
How could someone’s religion take precedence over equality? As much as Miri wanted to argue with this bigoted man, she remembered the Supreme Court’s ruling. According to them, prejudice and bigotry were allowed as long as they had a religious reason behind it.
“Go.” Danielle’s father pointed at the door, emboldened by the special religious rights the Supreme Court had given him. Without another word, he turned and stalked into the back of the bakery, and then Miri could hear pots and pans clanging.
“Let’s go,” Iris muttered in disgust. “I won’t give money to a place like this.”
As the couple left, Miri turned once more to Danielle. She thought she saw guilt in her eyes, discomfort perhaps, about the whole ugly situation. “Just tell me this: would Jesus treat other people like this?”
Danielle lowered her eyes again. “Look, I’m sorry, but I have work to do.” She practically fled into the back room.
Miri and Iris left the bakery. “The Finest Cakes,” Iris muttered. “More like The Finest Idiots. We’ll find something somewhere else.”
But they should have been able to go into any bakery and order their wedding cake. There should have been no problem. No hesitation. No argument. Even if they ordered a cake elsewhere, this awful episode had tainted the whole process. Miri intended to have a great wedding, regardless, but there would always be this story in the background. Hate disguised as religion. Cruelty disguised as piety.
“We should go public about this,” Iris clutched Miri’s hand as they hurried down the sidewalk, unable to escape the prejudice no matter how many steps they put between themselves and the bakery. “Post about it on social media. Maybe if enough people hear about it, they’ll push for change.”
Miri nodded, silently agreeing. She thought again of the black teens who’d faced down hostile crowds at a lunch counter, the women who’d faced scowling men who didn’t want them to vote. They hadn’t given up, and neither would she or Iris.
But Miri also thought about Danielle. She hadn’t seemed to like what her father was doing, but she’d stayed silent. She’d seemed kind of torn, and Miri could empathize, but her silence had been hurtful. Danielle may not have meant to, but by not speaking up, she’d condoned her father’s prejudice. She’d sent the message that it was okay. Much as the Supreme Court had done recently.
Oh, yes, they would go public with this. Miri vowed she and Iris would keep pushing for equality. The setback in the Supreme Court would not be the last of gay rights.
It had clouded over, darkening the day, which in a way symbolized the terrible experience Miri had just had in the bakery. But she held fast to her fiancée’s hand, and she would do so for as long as it took until the clouds disappeared and the sky shone a clear blue once again.
~