My heart seemed to stop.
“You threw out Maddie’s college letter?” Mom asked.
“No. Of course not.” He got to the end of the stack. “Well, not on purpose.”
“I swear, Craig, sometimes … ”
“Sometimes what?” he asked.
“Are we still doing my birthday lunch today?” I blurted out.
Both of them, at least, had the decency to look chastised. They stepped toward me with “Happy birthday” spilling out of their mouths. I accepted a hug from each of them.
“Yes, of course we are,” Mom said. “I have to run into work for a few hours this morning and your dad is going to do a last-minute errand, but yes, I took the afternoon off just for you.”
A last-minute errand? Was it a birthday errand? What did my parents have up their sleeves? Something exciting for my biggest birthday yet?
Mom ran a hand down my cheek. “My new adult.”
I laughed. “I know, I’m so mature now.”
“I’ll see you for lunch.” She kissed my cheek and was gone. My dad followed soon after.
I searched the pantry for my favorite cereal that my mom only bought for my birthday. Cookie Crisp. It couldn’t really be called cereal when it was more sugar than substance, but I only ate it once a year so I was okay with that. I found the box but when I lifted it from the shelf it was too light. I saw that it was basically empty—three small cookies and a pile of cookie dust was what now sat on the bottom of my bowl.
“I hope you had a horrible sugar crash last night, Beau,” I mumbled, throwing the box away. I poured some milk over my cookies anyway and ate them one at a time, savoring each bite. I didn’t need childish birthday traditions, anyway. I had a banana and moved on to my shower.
The rest of the morning went more smoothly. I had just enough of my favorite coconut conditioner left for my hair. I found all the required food and drinks for my party at the supermarket, some of it even on sale. And the living room was mostly clean. It just needed a five-minute vacuum and dusting. Plus, I was never much of a style genius, but my outfit felt exceptionally cute, too—peasant top, skinny jeans, purple ballet flats. Now it was time for the fun part of the day—lunch and then party with friends.
The car ride to my birthday lunch was mostly silent. But sometimes no talking was better for our family.
“This is the place you chose?” Beau asked as my dad pulled into the lot at Claudia’s. “You don’t even like Mexican food.”
“I like Mexican food,” I protested. Especially when it was an affordable place where my parents didn’t have to spend too much.
“Really?”
I gave Beau a look so he’d stop pestering me, and we all got out of the car.
After we were seated, the waitress came by, a girl from my school that I didn’t know very well. Her name was Lupita and she was a senior like me. “Hi,” she said, a friendly smile on her face. “Maddie, right?”
“Yes. Hi.” She knew my name. In that moment I felt this weird urge to invite her over to my party later. I didn’t. I ordered flautas instead. I wondered if that’s how parties got oversized, this generous feeling of the party-thrower to have everyone they even remotely knew come join in on the plan.
“It’s Maddie’s birthday today,” Mom told her.
“Oh! Happy birthday.”
“Thanks. I don’t want anyone singing to me or anything,” I said, not sure if they did that here. But it seemed like every restaurant did.
Lupita winked at my mom. “Okay, we won’t.”
Great. The whole waitstaff was going to sing to me.
The food came fast. My plate nearly overflowed with rice, beans, and fried goodness. I knew I liked Mexican food. We just didn’t get it very often. I grabbed my fork and dug in.
Halfway through my plate, Mom smiled at me. “This doesn’t quite match your theme for today.”
“My theme?”
“Sugar. You started the day with Cookie Crisp and will end it with a coffee table full of candy.”
“True,” I said.
“Oh,” my brother said. “Was that Cookie Crisp yours? Sorry.”
“Did you eat her cereal?” Mom asked.
“I forgot that tradition.”
“You forgot that tradition?” Mom snapped. “You’ve had it for nineteen years of your life and you just forgot it? Nice.”
“Sorry I don’t remember every stupid thing we ever do.”
“Stupid?” Mom asked, raising her eyebrows.
“You know what I mean. I’m just trying to apologize to my sister for eating her cereal.”
“Lori, lighten up,” Dad said. Wrong choice of words. Even I knew that.
“Lighten up? Lighten up? Is ‘light’ the attitude that makes you throw out important letters?”
“Seriously?” Dad said.
“Yes, seriously. That isn’t exactly the attitude I’d like to adopt.”
“Mom, it’s fine,” I said.
“See, even your daughter doesn’t care,” Dad argued, pointing at me with a tortilla chip. “Maybe you shouldn’t turn me into an evil monster every time something little happens, Lori.”
“Our definition of little is very different. And maybe you shouldn’t constantly pick the opposite side from me in an argument. A little support every once in a while would be nice,” Mom huffed.
“I didn’t realize we were picking sides,” he said.
“You know what I mean. You purposely contradict me.”
I glanced to my left, where the other table of people sat a little too close to keep this argument private. And I could tell it definitely wasn’t private by the way they were all looking at us.
“Shh,” I said. “Let’s not fight.”
My dad wasn’t listening to me, he was staring at my mom with that hard look he often had on his face. “I don’t do it on purpose,” he told her, not quieting his voice at all. “I don’t always have to agree with you.”
“You’ve made that abundantly clear.” Mom slammed her glass down a little too hard on the table and soda splashed onto her hand.
“Can you not do this here, Lori? On Maddie’s birthday,” Dad said.
“Me? This is now all me? You have no part in this?”
I put my fork down.
“All this over a box of Cookie Crisp?” my brother chimed in.
“Stop. Please just stop,” I said.
And at that moment what seemed like the entire staff of the restaurant surrounded our table and began to sing “Happy Birthday” to me.
I tried not to let my face turn redder as they placed a churro and scoop of vanilla ice cream on the table in front of me. I smiled politely until they were gone. I picked up my spoon and took a small bite of the ice cream. It was sprinkled with cinnamon, and the sweetness made my cheeks hurt.
In the amount of time it took a group of strangers to sing “Happy Birthday,” Mom and Dad had calmed down. Mom put a wrapped package on the table in front of me. It was a rectangular box just the right size to hold a cell phone. I’d been hinting that I needed a new one for a year. Anticipation tingled in me. I pushed the ice cream aside and quickly tore open the wrapping. I lifted the lid and stared at the contents.
“Happy birthday, honey,” Mom said, squeezing my arm.
It was a pair of yellow socks. With sloths on them.
“I saw those the other day and I thought of you. I had Dad pick them up this morning,” Mom said, with a single clap. “Because sloths are your favorite, right?”
“Um … ” They had tried. With a limited budget my parents had tried and I knew that. So I held my tongue about how our zoo didn’t even have sloths and smiled. “Thank you. I love them!”
Dad handed Lupita his credit card, then looked at me. “I know it’s not much. And next year, when I’m working again … ”
I squeezed his hand. It wasn’t a guarantee that Dad would have a job by next year, but of course I didn’t say that. “Thanks, guys,” I said softly.
“I didn’t get you anything because my company is your present,” Beau said while shoveling the last bite of rice into his mouth.