listen long enough to hear that Simmi’s birthday is in June and then begin to ponder what Shapri said. A few weeks ago, I would’ve laughed in her face if she had come to me with this talk of birthday magic. Now, I’ve learned to believe in the unbelievable, and I think she may be right. Why wouldn’t the universe be willing to grant me a wish just once a year? It owes me that much, right?
As soon as I decide that, yes, I will be making a wish, I know what to wish for—Simmi. As the girls continue to chatter away, I focus on my feelings for Simmi, on my almost kissing her. I imagine Shapri never came over and interrupted us, and I asked Simmi if I could kiss her and she said “yes.” Our lips met and we shared a beautiful, sexy kiss. As we pulled away from each other, Simmi whispered in her breathy, sweet voice, “I love you, Alex.”
That’s my birthday wish—to be Simmi’s boyfriend, not her brother.
***
At Sweet Blossoms, Mom makes a huge fuss over my “becoming a ladies’ man, and with such pretty ladies, too.” I keep my hands clasped on my cane to keep myself from strangling her. After making sure she’s thoroughly embarrassed me, Mom closes up shop early, swings by the pizza parlor, and delivers the three of us to an empty house.
“Dad’s out on another job interview,” Mom explains, laying out paper plates and napkins and extracting a two-liter bottle of pop from the fridge. The scent of oranges wafts from the open soda bottle. “Let’s save him a couple of slices, okay?”
Shapri flips open the lid off the first pizza box. “Ick, ham and pineapple,” she says, moving on to the next box. “Now here’s what I’m talking about, pepperoni with extra cheese. Yum!”
“Pineapple and ham is Alex’s favorite,” Mom announces from the kitchen as she pours the fizzing soda into Dixie cups.
“Yes, it is,” I say, nudging Shapri out of the way so I can plop a few slices onto my plate. I don’t care how early in the afternoon it is. I’m hungry. I shove a slice in my mouth and the grease drips down my chin.
Shapri crunches on a slice of the pepperoni and cheese.
“Are you eating the crust first?” I ask; the tip of the pizza goes in mushily, not crunchily.
“Of course,” Shapri says. Her voice is muffled since her mouth is completely full of food. “That’s how you’re supposed to eat it, save the best for last.”
“Weird,” I say, taking another huge chomp of my pizza from the intended end.
“Do they have pizza where you come from, Simmi?” Mom asks.
“Yes,” Simmi answers curtly.
“Well, why aren’t you eating anything? Don’t you like pizza?”
“Yes, I like pizza very much. But…”
I pause before tearing into my second slice. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Well, I don’t eat meat,” Simmi explains. “But it’s okay. I’ll just pick it off.”
“Oh, no,” Mom groans. “I didn’t realize. I’m so sorry.” She comes over to the table and places a roll of paper towels in front of Simmi with a thud. “You can use this to blot at the pizza.” Mom comes up behind me and places her hands on my chair. “Okay, I’ll let you kids enjoy your party. I’m headed out to the garden to water the tomatoes. When Dad comes home, send him outside, okay?” Mom kisses me on the head and takes her leave.
Shapri and I continue eating our pizza like we’ve been starving our entire lives. Simmi blots politely at her slice. It’s quiet, so I presume she’s picking off the toppings. Then she tears the slice into small bits and places them in her mouth. A few minutes later, Dad arrives through the front door.
“Hi, Alex,” he calls from the next room while removing his shoes. “Hi, Alex’s friends.” He hangs up his jacket and makes his way over to the kitchen. “I hope you saved me a slice or two.” He stops walking, freezing as if he were a deer about to get hit by a semi-truck on a lonely country road.
“Hi, Dad,” I mutter. “Mom says she wants you
As soon as I decide that, yes, I will be making a wish, I know what to wish for—Simmi. As the girls continue to chatter away, I focus on my feelings for Simmi, on my almost kissing her. I imagine Shapri never came over and interrupted us, and I asked Simmi if I could kiss her and she said “yes.” Our lips met and we shared a beautiful, sexy kiss. As we pulled away from each other, Simmi whispered in her breathy, sweet voice, “I love you, Alex.”
That’s my birthday wish—to be Simmi’s boyfriend, not her brother.
***
At Sweet Blossoms, Mom makes a huge fuss over my “becoming a ladies’ man, and with such pretty ladies, too.” I keep my hands clasped on my cane to keep myself from strangling her. After making sure she’s thoroughly embarrassed me, Mom closes up shop early, swings by the pizza parlor, and delivers the three of us to an empty house.
“Dad’s out on another job interview,” Mom explains, laying out paper plates and napkins and extracting a two-liter bottle of pop from the fridge. The scent of oranges wafts from the open soda bottle. “Let’s save him a couple of slices, okay?”
Shapri flips open the lid off the first pizza box. “Ick, ham and pineapple,” she says, moving on to the next box. “Now here’s what I’m talking about, pepperoni with extra cheese. Yum!”
“Pineapple and ham is Alex’s favorite,” Mom announces from the kitchen as she pours the fizzing soda into Dixie cups.
“Yes, it is,” I say, nudging Shapri out of the way so I can plop a few slices onto my plate. I don’t care how early in the afternoon it is. I’m hungry. I shove a slice in my mouth and the grease drips down my chin.
Shapri crunches on a slice of the pepperoni and cheese.
“Are you eating the crust first?” I ask; the tip of the pizza goes in mushily, not crunchily.
“Of course,” Shapri says. Her voice is muffled since her mouth is completely full of food. “That’s how you’re supposed to eat it, save the best for last.”
“Weird,” I say, taking another huge chomp of my pizza from the intended end.
“Do they have pizza where you come from, Simmi?” Mom asks.
“Yes,” Simmi answers curtly.
“Well, why aren’t you eating anything? Don’t you like pizza?”
“Yes, I like pizza very much. But…”
I pause before tearing into my second slice. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Well, I don’t eat meat,” Simmi explains. “But it’s okay. I’ll just pick it off.”
“Oh, no,” Mom groans. “I didn’t realize. I’m so sorry.” She comes over to the table and places a roll of paper towels in front of Simmi with a thud. “You can use this to blot at the pizza.” Mom comes up behind me and places her hands on my chair. “Okay, I’ll let you kids enjoy your party. I’m headed out to the garden to water the tomatoes. When Dad comes home, send him outside, okay?” Mom kisses me on the head and takes her leave.
Shapri and I continue eating our pizza like we’ve been starving our entire lives. Simmi blots politely at her slice. It’s quiet, so I presume she’s picking off the toppings. Then she tears the slice into small bits and places them in her mouth. A few minutes later, Dad arrives through the front door.
“Hi, Alex,” he calls from the next room while removing his shoes. “Hi, Alex’s friends.” He hangs up his jacket and makes his way over to the kitchen. “I hope you saved me a slice or two.” He stops walking, freezing as if he were a deer about to get hit by a semi-truck on a lonely country road.
“Hi, Dad,” I mutter. “Mom says she wants you
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