next time. You’ll see who follows.” Smug smile.
Mr. Dent stops conjugating the verb hablar on the board and stares at us, thin-lipped.
“ Lo siento, Señor Dent ,” Damien says, and Mr. Dent turns back to the board.
I feel like wiping that stupid smile off Damien’s face. But I feel something else too. Through the window, sunshine trickles in.
TWELVE
Uncle Richie shows up to Maisie’s birthday party with a twelve-pack of beer in one hand and a two-six of Jack Daniels in the other. Jacquie juggles coolers and an enormous gift bag.
“Good thing we aren’t celebrating a kid’s birthday or anything,” I say to Jacquie, eyeing the haul.
“Are you kidding?” she says. “Wasn’t this every birthday party you ever had?” I can’t argue with that. “As traditional as candles on the cake in this family,” she adds. Actually, more traditional.
“Where’s the birthday girl?” Uncle Richie roars, scooping Maisie up by the armpits and swinging her. He must have come straight from work—a monkey with long hairy arms wearing a suit, a brown stain on his tie.
Mom pads out in a black dress, laughing. The dress has gray pearl buttons down the front and ends just above her knees. I call it her weddings-and-funerals dress—the only thing she owns that isn’t high here and low there and lets it all hang out.
She leans in to kiss Uncle Richie on his stubbly cheek. She looks pretty tonight—hair done up, less makeup. Little pearl earrings. Sometimes I forget she’s only thirty-two, a lot younger than other people’s moms. She was sixteen when she had me.
Maisie, Evan and I have decorated the whole apartment with balloons. I got a shiny Happy Birthday banner from the dollar store and made Maisie wait in her room while I hung it.
“Happy Birthday. For me!” She hopped on the spot when she saw it.
“I want one too,” Evan said.
“You’ll have one when it’s your birthday, Evan,” she told him. “Today is my birthday.”
I sent cupcakes to school on Friday, after getting a mix and a can of icing from my store. Rupa tried to give it to me for free when she found out it was for Maisie’s birthday, but I insisted on paying. Have to keep things on the up-and-up there. Maisie came home with an empty container that day. “Even Mrs. Williams ate one,” she said.
Mom took the bus to the grocery store this morning and came back with bags bursting. I’m worried she spent too much of her check at once, but I’ll think about that tomorrow. Tonight I watch a newly-turned-seven-year-old skip around the apartment, face like a glow stick.
Mom tugged me into the bathroom as soon as she got home from shopping. “Look what I got Maisie,” she said, pulling a plush pink koala from the plastic bag and shutting off the light. “The tag says it glows in the dark. See?”
Never mind that every pair of socks Maisie owns has holes, or that she needs a new backpack for school. She’ll love it.
Mom also got everything to make lasagna, which is what she usually throws together when the weddings-and-funerals dress comes out. “Did you see the little cake I picked up?” she said, pointing to the fridge. She must’ve taken my birthday lecture seriously.
The smell of the lasagna fills the whole apartment now and makes my stomach growl.
“We’re ten minutes from eating,” Mom says, cracking open a cooler.
Maisie and Evan hover around the gift bag and snoop through the tissue paper. “Hey, hands off until after cake!” I tell them, waving them away. They chase each other down the hall.
Mom and Uncle Richie chat in the kitchen while Mom chops tomatoes for the salad. They pretend not to notice when Jacquie sneaks a cooler from the counter and settles next to me on the sofa.
“I hooked up with this guy from my phys ed class.” Jacquie leans in.
“You mean, like, a boyfriend?”
“Hell, no.” She pulls back her chin like I spit on her. “This is too much woman for one man to handle.” Wicked laugh.
Mr. Dent stops conjugating the verb hablar on the board and stares at us, thin-lipped.
“ Lo siento, Señor Dent ,” Damien says, and Mr. Dent turns back to the board.
I feel like wiping that stupid smile off Damien’s face. But I feel something else too. Through the window, sunshine trickles in.
TWELVE
Uncle Richie shows up to Maisie’s birthday party with a twelve-pack of beer in one hand and a two-six of Jack Daniels in the other. Jacquie juggles coolers and an enormous gift bag.
“Good thing we aren’t celebrating a kid’s birthday or anything,” I say to Jacquie, eyeing the haul.
“Are you kidding?” she says. “Wasn’t this every birthday party you ever had?” I can’t argue with that. “As traditional as candles on the cake in this family,” she adds. Actually, more traditional.
“Where’s the birthday girl?” Uncle Richie roars, scooping Maisie up by the armpits and swinging her. He must have come straight from work—a monkey with long hairy arms wearing a suit, a brown stain on his tie.
Mom pads out in a black dress, laughing. The dress has gray pearl buttons down the front and ends just above her knees. I call it her weddings-and-funerals dress—the only thing she owns that isn’t high here and low there and lets it all hang out.
She leans in to kiss Uncle Richie on his stubbly cheek. She looks pretty tonight—hair done up, less makeup. Little pearl earrings. Sometimes I forget she’s only thirty-two, a lot younger than other people’s moms. She was sixteen when she had me.
Maisie, Evan and I have decorated the whole apartment with balloons. I got a shiny Happy Birthday banner from the dollar store and made Maisie wait in her room while I hung it.
“Happy Birthday. For me!” She hopped on the spot when she saw it.
“I want one too,” Evan said.
“You’ll have one when it’s your birthday, Evan,” she told him. “Today is my birthday.”
I sent cupcakes to school on Friday, after getting a mix and a can of icing from my store. Rupa tried to give it to me for free when she found out it was for Maisie’s birthday, but I insisted on paying. Have to keep things on the up-and-up there. Maisie came home with an empty container that day. “Even Mrs. Williams ate one,” she said.
Mom took the bus to the grocery store this morning and came back with bags bursting. I’m worried she spent too much of her check at once, but I’ll think about that tomorrow. Tonight I watch a newly-turned-seven-year-old skip around the apartment, face like a glow stick.
Mom tugged me into the bathroom as soon as she got home from shopping. “Look what I got Maisie,” she said, pulling a plush pink koala from the plastic bag and shutting off the light. “The tag says it glows in the dark. See?”
Never mind that every pair of socks Maisie owns has holes, or that she needs a new backpack for school. She’ll love it.
Mom also got everything to make lasagna, which is what she usually throws together when the weddings-and-funerals dress comes out. “Did you see the little cake I picked up?” she said, pointing to the fridge. She must’ve taken my birthday lecture seriously.
The smell of the lasagna fills the whole apartment now and makes my stomach growl.
“We’re ten minutes from eating,” Mom says, cracking open a cooler.
Maisie and Evan hover around the gift bag and snoop through the tissue paper. “Hey, hands off until after cake!” I tell them, waving them away. They chase each other down the hall.
Mom and Uncle Richie chat in the kitchen while Mom chops tomatoes for the salad. They pretend not to notice when Jacquie sneaks a cooler from the counter and settles next to me on the sofa.
“I hooked up with this guy from my phys ed class.” Jacquie leans in.
“You mean, like, a boyfriend?”
“Hell, no.” She pulls back her chin like I spit on her. “This is too much woman for one man to handle.” Wicked laugh.
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