Margot’s car isn’t in the garage when I get home from school. Normally she’s sleeping at this hour, either in bed or in a chair by the pool. I know she made sure she had the night off because Margot loves birthdays and she’s been more excited than me about this one.
I kick off my shoes and toss my backpack on my bed and barely make it to the kitchen when the doorbell rings. Standing on the other side of the door are Margot, my mother, my father, Asher and Addison. My mother is holding a cake and her smile just barely falters before she catches it. I’m in the doorway in my school clothes and make-up. My mother has never seen me like this. She’s seen glimpses of it, but not the full effect all at once, and I think it devastates her a little. Margot looks like Margot, my brother looks resigned, my father barely looks and Addison doesn’t know what to look like. I think she wonders what she’s doing here as much as I do.
They’ve done the Surprise! Happy Birthday! thing in the doorway, so I step out of the way and they come in—cake, presents and all. My parents suggest going to a restaurant, but I don’t want to go out. It’s three-thirty and there’s too much of a chance of running into people from school, so Margot calls for pizza and puts the cake in the refrigerator while everyone crashes in the family room to wait for the food.
“We could probably still get you a ticket if you want to come with us for Thanksgiving,” my mom throws out. It took exactly forty-three seconds from the time she got into the house to bringing it up.
“The house is sick. You should see it, Em. Three fireplaces. A balcony. Hot tub.” Addison’s face turns pink and my brother looks at her apologetically. Bringing up the hot tub in front of the parents is really an amateur move.
“You could bring someone, too, if you want.” That comes out of left field. I wish she would stop trying. My mother’s hope is a weapon. I see Margot watching me from the kitchen. I wonder what, if anything, she’s told them about my extracurricular activities. “Margot says you eat dinner with a boy’s family every Sunday. What’s his name?” She turns to Margot.
“Drew Leighton.” Margot’s still looking at me. No mention of Josh Bennett and I wonder why she’s kept that to herself but told them about Drew.
“Drew,” my mother repeats. “That’s right. Why don’t you call him now? He can celebrate with us. We’d love to meet him. You know him from school?”
I nod.
“They’re in debate together,” Margot answers for me.
“Addison’s on debate,” Asher interjects, and maybe we can turn the conversation on her, because Drew Leighton is too close to Josh Bennett and my family isn’t getting anywhere near Josh Bennett.
“Debate Drew Leighton?” It’s the first time I’ve heard Addison’s voice. It’s all soft and feminine like her. She’s sitting next to Asher, holding his hand, and it kind of pisses me off. “I know him! He’s—” she cuts herself off before she continues and I smile at her. I can’t help it. We both know what she was about to say. “He’s a really good debater. Everyone knows him.”
“Really?” Asher looks at her dubiously and then over at me and I know he plans to find out the truth of it later.
I nod and she stifles her own smile and continues in a more appropriate direction.
“He came in third in state last year and everyone knows he’s the biggest threat in extemp and LD. No one wants to go up against him this year.” She sounds almost reverential. It’s understandable when you’ve seen Drew debate, and she obviously has, or at least she’s aware enough of it. I’m almost proud to hear someone talk about Drew for what he should be talked about, but it’s a rare thing. I find myself smiling at her for real, and maybe I’m not so pissed about Addison holding my brother’s hand after all.
We eat pizza and everyone relaxes and I find myself missing my family and wondering if maybe I didn’t exaggerate everything. Maybe it wasn’t so forced and awkward. Then again, maybe it’s just not awkward because I’m watching from the outside right now. It may be my birthday that brought them here, but they’re in their own element and I’m just looking in. Even Addison has a place, in this picture, with my family. I’m the outsider.
Asher goes on about school and baseball and homecoming. Margot talks about nurse shortages at work and how the schedule is starting to kill her a little bit. My dad doesn’t say much. He just glances at me every once in a while and I try to work out what he’s seeing when I look at his eyes, but they tell me nothing and I wonder if they’re just a reflection of my own. Ever since the day I told him to stop calling me Milly, and then stopped telling him anything else at all, there’s been very little between us. My mother still tries, but my father has lost all hope. Maybe he’s the smart one. Though it doesn’t make me feel any better. My father has shut down and it’s worse than any anger or disappointment he could level at me. The man who was the source of all my smiles now can’t even conjure one himself. I’m a coward and a fraud and I murdered his spirit. There’s something about knowing that I broke my father’s heart that makes me hate myself a little more than I already do.
We get done with dinner but we all ate so much pizza that no one can even think about cake yet. Except maybe me. I can always think about cake.
My mother and Margot move a pile of presents from the counter to the table in front of me. There are way too many of them, but I wish there weren’t any, because I don’t want to feel grateful and there’s nothing they can give me that I need anyway.
I open them all and feel like I’m under a microscope where my every facial expression is being studied and it makes me want to scream, but I can’t. So I just swallow it like dirt and blood.
The last present is the smallest box, and I should know to be scared by the anxious expression on my mother’s face. Or maybe my father’s face tells the real story, because he looks like he thinks this is a really bad idea and he’s probably said as much to my mother a hundred times. I rip open the paper and I’m holding a brand-new, jacked-up iPhone.
My mother starts extolling the virtues of the phone as if I don’t know everything it can do, for example, reveal my exact whereabouts at any given moment. I don’t need to listen to the sales spiel, but I’m right back in the room when I hear the kicker.