by F. T. Lukens
There were no decorations beyond a few limp streamers and one sad-looking balloon. Elena bared her teeth at him, obviously daring him to say anything. He bit back his comment. Wisdom hadn’t always been his strong suit, but he’d grown wiser in the past few months.
“And I got you this.” Astrid, his best friend since middle school, jammed a tiara on his head. “Happy eighteenth, you giant nerd!” She released him and held him at arm’s length. “Why do you smell like cotton candy?”
Bridger adjusted the plastic tiara so the points weren’t digging into his scalp. “That is a question for the pixies. Also, please tell me you don’t use their cosmetic line.”
Nia flew by in a stream of pink and purple twinkles. “Say nothing!” she screeched as she dive-bombed the plastic sack. She carried it to a bubbling cauldron at the corner of the room before darting back as quickly as Bridger could blink.
“Wow,” he said, looking at the beaming faces of Pavel, Nia, Bran, and Astrid and the begrudgingly happy one of Elena. “Just wow. Thank you.”
Bridger wasn’t one for emotional displays and definitely not in front of other people. The last time he’d cried was when a hag showed him his darkest fears and memories. But in this moment, tears clogged his throat. He’d never had a surprise birthday party. He’d always thought they only happened in family sitcoms. They were setups for things to go horribly wrong for a few laughs, and then the episode would end all tied up in a bow with a heartwarming message about love. They were for people with large groups of friends and a loveable dysfunctional family: things Bridger didn’t have and never expected to have.
His last birthday was spent at home alone because his mother had to work, and Astrid was sick, and he had sat on the couch watching Jeopardy and eating out of the ice cream carton, wondering if this was how lonely he’d always be.
Now, he had people who cared about him and he brimmed with unexpected emotion at the thought that this group of oddballs deemed him special enough for a plastic tiara and multi-colored party hats. He knuckled a tear out of his eye.
“Did we do something wrong?” Pavel asked, mouth pulled down in concern. “Is it the pizza? Astrid said you’d like pineapple and ham, but I questioned how anyone could like that combination.”
“No,” Bridger said, wiping at his cheeks. “No, I do love pineapple and ham. This is awesome. Everything is awesome. Thank you.”
Bran flew from his spot on the table near the cake. His blue face was scrunched; icing was smeared over his face and into his hair. “You’re crying.”
“I am not.”
“Oh, my God, are you overwhelmed with happiness?” Astrid asked, smiling. “Are you pulling a Yuri-Katsuki-after-the-Grand-Prix-Final?”
Thankful for Astrid’s levity breaking the intensity of the moment, Bridger snorted out a laugh. “Shut up.” He punched her on the shoulder. “You’re the worst. And it’s more of a Ron-Swanson-at-the-Grand-Canyon moment.”
“I have no idea what you two are saying,” Pavel said, hands on his hips.
“Business as usual then,” Bridger said, grinning.
“Yes, but since you’re smiling, I’m going to assume you’re okay and direct you to the questionable pizza.”
Bridger took a plate from the stack. “Pizza it is. Then cake. And are those actually presents for me? You guys are awesome.”
Hefting several slices of pizza onto his plate, Bridger plopped into one of the high-backed chairs in Pavel’s study. The leather creaked beneath him as he threw his legs over the arm and balanced his plate on his knees. Through the archway into the kitchen, Bridger spied a line of toasters, some old and with rusted parts, others bright and shiny with strange settings. They were cryptid emergency alarms and they were silent for the time being.
Astrid snorted pop out of her nose when Bran cracked a joke. Bridger blew out the candles on his cake on the first try and kept his wish close to his chest. He opened presents: a tub of magic acne cream from the pixies, a gift card from Elena, and new sunglasses with rainbow frames from Astrid. The last one was a blue gift bag with tissue paper hastily shoved on top.
“Happy birthday,” Pavel handed it to Bridger; a genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I know it’s not a car or the right to vote, but I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure it will be—” The bag squirmed. Bridger gasped. “Oh, my God, did you get me something alive?”
Pavel’s smile turned mischievous. “Open it.”
Astrid craned her neck over Bridger’s shoulder. She nudged him. “Is it a dragon? Please, let it be a dragon!”
“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, Astrid. Dragons aren’t native to Michigan.”
“Neither is the Bladenboro Beast, but I have a specific memory of kicking its ass.”
Pavel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Those were special circumstances.”
“Hey,” Bridger said, “can your bickering wait until after I open this?” He frowned as he poked at the bag and the alive-thing inside made a low squeak. With a shaking hand, he reached past the multi-colored tissue paper. Whatever it was, it was furry and soft and tiny, and he lifted it out and—holy shit! Pavel got him a kitten.
A kitten!
Bridger gently extricated the kitten from the gift bag and held it to his chest. It was pure black and so small, with massive ears, and it looked up at him with big yellow eyes and meowed the tiniest meow.
“Oh, my God. Your mom is going to freak out. She is going to hate it and Pavel. But it is the cutest!” Astrid clapped her hands together; her eyes rivaled the size of an anime character’s.
“I’m not allowed to have pets.” Bridger winced as the words slipped out and the kitten dug its adorable claws into the skin of his chest. “They’re too expensive. And I’m leaving for college in a few months to live in a dorm. And it’s not that I’m ungrateful, because a kitten, but—” It meowed again and purred and butted its head into his chest. “Never mind, I love it. I will cherish it and name it George and cuddle it the rest of my life.”
“Don’t worry.” Pavel shook his head; his smile now seemed amused. “It’s not a kitten. And she already has a name.”
Bridger and Astrid shared a glance. “Uh, not a kitten? It is totally a kitten, Pavel. Have you forgotten what regular animals look like after all this time dealing with the weird ones?”
Pavel shook his head and bopped the kitten on the nose with his fingertip. “It may look like a kitten, but it’s a familiar. It’s magic.”
“Your boss gave you a magic pet,” Astrid breathed, softly running a finger down the kitten’s back. “You are the luckiest person alive.”
Pavel huffed. “Her name is Midnight Marvel, and she’s not a pet, but she is now your companion. She won’t need to be fed, though she will need a dish of water on the windowsill and a designated bed in your room, so she has a safe place. Otherwise, she’s there to comfort and protect you as needed.”
“Midnight Marvel,” Bridger said, holding the kitten up in his hands. She batted at his chin. “May I call you Marv?”
She blinked her eyes slowly then licked his nose with her sandpaper tongue.
Bridger took that as an affirmative. “Hello, Marv. I’m Bridger.”
Squirming out of his grip, Marv climbed up Bridger’s chest to sit on his shoulder with her tail curved around his neck. Her little claws dug into his skin and she hissed at the others for good measure. Bridger scratched her head.
“Whoa. Maybe not a dragon, but close enough,” Astrid said, taking a step back.
Pavel was unfazed. “Oh, good. She likes you already.”
“What would have happened if she didn’t like me?” Pavel’s expression shuttered, and Bridger stopped him. “You know what? It’s my birthday. How about we leave that little scenario a mystery.”
The party ended when it was time for Bridger to clock o
ut. It was Thursday, and he still had homework to finish.
He bounded down the stairs, Marv perched on his shoulder, and stopped at Mindy’s huge, gothic wooden desk. Mindy, Pavel’s receptionist and office manager, was almost as bad at fashion as Pavel, and sported a blue-and-purple-plaid business suit with a neon-pink scarf. Hair perfectly coifed into a beehive, she eyed him over the rim of her cat-eye glasses.
“Hey, Mindy. There’s pizza and cake upstairs from my birthday party that I’m sure you were invited to but decided to avoid.”
Mindy smirked. With a flourish, she smacked his timesheet on the tiny space on her desk not taken up by bobbleheads.
“Write your times.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Despite meeting a bunch of different folklore characters over the past few months, Mindy remained the most interesting to Bridger. She knew about everything that went on in the house but had no desire to partake in any of it. She followed instructions and took care of the paperwork but wasn’t fazed an iota at the weirdness that permeated the general vicinity of Pavel.
“Happy birthday,” she said, her tone flat. She nudged a gift bag that sat on the edge of her desk.
“A gift? For me? Mindy, you’ve gone soft.”
“Take it or leave it. I don’t care.”
Bridger smiled and fished around in the bag. He pulled out a unicorn bobblehead. He barked out a laugh, which roused Marv from her sleepy drape on his shoulder.
“It’s perfect.” Bridger bopped the unicorn’s head, and it bobbled uncontrollably. “Thank you.”
Mindy shrugged and snatched the timesheet. She turned away and dropped the paper in her tray, but Bridger caught the hint of a smile.
“Ready to go?” Pavel asked, coming down the stairs. He twirled his car keys on one long finger.
Despite Bridger’s polite refusals, Pavel insisted on driving him home.
“Yep,” he said, stomach churning in anticipation. He scratched Marv between the ears. “Let’s go.”
It wasn’t that Bridger wanted to take the bus and then walk, but Pavel’s car was less than safe. It backfired upon starting. It rattled when they idled and squealed when Pavel took a turn and was best described as a tin can strapped to a motor and held together by duct tape, glue, and sheer force of will. Bridger couldn’t figure out what make and model it was. Even the color was some version of taupe and so awful that Bridger could only liken it to vomit. Bridger hated riding in it with every fiber of his being.
But Pavel had seemed so pleased with how the birthday party had gone and the fun the group had had that when he offered to drive Bridger home, even with Astrid as a viable option, Bridger couldn’t turn him down. Pavel may be weird, and they may have had an inauspicious beginning to their mentor and mentee relationship, but they’d grown close, and Bridger suspected that, despite his occasional grumbling, Pavel cherished their found family as much as Bridger did—possibly more so. Pavel was over a hundred years old, and his relatives were all gone. Their group was all he had in the way of family.
They stopped at a four-way intersection near the high school, and Bridger did his best impression of a slug, sliding down in the seat and peering over the lip of the window hoping the area was clear of students and teachers. He was lucky. The parking lot was empty save for Mr. Peterson’s car which was normal—his relationship with Ms. Harrison wasn’t as hush-hush as they pretended and often one of their cars was left in the parking lot as they went home together—and a large white van. The van had Georgia plates and no windows in the back, and two people ambled about looking into the classroom windows.
It was odd, even creepy, but not the weirdest thing Bridger had seen that day. He had a magic kitten sleeping in his backpack and had fed a burrito to a unicorn.
“Thanks for the party, Pavel,” Bridger said as they pulled onto his street. He lived in a picturesque neighborhood with neatly gridded roads and sidewalks in the heart of Midden. “It was awesome. You didn’t have to do that for me. I really appreciate it.”
Pavel had the grace not to point out that Bridger had almost cried from feelings and instead merely shrugged. “You’re welcome. I understand that eighteen is a milestone. You’re an adult now.” The corner of Pavel’s mouth raised as if he found that fact hilarious.
Bridger found it petrifying. “I’m an adult in age only. In everything else…” Bridger held out his hands “…I’m pretty much bullshitting my way through.”
Pavel stopped the car in front of Bridger’s house.
“I’ll let you in on a secret,” Pavel said, gripping Bridger’s shoulder. “None of us really know what we’re doing. Seriously,” Pavel continued when Bridger made a face, “becoming an adult doesn’t come with a handbook. It isn’t just about knowing how to balance a bank account or knowing how to change a flat tire, though I do suggest you learn how to do both before you leave for college. Growing up is about gaining experiences so when you encounter a situation a second time, you know what to do. It’s about having good judgment because you’ve made mistakes in the past and you learned from them.”
“No one has really explained it that way before.”
“No one else you know is over a hundred years old.”
“Technically, untrue, but I’ll let it slide.” Bridger picked up his backpack. “Thanks.”
“Have a good weekend. I’ll see you Monday.”
Bridger slid out of the car and slammed the door, praying it didn’t fall off in the street. He waved as Pavel pulled away and he jumped onto the sidewalk then crossed to his yard. He still lived in the same house he grew up in, a small two-bedroom on the corner, with a front lawn about as big as a postage stamp, though with enough grassy area that Bridger had to mow on the weekends. His front door faced the street, and across the asphalt was his boyfriend’s house.
“Bridger? Is that you?” his mom called to him from the living room as he entered.
“Yeah, it’s me,” he yelled back, kicking off his shoes. He never understood why she asked. If it wasn’t him, then they would be destined for an episode of Forensic Files.
“How was work?”
Bridger placed his backpack on the stairs leading up to his room and unzipped the top. Marv was curled up asleep on the top of his biology textbook. He petted her head, and she blinked lazily at him. He pressed a finger to his lips, and she yawned, then went back to her nap.
Satisfied she wouldn’t make any noise, he padded into the other room and dropped on the couch next to his mom, who was watching TV. She wore a T-shirt and pajama bottoms, and her blond hair, streaked with gray, was pulled up in a ponytail. She was curled up next to the arm of the couch with her feet tucked under a throw blanket as old as he was.
“Good. They threw me a surprise birthday party.”
She muted the show, and her eyebrows went up. “Really? That’s nice. I heard Pavel bring you home. I really wish you wouldn’t ride in that death trap of his.”
“Easier than taking the bus,” Bridger said with a shrug. “And he offered. I didn’t want to be rude, especially since he fed me a lot of pizza and cake.”
She rested her chin on her knees. “I’m glad you had a good time. I don’t really like that you have a job, but it seems you landed a good one, especially with how generous your boss is.”
The job had been a point of contention between them. Bridger had needed money to go out of state for school when he was hellbent on moving to Florida in a misguided attempt to be himself. But after he’d realized he didn’t need to move to do that, he’d decided to stay in Michigan and go to State. He hadn’t quit the job. He enjoyed it, and it paid well, and, despite the overall hazards of magic and myth, it was probably the best job a teenager was going to find. His mom tolerated it, as long as his grades didn’t slip and he maintained a social life.
Besides, the extra money would help him avoid loans and maybe even help him aff
ord a car. Then he wouldn’t have to rely on rides from Pavel or Astrid or Leo.
“You like my boss, huh? I mean, I didn’t know he was your type. He’s a little eccentric for you.”
His mom rolled her eyes and poked his thigh with her foot. “You’re awful, kid. I am not into your boss.”
“Wait, why not? He’s smart, successful, and not on the bad-looking side.” Pavel might even be called unconventionally handsome, if someone was so inclined to remark on his appearance—which Bridger was not. “Granted, he’s not, like, Chris Evans hot, but he’s not bad.”
“Hemsworth, honey. If you’re going to pick a Chris for me, always go with Hemsworth.”
“Really?” Bridger narrowed his eyes and made a frame with his fingers, centering his mom in his imaginary photo. “I always pictured you with Evans. Pine as a close second. Then Pratt and then Hemsworth.”
She raised a finger. “That’s completely wrong. It’s like you don’t know me at all. I think we need to reevaluate our relationship. We’ve grown apart. We need an intervention of tacos and Marvel movies.”
Bridger dropped his hands and slouched into the couch cushions. “You know, everyone wonders where I get my mouth and penchant for theatrics. They never believe me when I say it’s my mom.”
She laughed.
“Okay, spill, who’d you pick for me? Which Chris?”
She waved her hand. “No Chris for you. They’re all too old. Besides, you’ve got Leo, and he’s pretty darn perfect for my little boy.”
Bridger’s cheeks heated. “Yeah, he is.”
“But if that doesn’t work out, I wouldn’t mind Tom Holland as a son-in-law.” Bridger gasped, scandalized. His mom threw a pillow at him. “Was he at your party?”
“Tom Holland? Um. No. Sorry to say.”
She rolled her eyes. “No, smartass. Leo. Was Leo able to make it to your party?”
“No, he had baseball practice. We’re going to do something together this weekend.”
“Uh huh,” she said, eyeing Bridger knowingly. “Do we need to have the safe sex talk?”
