by Deb Logan
*~*~*
Fists pounding on my bedroom door startled me awake. I lunged upright, glanced wildly around the room, and managed to comprehend the chorus of, "Wake up, Birthday Girl!" that echoed from the hall.
Brothers! You gotta love ‘em. It's the law; at least it is in my family. From the sound reverberating through my skull all six of them must have come home for the big celebration. Flattering...except it meant I'd have to spend my big day pretending I was Allie.
I grabbed a shoe from the floor and hurled it at the already besieged door. "All right, already. I'm up! Give it a rest."
Chortles sounded on the far side of the barrier, followed by a deeper bass shushing.
"Get a move on, Kitten," Mike commanded. The eldest of seven and a medical student to boot, Mike was accustomed to seizing control of a situation. "Mom's making French toast for breakfast. If these guys devour it all before you make it downstairs, she'll be in a mood all day."
I sprang from bed, leaped the intervening distance, and jerked the door open. Half a dozen boys in various states of early morning dishevelment blocked my path, while the sweet scent of maple syrup and frying bacon wafted through the air. "Outta my way!" I bellowed, elbowing my way into the hall. "No one's eating my birthday breakfast."
A race for the sugar erupted. We scrambled across the hall and down the stairs, barely making it to the kitchen with everyone still on their feet.
"Halt!" Dad's shout brought us all to attention, a ragged line of teens and twenty-somethings with straight backs and squared shoulders.
"Happy birthday, Dani," said Mom, turning from the griddle with a spatula in her hand. "Now, if all of you would be so kind as to march back up the stairs, wash faces and hands, and comb your hair, we'll have a civilized breakfast in a few minutes."
As one, the Ericksons deflated. We turned and my brothers tromped back up the stairs.
"Dani," called Dad, halting me in mid-step. "A moment, please."
I turned around wondering what I could've done. I couldn't be in trouble yet, I'd just woken up. Besides, it was my birthday.
"Yes, sir?"
Dad crossed the sunlit kitchen and wrapped me in a bear hug. He ruffled my still messy hair and smiled down at me. "Happy birthday, kiddo. Take your time in the bathroom. Nobody's eating 'til you get back."
I grinned, wriggled out of his arms and raced back upstairs. French toast! And the guys had to wait for me. Maybe I should take my time. Get dressed. Fix my hair. Would make-up be too over the top? I sniffed again, savoring the delicious aromas of non-store-bought delicacies. Nah. Not worth the wait. My mouth watered for French toast NOW!
