I put on an old sweatshirt and dirty pair of sweatpants and headed downstairs. My stomach was really growling, since it was well past noon, but I wasn’t in the mood to eat anything.
I grabbed the remote and plopped on top of the bumpy couch in the family room. I looked around and listened. For once, the house was quiet, almost eerily silent. There was no sign of my mother or brother. I could have heard a pin drop. I decided not to turn on the TV. Instead I rested my head and closed my eyes. I would relish the peace while it lasted, even as a rogue spring jutted through the cushion and jabbed me in my shoulder.
My cat, Princess, meowed, jumped on top of the couch and crept over toward me. She settled on my stomach. I tried to cuddle with her since I felt so desperately alone. Normally she wouldn’t let me hold her so tightly, but she must have sensed my sadness and allowed me to snuggle with her. I was so grateful because Princess was the only thing that was even remotely warm in the arctic-like house.
I didn’t realize it, but I had fallen back to sleep. My mother and brother startled me when they burst through the front door with armloads of shopping bags and a huge arrangement of helium balloons.
My mother rushed into the kitchen and shouted over her shoulder. “Happy birthday, Willow! Be right there.”
James marched over to me and stopped. He proudly presented me with the special Mylar bouquet and beamed. “Sixteen balloons altogether, Willow, ’cause you’re sixteen today!”
I forced a smile and took the strings. “Thanks.”
My mom waltzed into the room holding a very big, very chocolaty cake with sixteen candles ablaze on top. She stood next to my brother and they both began to sing, “Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you …”
Their melodious voices were drowned out by the voices in my head, by the absurdity of it all. Happy? What did I have to be happy about? Spending the day of my “special” sixteenth birthday all alone or spending the night with my preoccupied family, one with a new beau and the other with any kind of video game that involved killing another living thing.
As they finished their serenade, I blew out the candles, thanked them and rolled over so I could finish my nap.
“Don’t you want a piece of delicious chocolate cake, dear? It’s your favorite kind,” my mother asked my back.
“No, thanks, I’m still full from lunch,” I lied.
“Okay, then. I’ll wrap it up so you can have some later.”
As my mother walked away she informed me, “I hope it’s alright, Willow. I asked Brian if he’d like to join us for dinner tonight and he said he’d love to.”
My mom made sure to take cover in the kitchen and get out of my line of fire before dropping that bomb on me.
I clenched my teeth and bit my tongue, afraid of what I might say back to her.
Just then, my brother had the misfortune of switching on the television set and his beloved gaming system before settling into his new, rocking video chair.
In a split second, I flipped my body over, threw the remote at James and hit him square in the back of the head.
“Ow!” he screamed as he rubbed his skull.
“Don’t even try it,” I challenged through gritted teeth and narrowed eyes. “It’s my freakin’ birthday.”
I must have scared him because he jumped up and ran to his room where he remained for the rest of the afternoon, while I napped on and off, atop the most uncomfortable couch in the world.
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
My mom finally forced me off of the couch at five o’clock and told me to go and take a shower before Brian arrived to pick us up. She also told me that we’d be dining at Luigi’s. Did we really need to go there, I wondered? Why not just rub salt in my wounds while you’re at it, I wanted to scream.
Just when I was about to kindly protest, I realized that Luigi’s was the only Italian restaurant on the island and it was my favorite kind of food. But, despite the fact that they had the best calamari around, I wasn’t too sure I’d be eating much of anything at all that night.
I was surprised my mom didn’t offer to take us out to dinner at a restaurant on the mainland since it seemed to be Brian’s favorite thing to do lately; hop on the ferry and spend the day in and around Portland, even in the freezing temperatures, while I sat home with my burden of a brother.
I finished getting ready and went downstairs to wait for our ride. I wished my mother would have driven the three of us and that we could have met Brian there instead.
I decided to go outside to get the mail, hoping to get a birthday card from my grandmother. She always made sure to send me a card right on time, so that it would arrive at my house on the exact day of the anniversary of my birth. If it fell on a Sunday, she would send the card on Saturday and I’d have to promise not to open it until the next day.
That’s what my grandmother would always say to me about birthdays. “You only had one birthday, Willow. The rest are the anniversaries of that very special day on which you were born.”
I loved my grandma and wished we could have lived closer to her and my grandpa, even though his health wasn’t too good lately. She was always loving and attentive with James and me and I missed her more recently, now that my mother’s affection seemed to be aimed elsewhere.
I shivered against the cold and saw that the mailbox was empty. Either the mailman hadn’t come yet or my mom had already gotten it. I’d have to ask her later.
As I opened the front door to go back inside, the glare of a pair of headlights shone and settled on our blacktop. Rather quickly, the lights turned off along with the car’s engine.
I closed the door behind me, grabbed my heaviest winter coat and yelled upstairs to my mom, “Mr. Brian Roberts is here!”
• • •
My mother took forever to get ready, forcing me to make painful small talk with her boyfriend. James, as usual, was entranced in his own video world.
“Happy Birthday, Willow!” Brian bellowed as soon as he ducked and entered the family room.
“Thanks,” I said and wished I could have been struck with some sort of stomach virus at that very moment. Then I would have had no choice but to run upstairs, throw up, climb into bed and proclaim that I needed to stay in for the rest of the evening. Unfortunately, I wasn’t so lucky.
Ironically, my stomach rumbled loudly and Brian pointed to it and grinned.
“Sounds like someone’s hungry,” he said proudly, as if he were a brilliant gastroenterologist who had just made a life-saving diagnosis.
I forced a smile, turned away and rolled my eyes, knowing that Dr. Roberts was actually right. The growling and churning were due to the fact that I hadn’t eaten a thing all day, except for the lone Devil Dog I wolfed down right before my shower.
Finally my mother slowly, and with great care, descended the narrow old stairs, head held high, as if she were royalty.
I had never seen a grown man gush so much. “Laura, my dearest, you look absolutely divine.”
My mother blushed. “Why, thank you, Brian. You look very handsome yourself.”
At that very moment, I wanted to throw up, with or without the stomach bug.
• • •
We finally climbed into Brian’s car and headed over to the restaurant. I assumed it was really crowded inside because we couldn’t find a parking spot anywhere close to the front entrance.
“Can’t you drop us off at the door?” James whined.
My mother snapped her head, as well as her words, at my brother. “No! Not tonight!”
Brian parked at the out-of-business gas station next door and we all headed toward Luigi’s. I walked a few yards ahead of them. I wanted to get in and out of there as soon as possible and, in between, try to force some kind of food down my throat.
Brian and his humungous hand stopped me before I could open the front door.
“Here, birthday girl. Let me get that for you.”
I walked in and Brian gave our name to the young hostess. She sm
iled warmly up at him. I assumed she knew him, along with everybody else on the island. Apparently, Mr. Brian Roberts was the most sought after fifth grade teach over at Orchard Elementary School and, for the life of me, I couldn’t imagine why.
My mother and brother quickly scrambled inside behind us before being ushered toward a small, private room in the back of the restaurant. The lighting inside the main dining room was very dim, so we had to maneuver carefully past the overflowing tables. I couldn’t figure out how we jumped ahead of all the other people who were anxiously waiting to be seated. I was just so thankful not to be one of them.
The four of us stood outside the little room in back and waited while our hostess knocked on its closed door. Why would she be knocking, I wondered? Did it mean that other diners were in there and we’d have to be jammed together with them?
The hostess finally opened the door and stepped aside so we could enter. My mother gently pushed me forward so that I stood beyond the threshold alone. The room was pitch black. All of a sudden, bright lights burst on and I was temporarily blinded as a choir of unexpected voices shouted out, “Surprise!”
I stood there, stunned, and was overcome with joy as my teary eyes feasted upon a room full of friends and streamers, sweet sixteen signs and dozens of pink balloons, all in honor of me and the sixteenth anniversary of the very special day on which I was born.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
The night of my surprise sweet-sixteen birthday party had been a whirlwind. My friends lined up to greet me and to wish me a happy birthday. I couldn’t believe my mother had arranged a surprise party for me and that I had no idea about it whatsoever.
Taylor came up to me first and apologized. “I felt so bad yesterday having to cancel our plans at the last minute, but we wanted to surprise you.”
Erica added, “None of us thought that you ever should have planned your own birthday party, so we called your mom and she helped us arrange something even better!”
I smiled with appreciation, “Thank you.”
Megan and Victoria also told me how guilty they felt canceling our plans the night before, even though they knew it was for a good reason.
There were ten girls, in total, and we had the room completely to ourselves. My mom, brother and Brian were going to leave and sit at a table in the main dining. Before they left, James, as usual, protested.
“Why can’t we stay in here with Willow?”
“I’m sure your sister would rather be alone with her friends tonight,” my mom said as she pulled him by the scruff of his neck.
My mother gave me a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Have fun, dear.”
I hugged my mother back. “Thanks, Mom. I will.”
My friends and I ate delicious Italian food, gabbed, laughed and even gossiped. When it was time, they gave me their full attention as I opened each of their gifts. We finished the night with my favorite, double chocolate cake with chocolate frosting. I savored the moment as my friends gathered around me and sang, “Happy Birthday.” To me, for the first time in a very long time, it really was.
• • •
I thanked each of my guests as their rides arrived to pick them up. Some of the lucky girls even drove their own cars to the party. I envied them and hoped my mom would let me get my permit soon.
My mom paid the bill as Brian stood beside her and the waitress. I thanked my mother, again, by hugging her even tighter this time.
“You’re very welcome, Willow. I’m glad you had a nice time.”
Brian drove us home and I actually thanked him, too, for giving us a ride. I was so happy, I felt like I was walking on air.
The three of us stood at the front door while my mother unlocked it. Just as my mom and James started to walk in, I noticed that there was mail stuffed inside our mailbox. I guessed the mailman had delivered it late after all. I grabbed the pile before I followed them inside and bolted the door behind me.
James and my mom went straight to bed while I stood next to the front door flipping through junk mail, flyers and bills. I was searching for my grandmother’s birthday card and finally found it. I placed it on the very top and put the whole stack on the antique side table so I could take off my coat and scarf.
As I slipped off my jacket, my arm knocked some of the mail onto the floor, including my grandmother’s card. I bent over and collected the mail, but couldn’t find the card from my grandma anywhere.
I got on my hands and knees and searched around. It was nowhere to be found. How the heck could I have lost a card I was holding just a few seconds before?
I ducked underneath the side table and searched behind it. When I actually lay down flat on the floor, I could see a white envelope and the corner of a red one stuck between the table and the wall. I used my fingers to pry both of them from their secret hiding place.
I recognized my grandmother’s handwriting on the big white envelope right away and knew it was my birthday card, but I was unsure whom the red envelope was from even though it was addressed to me.
I opened my grandma’s card and smiled as I read it and, like always, she sent me a generous check. She signed it “Happy Anniversary, Willow. Love, Grandma & Grandpa.”
I put down the card and check and tore open the mysterious small, red envelope. It was a Christmas card with a picture of a fireplace and a decorated mantel on the front. I opened the inside and read:
“Willow,
MERRY you will be,
on CHRISTMAS you will see,
the joy TO be given,
like our savior, YOU are risen.”
And it was simply signed, “Michael.”
When did Michael send me a Christmas card, I wondered and how did it get stuck behind the table? I was puzzled at first, but thought back and suddenly remembered how it had come in the mail during Christmas break and I had intended to read it, but hurried out because Tessa was waiting for me in the driveway. It must have fallen off of the table like my grandmother’s card and been wedged back there the whole time.
Now that I solved the mystery of its arrival, I had to reread it to figure out what his words meant. More than that, I was baffled because I hadn’t seen nor heard from him since that terrible night on Thanksgiving. Why did he feel the need to reach out to me at all when he clearly was pissed off at me?
At the very least, the unexpected card meant that he was alive and, hopefully, doing well. Even so, why couldn’t Michael just call me and say, “Hi!” like a normal person? Why did he feel the need to send me a cryptic note instead, with a poem that didn’t make any sense?
I read the note again and noticed that one word in each line of the poem was capitalized. I kept rereading it and when I finally pulled out just the capitalized words and put them in a sentence, I realized that the message read: “MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU.”
Still, I was confused. It had been almost three weeks since Michael had sent me the card and I hadn’t heard another word from him in between. What was I to do? Thank him for the Christmas card or send him one after the fact?
I quickly realized that I couldn’t have sent him a card even if I wanted to because he didn’t write his address on the envelope. I had even tried to look up his address online through a free white pages website a while back, but there was no listing for him or his family.
Why did Michael Cooper do this to me? I had been feeling so joyful after my terrific birthday party, as if I were floating on a cloud and, now, his stupid note had totally burst my bubble and sent me crashing back to Earth.
I had moved on with my life and I thought Michael would have, too. I wished I hadn’t dropped my grandmother’s card. I never would have had to look for it and discovered it next to the mysterious red envelope. Along with my feelings for Michael E. Cooper it, too, would have been lost and forgotten forever.
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
The Saturday after my surprise party, my mom and I planned to take the ferry over to the mainland to go shopping for the day. I wa
nted browse around and try on some new clothes. I had received a lot of gift cards as birthday presents from my friends to some of the hippest stores in Portland.
Originally Brian and my brother were going to come along, too, but I told my mom I wanted it to be just us girls. Eventually she agreed and, instead, Brian stayed back at our house and watched my brother. This meant that Brian would, most likely, be watching the back of James’s head as he sat anchored in front of the television.
I told my mom that I thought James was addicted to his games, and my mom just shrugged it off. She must have realized this, too, deep down, but for my mom, it was all about convenience. Besides me, James’s gaming obsession became a safe, substitute babysitter to him.
On the boat ride over, I tried to stay as warm as possible. My mom sat and read one of her many books she downloaded on her new e-reader, a Christmas present from Brian.
I studied my mother as she sat and read. Her face would become very expressive depending on what she was reading, a frown, a smile or a grimace. Sometimes she would even chuckle out loud, drawing the attention of the other passengers. She kept on reading, though, completely engrossed in the words before her and oblivious to those around her.
Watching my mother’s love for reading, I thought back to the story about how I got my name. When I was little, my father would tell it to me over and over again as part of my nighttime routine. It was my favorite bedtime story.
My dad would make himself all comfortable and prop himself up at the foot of my bed. He would retell the story of how before he and my mom had kids, and at their first small, but lovely house, my father had planted a very special tree in the middle of their backyard. He had hoped that this tree would grow wide and tall enough so that my mother could sit under it and take refuge from the burning sun as she read and reread one of her many treasured books.
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