Ten & Levan

43. Forty Three

TEN

So, usually, my birthday goes like this

[8:00 AM]

· Wake up, get ready, have breakfast.

· Attend to birthday wishes on calls.

· Ignore ex-daddy's calls.

[9:30 AM]

· Chill, because calls are exhausting.

· Have orange juice.

[10:05 AM]

· Get out of the house.

· Visit one of the following places: dog shelter, home for the elderly, or church.

Yes, mom made me add church, and dog shelter it is for today.

[1:00 PM]

· Come back home on mom's orders.

· Ignore more of ex-daddy's calls.

· More chilling.

· Orange juice.

[1:45 PM]

· Get out of the house again. With mom.

· Accept mom's pleas to drive all the way to Nonna's place.

· Decline ex-daddy's calls. Turn the music up.

· Packaged orange juice.

[2:30 PM]

· Let mom and Nonna recount embarrassing childhood stories at lunch.

· Chilling extravaganza with cousins.

By the time it's four, the plan falls apart. I get tired of ignoring ex-daddy's calls, I get tired of chilling, I get so tired of chugging orange juice all day because it's almost given me a bad throat, and I get so damned tired of waiting, waiting on adventure.

"You know, Tenerife," says my Nonna, placing her wrinkled hand on mine, "you could come meet me on occasions other than birthdays and holidays too."

I tilt my head to a side, "And how would that be this special?" I ask, flashing her a smile. She rolls her eyes away.

"Stop buttering me up," she says, everyone on the table bursts into a round of laughter, including mom, who clearly hasn't had enough of it making fun of me all afternoon. "You just don't have any time to spare on me, you're too busy looking for new adventures!" she says to me.

I press my lips together, realizing I probably can't argue with that. My phone rings up just in time. Inside my head, I thank god a thousand times for saving me from any further roasting. I merrily excuse myself before rushing away from the table. I glance at the screen only when I'm no more in my family's sights to find out that it is, indeed, adventure calling.

"Number Eleven..." I say as soon as I pick up.

"Ten," he answers. I have to stop walking and do my breathing exercise to keep my face from splitting into two halves. I tell myself that even though his voice is a god-sent gift, I must remain calm.

"I was worried you'd forgotten about me completely," I say, kicking at the gravel in Nonna's driveway.

"We just met yesterday?" he says, I can almost see his frown.