14
Mom finally comes home two days before the day my twelve year old self swore he would freeze and nullify from the calendar forever.
My birthday.
She came back because my father had already invited the Nelsons to dinner.
At night, I witness the both of them participate in something bearing a close likeliness to a conversation by definition.
What decoration shall go up. The grass on the lawn has hit its seasonal growth spurt and needs a trimming, how many inches though. Or if it is time we traded the current dinner table for a bigger one now.
It is only so far that hearts can drift away before the distance translates itself to metres.
Mom eventually looks over at my direction and says, a smile stretching across her face, "Why don't you invite your friend too?"
I know from intuition that my father is not super thrilled with that offer being put forth and it being a possibility. Too bad for him I can go to whatever extent to cause him discomfort at this point.
"Anastasia?" My eyebrows perk up ingenuously.
"Yes, her." She nods. Dad cuts off an unnaturally big piece of his rare-medium steak and chews on it with an intensity of a metal grinder. I smirk.
"Okay. I'll ask her. But I don't want an extravagant dinner like last time. Just a family dinner."
Last time, all of the Manhattan's elite ended up in our living room where Dad got roaring drunk, Mom slipped on champagne and broke her ankle, none of which I was present to witness or manage as Charlotte and I had already made our own escapade early on in the evening to the rooftop and spent the night together as our parents ripped the Earth apart trying to find us.
Dad finally butts in. "Are you joking? John Baxter's only son's birthday is never just a family dinner and you are well aware. Besides, it is good from a social standpoint to be indulging in the finer luxuries of life."
"Then do not count on me to show up." I smile, looking him dead in the eye and see the hatred glare back.
"Fine." He relents.
I wake up to a cacophonous screeching from the living room.
I get up to stretch my legs only to discover preparations had already started in full swing, so much so that the brand new vintage gothic Tudor chandelier, swinging from its hinges, almost hits me on the head.
"Brooklyn, are you okay!" Mom shouts from the ground floor.
"Yes," I mumble to myself.
She had climbed up the stairs by then. "I'm really sorry. The older chandelier did not go with the theme."
"Who cares?" I groan.
She frowns. "I do. Is your guest coming?"
I forgot to call her. "Yes."
"Good. Just a family dinner, like you wanted." She smiles before walking off again.
I dial Anastasia. "What's up-"
"You are invited to my house today for dinner."
"Okay. Why?"
"It's my birthday dinner."
"Happy! -"
"Uh, uh. I am going stop you before you can finish that sentence."
"But it is a happy occasion. It's your birthday!"
"No. I don't like it. I don't like birthdays."
"Okay then. What is with the dinner? Is it casual or fancy, when do I show up?"
"Whenever."
"And what's the dress code?"
"You want the truth?"
"Hit me."
"Everyone will be overdressed to my taste."
"Oh. Okay. Got it. I will be there at 7."
"Cool."
"Cool. Bye."
Someone had put my clothes on my bed while I was in the shower.
A black Armani classic. Red tie. Crisp white shirt. I always found tuxedos really funny, the tie acting as the decisive gauge between a wedding and a funeral.
I wonder what this will turn out to be.
A knock on the door breaks my reverie. The door immediately parts to lay Charlotte out in my plain view.
"Happy birthday, Brook," she cooes, drifting in smoothly.
"Thank you, Charlotte. I think our parents are downstairs." I reply back curtly.
"I just wanted to talk to you."
"We can talk downstairs."
"Alone. I want to talk to you alone."
A sound of wheels pulling up against the newly laid gravels makes me look out of my window.
"Remember your last birthday?"
"Oh. Wait. My date is here." I move past Charlotte and run downstairs, thankful.
I pull the door open and Mr. Collins stops, his hand outstretched towards the doorbell about to press the button.
Anastasia smiles. "Hello, Brooklyn. I did not get a gift."
She wore hair down and tucked behind her ears. The featherweight fabric of her red flowery sundress moves along with the little gusts of wind. Her blue sneakers look unfathomably out of place.
I smile back. "Perfect! Thank you."
Mr. Collins looks on, thoroughly confused.
I tell him I will be dropping her home and he shakes me hand and leaves after waving goodbye to Anastasia.
"You look nice." She says in a matter-of-factly way.
"Rule number one. Never wish me on my birthday. Rule number two. Never compliment me on my birthday."
She shakes her head. "Got it, chief."
I introduce the table to Anastasia as we sit down. My mother gave her a kiss on the cheek when she wheeled in, telling her she was happy she came. My father nodded and no longer acknowledged her.
Truth be told, I am both terrified and embarrassed of what I am about to put her through.
"So, Brooklyn. Summer break is here. What are you doing?" Harold asks me for the sake of asking something to the object of the event over the sound of him vigorously spooning the risotto.
Charlotte quite evidently does not approve of Anastasia's presence. I see her shoot looks of utter disgust and disappointment at her every once in a while.
When I first announced Anastasia, she pointed at her shoes and sniggered, "Oh dear. What are those?"
Anastasia looked down at her feet and said, "Shoes. Got them at Walmart. Real comfy."
Charlotte swaggered in and took the seat right next to me but my mother's rule 'invited next to invitee' compelled her to grudgingly move away.
"Nothing special yet," I answer in a monotone. I prefer their conversations to be restricted to the stock exchange in between themselves, leaving me out.
"Charlotte and I are taking a break to chill in Iceland. I have been meaning to ask you this and what better hour than right now. We have not gotten together as friends and family in a long time. What say we all take this trip together, John?"
"I think it is a magnificent idea."
My heart sinks to some confounded depths.
I make eye contact with Charlotte and she smirks deviously.
Oh dear Lord.
"I am sorry. I can't." I blabber out.
The comforting sound of cutlery ceases all at once into a gut wrenchingly awkward silence.
"I already made plans with Anastasia."
She had been playing with her fork. She lets go of it and is now looking at me, eyebrows raised.
"What plans? Can I come too?" Charlotte speaks up.
I reach under the table and feel around for Anastasia's hand, which she promptly pulls back and continues to stare me down through her narrowed down eyes.
"I could not come up with anything. So she planned something and was supposed to tell me today," I say in one breath.
"What plans, Anastasia?" Charlotte immediately moves on to her.
Okay, Anastasia. You got this. Anything. Say anything.
She takes a deep breath in. "Uh...a road trip?"
"To?" All eyes on Ana now.
ANYTHING AT ALL.
"Um. Lollapalooza?"
"Perfect!" I shout.
"What is that?" Harold asks. I feel the relief gush in me, fill me up to the brim and spill onto the space around me.
"It is a music festival, dad." Charlotte gives him the quickest answer possible. "I want to come too."
"Not a chance, Charlotte. You promised me we would hang out before you join college." Harold frowns at her.
"But Dad -"
"No. In this family, we keep our promises."
"I think it is a wonderful idea," Mom chimes in, sensing the tension. "Is your family okay with it, Anastasia?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Okay then. I hope you have fun and be responsible. When do you start?"
"We will decide that," I say.
"Wonderful! Let's finish dinner now."
The table loses itself to the stock market yet again, leaving me getting steely eyed stares from Anastasia.
I try my mortal best to not have Ana's skirt ride up as I put in her the passenger's seat. She has not exchanged a word with me throughout dinner.
I shut the door with an unusual fatigue, probably from lying.
As I'm about to lay my head back against the headrest, a hand thwacks my face.
In a haste to move away, along with the shock and a sharp burning on my cheek, my head bumps hard against the window frame.
I see Anastasia looming over me, her fist raised.
"Why'd you hit me!" I shout.
She shouts back, "There is no rule that says I can't!"
A/N: Is this okay?