Happy birthday to me.Well, technically, I turn 21 tomorrow and my boys are ready to celebrate. We have a one week break between now and the first round of finals, and we’re all grateful for it. I’m happy we’re moving on, but I’m under no illusion that it has much to do with the way we played. More likely, our opponents were more off their game than we were, and we capitalized on it. We made exactly the right plays at exactly the right time and luck was on our side. Hopefully, that lucky streak stays with us.
But tonight isn’t about hockey. Or even my friends. At the request of my mother, I’m heading back to Annapolis for another family dinner. I can’t believe it’s been more than a month since I was there. Fallon’s been dropping by The Chapel every chance she gets, and I’ve been keeping in touch with Em by text.
I’m not looking forward to dinner at my parents’ house, but how can I turn down a birthday dinner? That’s not what a dutiful son would do. And I’m nothing if not dutiful.
Still, time is not on my side tonight. Coach worked us hard at practice, so I grab a quick shower and am glad I thought to bring nice clothes along. I’m tying my tie when I hear a whistle from the corner of the room. I turn to see Ollie, grinning.
“You do clean up nice, Zabek. But, uh, did anyone tell you it’s a Wednesday night and we don’t have a game?”
“Yeah, I’m aware,” I say, checking myself in the mirror. “I’m heading back home for a family dinner.”
“Nice…or not, based on the look on your face?”
“It’s fine. But I’m running late and don’t want to get stuck in traffic.”
“Cool, don’t let me hold you up. Will you be at the bar tomorrow night? It’s your twenty-first, man. What do you want to bet Whit hired strippers?”
Crap. He’s probably right, I think, walking out the door and waving goodbye.
The drive home is uneventful, and I’m pulling into my parents’ driveway in no time. I grab my backpack from the front seat since Fallon left a bunch of stuff at The Chapel the last time she was there. I figured it was her way of slowly moving in, but apparently, this is stuff she desperately needs.
I walk inside and toss my bag on an armchair in the living room. I’m about to holler out and ask where everyone is, but then I hear my father’s voice.
“You have no say in this, Kimberly,” he tells my mother, his tone unforgiving. “As the head of this household, I have made this decision, and it’s final.”
I walk through the dining room and into the kitchen to find Fallon sitting at the counter, an angry look on her face. Predictably, my mom is crying, and my dad looks like he’s about to break something.
“Hey, what’s going on?” I ask, signing as I talk.
“Nothing new,” Fallon signs back. “Dad’s trying to control my life the way he controls yours.”
“What now?” I ask, looking at my mother.
But my father’s voice booms through the kitchen. “This has absolutely nothing to do with you, Booker, so I’ll thank you to stay out of it. Until you’re paying Fallon’s tuition, your opinion doesn’t matter.” Again, he’s just speaking loudly and slowly, as if his volume has anything to do with it. His absolute refusal to give my sister the dignity of basic communication makes my blood boil.
But I’m not the only one who’s ticked off.
Fallon stands and signs, “Right, because no one has a say in anything but you. What year do you think this is? In what world do you get to call all the shots just because you have a penis and a paycheck?”
As her words register, my mother gasps, and my father’s face turns red. But that doesn’t slow Fallon down. “I’m going to Sophie’s. I’m staying the night. Just try and stop me.” She pauses long enough to look at me. “Sorry, Book,” she signs, “but I can’t stay here.”
“Go,” I sign, and she grabs her keys and bag before my father can stop her. The three of us stand there in silence, and it occurs to me that either Emersyn isn’t home, or she’s upstairs, hiding from the chaos. I grab my phone from my pocket and fire off a quick text.
Booker: You ok? Where are you?
Em: At Dara’s working on a project. Her dad’s gonna drive me home soon so I don’t miss your birthday dinner.
Booker: Do yourself a favor and see if you can stay there.
Em: Got it. I take it you walked into a shitshow? I mean, I do every day, but you’re not as used to it. It’s gotten worse since you’ve been gone.
Em: I don’t mean that in a bad way.
My heart splinters. Both of my sisters are so strong, so tough. And what am I? A coward who colors within the lines.
Booker: Yeah, it’s bad. Fallon left to stay at Sophie’s, and I’m heading out. You good?
Em: Some birthday for you.
