“Okay,” I said. “I promise.”
She sat up straight. “Yeah?”
“Yup! I promise to be ready for the repercussions before I slaughter the fuckers who killed my dad.”
She slapped her forehead. “Sweet baby Jesus, you’re impossible.”
“And you love stubborn asses!” Proud of myself, I smacked my hand on the coffee table until I noticed something. “Speaking of stubborn asses. What is that?” I asked Noma while pointing at a gift wrapped in shiny blue paper and a red bow.
“Huh?” She got up after grabbing her canister. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”
Still pointing, I warned, “That’s a birthday present, isn’t it?”
Back to watering her jungle, she blew me off. “You said you didn’t want to celebrate your birthday, but you never said we can’t celebrate the fact you were born.”
Completely annoyed at this woman’s trickery, I grumbled, “Noma, this is still?—”
“Nope! Your birthday is not for two months. Stop baiting me for another fight.”
“I don’t want any reminders of National Death Day!”
“Your birthday has a purpose! And it’s not only people dying!”
“Ugh!” I flung myself back against the couch, refusing to open the present and grumbling words she ignored. Too young, I saw no other purpose but wisely kept from arguing further.
At least for tonight.
I forgot about the present until a few days later, when Noma surprised me with a cake. Well, to be exact, it wasn’t a cake. She made that very clear.
“What’s this?” I asked, pointing to the glass nine-by-thirteen-inch pan on the table. I was desperately trying to act unaffected, hoping the drool didn’t drip. But damn! Chocolate pudding, whipped cream, and crushed Oreo cookies with gummy worms stuck inside? Dirt dessert.
For real? More trickery?
“That?” She knew she had me. “Oh, I made your favorite.”
I pursed my lips together. “Because?”
“We’re celebrating your life date.”
Life date? “You mean my birthday!” I accused.
“It’s not a birthday cake.” Noma shrugged her slender shoulders. Too slender.
Is she losing more weight? “But it’s for my birthday.”
Noma’s eyes narrowed. “Life. Date.” She gestured to the chair at the dining table that didn’t see nearly as much use as the nook where she usually passed snacks and meals, as I sat on one of the stools. “Sit down.”
Because I valued my head still stuck on my neck, I listened, but I didn’t like it. Mumbling under my breath, I couldn’t resist pointing out that it was still three months away.
“Shush.” She walked to a cabinet and opened it, yanking out two bowls, two spoons, and a big serving spatula which she placed on the table. “Don’t move.”
I pouted. It wasn’t cute at my age, but I hated my birthday and any reminder of the parents and loved ones I lost. Anger festered below my skin like a boil that I couldn’t reach. My fingers twitched as she left the kitchen, only to return with two packages. One, with shiny blue paper and a red ribbon that I had already seen in the living room days earlier. The second, with green stars and a white ribbon.
Water stars…
Noma placed them both before me, giving me a stern look like she dared me to refuse, and began scooping dirt dessert into our bowls. I stared at the gifts, fighting the urge to pick them up and throw them out the window.
“Here.” Noma slid a bowl toward me. “Eat first.”
