“Did Raquel ever tell you about the time I was asleep and she did my makeup and painted my toenails?”
I look up and meet the gaze of the man sitting across from me. I think it’s her brother, Blake.
“No,” I laugh.
“Why would I have told her that?” Raquel asks, laughing.
He shrugs. “It’s a funny story,” he says. He looks back at me and takes a sip of his drink before launching into the tale.
“So, I would have been around eleven at the time, and Raquel, you were what? Eight?”
She nods. “Sounds about right.”
“Anyways, I had this big basketball game one Saturday morning. Our mom was away for work so our dad was in charge of us all weekend. Raquel thought it would be hilarious to sneak into my room that morning and draw all over my face with Mom’s lipstick and eyeliner. And boy, that stuff stained, let me tell you.”
I laugh, thinking of a younger version of Raquel, ever the artist, utilizing her mediums.
“Don’t forget, I painted your fingernailsandtoenails, too,” she says.
“How could I? They were hot pink and glittery! The guys gave me so much crap after that game.”
She snickers as he continues.
“Of course, I didn’t get up early enough to take it off, I was doing good just to get the makeup washed off. She drew a fake mustache on me and colored in my eyebrows with the eyeliner. I looked like a crazy person.”
“Well, you were,” Raquel says, nudging her brother’s shoulder.
“I almost busted her bedroom door down when I realized what she’d done,” Blake says. “Dad was so pissed and already at his wit’s end without Mom being home.”
“Being grounded was so worth it,” Raquel says, “seeing you play the championship game with hot pink, sparkly fingernails was the icing on top.”
“I still think those sparkles are what won us that game,” he says. “They blinded the other team.”
Raquel laughs loudly at those words.
“Do you have any siblings?” Blake asks me.
I shuffle in my seat. “Nope,” I say, “I’m an only child.”
“Bummer,” he says. He looks back at Raquel and adds, “We may have gotten on each other’s nerves when we were kids, but I don’t know what I’d do without my baby sis.” He grabs his glass and raises it, picking up his fork from the table. He dings it against the glass, getting everyone’s attention.
“To the birthday girl,” he says, in a toast, “to know you is to love you and I hope you have the best birthday possible.”
Everyone raises their glass and murmurs words of affection back to Raquel before taking a drink.
It isn’t long before the pizzas come out and conversation dies down. Everyone starts eating, mingling and laughing through bites of pizza and salad. Our waitress is working her butt off making sure everyone has refills and everything they need.
Once all of the dishes and empty cups have been cleared from the table, and stories of yesteryear discussed, Blake excuses himself. A few moments later, he returns with a cake for the birthday girl and places it in front of her. It’s tall, definitely a double-layer cake, covered in chocolate icing. He pulls a lighter out of his pocket andflicks it on, proceeding to light the candles on the cake. We all start singing to Raquel and cheer as she blows out the candles.
Blake disappears in search of more plates and a knife so we can cut the cake. I feel assaulted from all sides by the numerous conversations happening around me. Stories of Raquel from college, previous jobs, childhood friends, and so on. I just need a moment to myself to breathe.
No one pays any attention to me as I exit the party room. I walk over to the bar area and breathe a sigh of relief. It’s shockingly quiet here compared to the party room.
The bartender strides over to me as I sit down on a barstool. He’s tall, bearded, and dressed in a white band T-shirt that looks like it’s from the 80’s.
“What can I get you?” he asks.
“Actually, just a Dr. Pepper, if possible,” I say with a laugh. I play with my necklace, turning the stone over between my fingers. “I feel bad asking our waitress for another; she’s working her butt off.”
