Page 87 of The Moment I Knew

“Better?” Sebastian yelled back, grinning, as he spun the dial higher. He was going to blow out his ear drums one of these days.

“Watch your step,” Ainsley whispered, smirking as I sidestepped the stickiness of spilled soda just in time. She tugged me to the centre of the room. “It’s time for games!”

“I’m not sure I—” I started, and she elbowed me in the side.

I shoved her back gently, and she stumbled only a little, arms flailing, before catching herself with a dramatic spin. Her laughter bubbled out, loud and contagious, and I couldn’t help but let myself match it.

“Okay, okay, what’s the game?” I asked, still laughing, my stomach twisting in that good, chaotic way that only birthday parties can make you feel.

“Twister!” she yelled, pointing to the mat sprawled across the floor. “And don’t even think about cheating!”

I raised an eyebrow. “Cheating? Me?”

“Absolutely you!” she said, shoving a hand into my ribs. “Every single time. You’re so competitive.”

I dodged her hand, laughing harder. “You started it last time!”

“Lies!” she said, spinning herself toward the mat, landing on a green circle with a dramatic flourish. “Fine. You go first.”

I took a deep breath and stepped onto the mat, the vinyl cool under my bare feet. Max tripped over a balloon nearby and shouted something incomprehensible, while a couple of girls near the snack table squealed at the chaos. Sebastian was already sprawled halfway across the mat, arms flailing, trying to reach a yellow circle.

“Imogen! Left foot red!” Ainsley barked, laughing.

I bent, twisting awkwardly, and immediately toppled into her, sending us both tumbling onto the mat. She landed on top of me with a dramatic groan. “You’re heavy!” she accused, and I laughed so hard I could barely breathe.

“Yeah, well, you fell on me first!” I shot back, pushing her gently off.

Around us, the room was a mess of laughter, spilled snacks, and tangled limbs. A balloon bounced off the speaker, and I ducked just in time. Someone shouted “Spin the wheel!” but the wheel wasn’t even part of this game—it had somehow rolled onto the mat.

I glanced up at Ainsley, who was trying—and failing—not to laugh as she struggled to balance on one foot. I shook my head, smiling. “We’re hopeless.”

“We’re awesome,” she corrected, arms stretched wide as she wobbled precariously. “Hopeless is boring.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t stop grinning. “Fine, awesome it is.”

And just like that, we were tangled in the game, laughing, bumping into friends, shouting instructions, dodging rogue balloons, and trying not to fall. The world outside the party didn’t exist, and for a few glorious minutes, nothing mattered except spinning, falling, laughing, and the bright chaos of everyone together.

I felt the swell of the room—the chatter, the clatter, the laughter—but beneath it, an absence pressed at the edges of my mind. Every door opening or closing, every quick glance toward the hallway, set a tiny pulse of hope racing through me.

Five fifty-eight.

I heard the doorbell in my mind before it could even ring, imagined it, waited for it, and then reality hit: it didn’t. The silence after each game, each cheer, each clatter of a rolling dice was louder than the music itself. My stomach sank slightly, a subtle hollow twisting under my ribs. The air felt warmer here, thicker, like it had already been inhaled too many times by too many people, yet colder in that patch near the door where he wasn’t.

I kept moving, laughing, following Ainsley through whatever game came next, but every shift, every tilt of my head, every glance toward the entrance reminded me. Dad still wasn’t here yet.

Lavender dimmed the lights and clapped her hands once, sharply, and everyone turned their heads.“It’s time for cake!” she shouted, her voice bouncing against the walls. She stepped back, letting Mum move forward.

Mum’s hands were full, and I caught the slight wobble as she carried the cake into the center of the room. I held my breath without realizing it. The crowd parted just enough, murmuring and shifting, and my eyes followed every step. The candles wavered even before she set the cake down, tiny flames trembling in the drafts of moving bodies.

Ainsley grabbed my hand before I could step closer and squeezed. “Stay with me,” she whispered, and I could feel the warmth of her fingers, grounding me, keeping me from leaning forward and scanning the hallway one more time.

The cake hit the table with a soft thump. The frosting bumped slightly against the edge, and a few sprinkles bounced off, landing on the tablecloth. I noticed. I didn’t move to pick them up. My hands were too busy brushing against Ainsley’s arm, curling into a fist at the thought that the person who promised to be here wasn’t yet.

“Speech!” someone yelled, and a few heads turned, waiting.

“Absolutely not,” Ainsley said, nudging me gently with her elbow, her grin bright.

I smiled, lips pressed tight against the red lipstick. I could feel the heat from the candles brushing my cheeks, tickling, pulling a small flush up into my face. A tiny drop of wax hit the side of the cake and slid down; I flinched slightly, my eyes tracking it until it settled.