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“I thought we weren’t doing this anymore,” he says, bitterness slipping through.

Marcus shrugs.

“We’re orphans now,” he says as if it’s a joke. “We need any excuse to celebrate.” He holds out the balloon. “The big three-five. You’re an old man, brother.”

Thirty-five. Sometimes I forget how much life he had before me. How much more of the world he’s been allowed to see.

My heart hurts for all of them. For the way they’ve lived in this house full of sadness, where joy feels almost inappropriate. For the way they speak about it like it’s normal.

I know what it’s like to go uncelebrated, sitting quietly in a room while other people’s lives are honored, feeling like time keeps passing and no one notices you’re still here.

Edwin’s expression remains unchanged. Without a word, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his knife. The balloon pops in an instant.

I flinch. The sound is like a gunshot.

The ribbon and foil fall to the floor in a limp curl. Nobody speaks. Marcus stares back at him with a straight line for a mouth.

Reese appears in the doorway, drawn by the noise. He steps inside, his eyes moving between the wreckage on the floor and Edwin before understanding dawns on his face. He picks up the torn balloon and looks at me apologetically.

“We stopped celebrating birthdays after Mom…” he says. “Then Dad got sick. It just wasn’t a thing anymore.”

Lucian comes in next, carrying a cupcake with a candle stuck in it. Still with a scowl on his face, acting like someone forced him to do this.

Edwin slumps back against the chaise, tilting his head.

“Really?”

“Pearl made them.” Lucian lights the candle with a Bic lighter. “She said it’s Mom’s recipe.”

Edwin stares at it like it’s a ghost. His eyes hold the memory of a woman he never knew was hurting so badly. None of his brothers feel the weight of their mother’s loss like he does. They don’t understand the tragedy yet.

Marcus points to the doorway. Tristan is leaning against the frame, arms crossed, clearly unconvinced this is a good idea.

“Play the song,” Marcus says.

Tristan protests. “He doesn’t want—”

“Play the fucking song, man.”

Marcus refuses to let anyone ruin this, and I love that.

Reese makes eye contact with me. He has a quiet intensity about him. Not playful like Marcus, or harsh like Lucian, or distant like Tristan. Reese looks like someone who will do whatever it takes to hold his brother together, even if it costs him.

With a sigh, Tristan pulls the needle off the record before sitting at the grand piano in the corner. The scars across his hands draw my attention as his fingers hover over the keys. He looks at Marcus with a raised brow. Marcus nods dramatically, ridiculous in the best way.

The birthday song comes from the keys. And to my surprise, they all sing. The sound fills the room and wraps itself around my heart, bringing with it a joy I think we’ve all been avoiding. I join in and reach for Edwin’s hand.

He gives me a look that tries for annoyance and doesn’t quite get there. Then his mouth twitches and the smallest smile appears.

“Make a wish,” I tell him when the song ends.

A flash of somberness crosses his face when he looks into my eyes, his mind going somewhere I can’t see. Then he leans forward to blow out the candle, and smoke curls upward in a thin trail.

I clap lightly and lean in to kiss his cheek. “Happy Birthday, Edwin.”

Lucian takes a huge bite of the cupcake with no remorse. “Just like Mom’s,” he says with his mouth full.

“Hey!” Edwin launches himself at his brother, wrestling him back onto the chaise, and suddenly they’re kids again.