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“Maybe I’ll call her on Christmas,” I said, even though I had no intentions of doing so.
“It’s your birthday, Clem. And Christmas is in six weeks.”
“Speaking of Christmas…,” I started. He didn’t let me finish.
“Madison and Tyler are coming, and so are you. I’m not letting you spend Christmas alone.”
Except I wouldn’t be alone. But I didn’t want to admit to myself that I preferred the company of Elizabeth Cole and the men in this house. And I certainly, couldn’t tell my father that. But I already had a picture in my head what Christmas would be like here. And it was a nicer picture than the one I would participate in Seattle.
My father wasn’t the only reason for my sour birthday mood. Elizabeth’s English ex-boyfriend, aka mymentor, turned out to be a pretentious, snarky, middle-aged creep that I just couldn’t imagine with the sweet soccer mom that was determined to throw me the best birthday party ever.
He used a lot of words to qualify my pieces. The first few pictures I sent him were evaluated asboring.I got that. He was working in this industry for decades with some of the biggest international brands. I could acceptboring, even though I had the gut feeling he was just genuinely disappointed in my work. After all, the point was to get some advice, and he obviously was as direct as one could be.
But the more we texted back and forth, the more he got annoyed with me. Boring became awful, dreadful, rubbish. I even got a whole sentence once.
“You should quit.”
I had sent him a photo of the best necklace I ever made. That was his response.
You should quit.
At first it pissed me off. If he was here and not in London, I would probably go find him and say a few things and then end my speech with the middle finger. But this was not an option. And I could never embarrass Elizabeth like that, anyway.
But I was walking around, asking the girls in school to let me take pictures of their necks and ears, so I could show him my work. And he wasn’t even mentoring me. He was just insulting me.
Eventually the thought stuck with me. What if I wasn’t good enough? What if I really should quit?
The logical part of my brain told me that he was just a mean old jerk, and I should ignore his nasty remarks. The emotional one, however, wanted to crawl under a rock if possible, with all therubbishI made, and stay there until everyone I knew forgot I ever made jewelry.
I felt the pressure of making this thing work. I had to stick it to my mother. I didn’t want to be like Madison. Depending on my parents for years to come until I found a job they approved of and then start answering their other demands. I assumed my big sister was about to the pressured with a marriage-mortgage-children plan about her life, since she was mom’s perfect little princess who never failed to deliver on anyone’s expectations.
So, I sent this Duncan dude a picture of a new necklace I was still only sketching. It wasn’t ready. But it was different from all I’ve sent him so far. He had seen the photo for hours now and replied nothing. I hated the fact I was checking my phone every five minutes, but I still did it throughout the day.
When I got home from school, I was already thinking about calling the whole birthday party off. I felt guilty, because I was sure Elizabeth went all in for this one, but I pushed the feeling aside as I did with guilt in general, and figured she would get over it.
And then I got inside the house.
The ceiling of the living room was covered in pink and white balloons. There was a huge Happy Birthday banner hanging on the wall and the number eighteen made out of, yes, balloons. It would probably reach my shoulder. The room looked awesome. And I felt warmth inside my chest. To have someone doing that for me.
I heard Elizabeth’s laughter from the kitchen. She sounded even more excited and happy than usual.
I can do this for her. She did all that for me.
I walked towards the kitchen, and I heard a familiar voice. One that I haven’t heard in person in months. My eyes and nose started burning.
Five seconds later, I was already squeezing the hell out of my brother who was half laughing, half trying to get away from my hug.
“What the hell have you done with my sister?” he asked Elizabeth while he was pealing me off of him. “Are you a hugger now, little monster?”, he frowned, but I knew he was joking.
“Are you here for my birthday?” I grinned.
“Shit! It’s your birthday?” he tried to look shocked. “Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he belittled it.
“Are dad and Madison…,” I started, but he didn’t let me finish my question.
“No,” he shook his head. “They’re not coming. I’m all you got. Sorry about that,” Tyler smiled and I did the same.
“I don’t care. You’re my favorite, anyway.”
