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“Poor Darius?” Orion, my brother who’s closest in age to me, huffs. “He’s Mom’s pet.”
My mom releases her hold on me and turns toward him. “I don’t have a favorite.”
He laughs. “Sure, Mom.”
I shake hands with Orion and hug my sister. “Happy birthday, Lis,” I use the nickname I gave her when I was too young to say her entire name.
“Thanks.”
“How’s it feel to be old?” I ask.
“I’ll let you know when I get there,” she sasses back.
“If you need any help operating your cell phone or computer, let me know,” I tease.
“Shut your face. I understand technology just fine,” she says.
“Here’s your present.” I hand off the purple gift bag.
“Aww, you got me something.” She smiles.
“I always get you something,” I remind her. “Orion’s the slouch who never does.”
“Hey, not all of us make a gazillion dollars like you do,” Orion defends himself.
Calista pulls the Coyotes sweatshirt from the bag with a squeal. “It’s so soft and it’ll be so warm.” Flipping the hoodie around, she snorts when she sees the name on the back. I know she expected it to say our last name, but instead it has my teammate Ryder’s last name. My sister has a thing for him, but she’d die before admitting it. And I’d murder him if he so much as looked her way. But it’s fun to have some ammunition to tease her with.
“This is why you’re my favorite brother.” She hugs me with one arm, the other one still gripping the sweatshirt.
My older brother, Christos, steps forward and we bump fists. “How’s it going, man?” I ask, acting like I didn’t just talk to him earlier today when we discussed the birthday surprise we planned out for our sister.
“It’s all good, bro. The Coyotes have been looking strong lately,” he says.
“Yeah, but the playoffs will tell the real tale,” I say.
“True, but at least your team is on an upward trajectory.”
“As of now.” I knock my fist against my head. “Knock on wood. We know how quickly that can change.” I’m always superstitious about anyone complimenting me or my team. Especially as we get closer to the playoffs.
“Why don’t we all sit down and have some dinner,” my mom suggests.
“Give us a few minutes. I want to show Orion and Christos something.”
“Don’t get lost. I don’t want the food getting cold,” she tells us.
I tip my head toward the front of the house and both of my brothers follow me. I wait until we’re in the entryway to speak.
“I got the t-shirts we talked about.” Opening the paper bag I left on the table, I pull them out and hand one to each of my brothers. I hold mine up in front of me, and we all snicker. I had them made using an unflattering picture of Calista that Christos unexpectedly snapped after she woke from a drunken night a few years ago. Her tousled hair looks like a bird built a nest somewhere in the dark strands, and her expression gives new meaning to the phrase “resting bitch face.” An oversized version of her head floats in the middle of a sea of black material with the words “THRILLED TO BE THIRTY” written across the top.
The three of us yank our shirts off and replace them with the prank ones.
“Five bucks says she rolls her eyes when she sees us,” Orion says.
“I’d be dumb to accept that bet, even if it’s only five dollars. She rolls her eyes at most things we do,” Christos points out.
I nod. “True. We should get back before Mom yells at us.”
“Wouldn’t want to upset Mommy.” Christos pinches my cheek, mocking me.
