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But I ate my pizza and talked with my friends, and they didn't treat me weird or anything. Even though Grampa and Gramma had been upstairs for a longtimeand I knew they were all mad at each other for some reason. But Billy, Matt, and Robbie didn't seem to notice or care. And when Gramma finally came back down, she announced that it was time to sing “Happy Birthday” and have cupcakes.
Mom didn't come downstairs.
Mom didn’t sing.
Mom didn't have a cupcake.
I bet Billy's mom sang and had a cupcake on his birthday. I bet Billy’s mom didn’t yell at him for having to pee. And then I was sad as I opened my presents and watched as my friends left. Gramma had asked if I wanted to sleep at Billy's house. She’d said she wanted me to because it was my birthday and I deserved to have fun with my friends, but I didn't want to.
Instead, I went to bed with Sully, feeling like a five-year-old instead of an eight-year-old because I cried into my pillow until I fell asleep and dreamed of walks with Gramma and fishing with Grampa.
“Soldier? Soldier, wake up, sunshine.”
My eyelids opened a crack to see Mom kneeling beside my bed and humming her sunshine song. She was crying, but she was also smiling, and in her hand, she held a cupcake with one lit candle standing in the center.
“You didn't think I'd let you go to bed without singing ‘Happy Birthday,’ did you?”
I sat up slowly, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and asked, “Why did you fight with Gramma and Grampa?”
She sighed and shook her head. “Because I screwed up again, baby. I … Ihave toget a new job, and I had a headache and took something I shouldn't have to make it better. The Bad Stuff, you know. But I'mgonnaclean myself up, okay? I promised them I would, and I'm promising you too. Everything's going to get better.”
She always promised. But unlike Gramma’s and Grampa’s, Mom’s promises broke easily.
“Okay, Mom.”
“Now”—she checked her watch and smiled—“it's eleveneleven, baby. You changed my life at this time eight years ago. I told you then you weregonnasave me, and I still believe that. I really, really do. You'regonnasave me, right, baby?”
I didn't know what she was talking about. I was only eight years old. I was just a kid, and I wasn’t Superman. How was I supposed to save anybody? What did she mean?
But I didn't bother asking because, sometimes, it was better to just let her talk, so I did.
“Sure, Mom.”
“Now, make a wish, sunshine. Make it a good one, okay?”
So, I squeezed my eyes shut, made a wish that this promise wouldn’t break, and blew out the candle, then watched a spiral of lingering smoke reach for the ceiling before it disappeared into the dark.
***
Age Eleven
Grampa's tackle box creaked open to reveal his treasured collection of bobbers and hooks. Last year and every year before it, he never let me touch them myself. I was too young, he'd said. I could hurt myself, he'd said. But now, he was showing me how to attach the hook to a line and bait it without his help.
“Look at you go,” he said, watching with a glimmer of pride reflecting in his tired eyes as I hooked the wriggling worm with ease.
I didn't poke myself once.
“Cool.” I grinned, holding the line up to smile at my handiwork.
Grampa laid a hand against my shoulder and squeezed. “Soon, you won't need me anymore.”
All at once, my pride was wiped away by an unfamiliar, unexplained sadness and dread. Billy's grandfather had died a couple of years ago, and ever since then, I'd been acutely aware of Grampa's wrinkled skin and white hair. He wasn't as fast as he used to be, and he couldn't go up and down the stairs without complaining about his knees. I was doing more of the chores around the house because Gramma had insisted Grampa couldn't do them anymore, and I didn't like it.
I didn't like that dead meant gone, and with every chore that Grampa couldn't do, I knew he was closer to being gone.
What am I going to do without him?
Maybe if I do all the chores, he’ll never be gone at all.
