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It was the very last vacation we spent together before we lost them, just before my birthday.
I make myself look at my dad's face, at his smile, then turn to look again at my mom's happy expression until the photo disappears and my eyes blur with tears, a pic of me hugging Anna as a little baby taking its place.
A painful memory rarely revisited but never forgotten pops into my mind.
It's the day of my fourteenth birthday, and I'm wearing black. I'm sitting on the porch, crying.
My birthday party had to be canceled yesterday.
My brother had to call the parents of all my friends to let them know that there wasn't going to be one because both our mom and dad had died. On the same day. At the same time. On their way back home to us. They had passed away on the side of the road before the paramedics could even reach them. All because of some fucking irresponsible drunk driver that T-boned their Volvo on the interstate the day before.
Jared didn't want to scar me any more than I already was, so the funeral was held back a few days, even though my birthday marked the third day since they had been killed.
So there wasn’t going to be a birthday party that day, but also no funeral and there would be no wake at all, not even in the following days because we didn't want to see anyone.
My white chocolate and hazelnut cream, three-layered birthday cake, sat untouched in the fridge.
When I had walked out to sit on the stairs and get some air, the dinner table was still covered in candles, sparklers, streamers, banners, packets of green and purple balloons, and 'Brave’-themed paper towels, cups, and plates —because Princess Merida was my favorite.
When I walked back in, I saw that Jared had taken care of that, and all the decorations were gone.
We ate nothing but birthday cake for the following three days, starting that night.
We didn't have the heart to throw it away.
Mom had worked hours to make it for me.
She joked that since she was a science teacher and baking was nothing but chemistry that she could make me a better one than they could ever buy, and Dad had bet her to do just that.
She was right. That cake was everything.
That night as I sat on my bed, staring at the wall, the little overhead light that Dad had installed over my door had flashed a few times, telling me that someone was pressing the little button outside.
I opened the door, and Jared was standing there holding a wooden tray with two tall glasses of milk, two forks, and two of the Merida-plates he must have saved just for that moment. A giant slice of birthday cake sat on each plate, and on one of the two, he had stuck a little sparkler that was still unlit.
I frowned at him. Signed that I didn't want cake. I didn't want to celebrate my birthday.
He walked into my room and sat the little tray on my desk.
He told me he wasn't going to let my birthday be destroyed forever because our parents wouldn't want that.
He wished me Happy Birthday and even sang-signed it to me, then he lit the sparkler and asked me to make a wish.
A childish part of me wanted to wish for our parents to come back. But I didn't. Instead, I wished for a sign. Something that would make me believe that Mom and Dad were still looking out for us. And I wished that both of us could see it soon.
I saw mine that night.
Really, barely a few minutes later, after we were done eating the cake.
Jared told me he had something to give me. Something he had found in our parent's closet, hidden away together with all of the birthday presents that my family had gotten me —presents that it would take me a year from that day to have the strength to open.
He gave me an envelope with my name on it. The calligraphy told me immediately that it was from Mom.
I stared at it for a while and then put it on my bed.
My brother squeezed my shoulder, retrieved his glass of milk, and left me alone after wishing me goodnight.
I picked up the envelope and carefully opened it. There was a single piece of paper in it, a handwritten note in bright purple and green ink —my favorite colors.
