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Back at home, a couple hours later, I'm itching to plop down on the couch and unwind. I'm beat. But as soon as I swing open the door and step inside, I'm met with a chorus of “Surprise!” My buddies and work pals are all here, waiting to celebrate my birthday. I'm blown away by the sight of balloons and the crowd. Miri's the one behind all this, her attention to detail and love washing away the day's exhaustion. I make my rounds, greeting everyone, as Miri waits for me with a cold one in her hand. She takes a swig then passes it to me as I peck her on the forehead. “Thanks, babe.”
“I love you,” she murmurs before planting a kiss on me.
“Look who's made it!” Rey nudges me, nodding toward the entryway. Seeing my kid brother Dean saunter in feels unreal, even with his wife Greta tagging along. I've got mixed feelings about her, but if Dean's cool with it, I can't interfere, even if she's driven a wedge between us.
I always got the sense that Greta had some sort of grudge against me and Miri, but I could never figure it out. Maybe it's our happiness, or our bond. Fuck knows, women’s brains are sometimes tricky. She had a knack for finding fault with everything and everyone, especially Miri. She always came off as thinking she was better than us, but she wasn't always like that. Before they tied the knot, she was a real sweetheart, even had a sense of humor.
I pull my brother into a bear hug, glad to have him here. Even though we live in the same town, it feels like we hardly ever cross paths.
“You're getting old before your time,” he teases, cracking me up. Dean may be the younger one, but he's the brain of the family. No wonder he's a top-notch heart surgeon.
“You know how it is, the older you get, the sexier you become.” I give him a cheeky wink as I take a swig of my beer.
“Or slower,” he chuckles, swiping it away.
I'm about to fire back when I catch his wife starting to pick on Miri.
Fuck, not again.
“Are these plastic glasses?” Greta asks with a look of disdain.
Miri downs her drink and replies with a grin, “Yep, Greta. It's to avoid washing a mountain of glasses after the party. Don't tell me you're volunteering to help with dishes?” Laughter erupts around us, leaving Greta red-faced.
The laughter and camaraderie lighten the atmosphere, and I manage to pull Dean into conversations with my buddies and a few rounds of poker. It could just be my imagination but it seems like Greta always shows up just when Dean starts to loosen up and enjoy himself, and it’s when his mood shifts. I keep an eye on them, and I notice Miri is doing the same. I know her sharp instincts spot more than I ever could, but I don’t miss how Greta's treating Dean tonight. She's manipulating him, belittling him, making him feel insignificant. I can't stand her malice, but Dean seems not to see it. It's like he's wearing blinders, and it makes me want to shake some sense into him.
I hardly recognize my brother anymore. I wanted to intervene a few times, but Miri stopped me, saying it'd just escalate the situation. Of course, we'd have stirred up a fight, so I took her advice and focused on enjoying the party, trying to keep Dean as far from that she-devil as possible.
I notice when Greta's not messing with Dean, she targets my wife. It's as if being nice and polite bores her. Both Dean and I look at the buffet.
“Are those Cuban sandwiches?” she asks in an annoying tone as she picks up a mini sandwich with two fingers as if it were rotten.
Miriana, who was chatting with Leila, Judge Carsin's wife, a long-time family friend, turns around with a forced smile. “Yes, they are mini, great as finger food.”
“Why? Were you afraid to spend more?” She flings it aside with a look of disgust.
“The buffet is better stocked than at a wedding,” Leila retorts in Miriana's defense, “but maybe too calories for your figure.”
Greta rolls her eyes, glancing around to make sure no one's heard, and moves closer to them.
“Karaoke time!” Dean announces, creating a distraction, receiving a collective cheer in response. “I'm sorry about Greta, we should probably get going.”
“No, we’re about to have fun.” I walk him toward the living room where everyone's started making song lists.
“What childish nonsense.” Greta scoffs as I walk past her. I spin around but Miriana steps in front of me, spilling the drink on her blouse.
“Damn, babe, I'm sorry.” I try to take the now-empty glasses from her hands.
Miriana bursts out laughing as the room falls silent. “If you wanted me to strip, all you had to do was ask.” She tiptoes to give me a kiss before handing me the glasses. “You owe me a new blouse.” She walks away toward the stairs as I watch her.
“What a loser,” Greta mutters.
“If you're going to disrespect my wife again, there's the door,” I growl, pointing at her. My patience is wearing thin. Greta pales but says nothing. I mingle with my guests who've made the effort to show up and celebrate my birthday. I can't help but wonder how long Miri's been planning this party. I mean, having my brother show up is the best surprise I could've hoped for.
When Miriana makes her grand entrance, we're belting out “West Coast” by One Republic at the top of our lungs. She joins the group of gals and busts out some dance moves. We sound like a broken record, but who gives a shit? We're having a blast and each song cracks us up. By now, it's become a tradition to host a karaoke or poker night at least once a month, and tonight couldn't be a better fit.
Despite everything, the birthday bash was a hit. Miriana made the night flawless, and for a brief moment, I managed to forget the hustle and bustle of work and family drama. I glance at my wife, her eyes sparkling with joy as I slice into the cake, and I count my blessings for being such a lucky guy.
