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Cee offers a half-hearted shrug. “Listen, you got a car and that’s what’s important, right?”
“Of course. I’m grateful.” I just don’t understand why Helen always finds a way to convince Dad that I don’t deserve things like my older siblings.
This is so typical of Helen.
Back when Isadora celebrated her sweet sixteen birthday with what I back then described as the best princess party, Dad promised me mine would be just as beautiful. But along came Helen and she said I was too old for a sweet sixteen party. Umm, how’s that possible when I was turning fucking sixteen? Either she’s stupid or just hates me.
Still, my father bought her logic and all I got was a dinner at her favorite restaurant and a boring pen.
“Maybe he’ll buy you a new car once she’s gone,” Cedric says as a way to make me feel better.
This makes me realize that my issue isn’t really what Dad gave me, but that his wife was once again able to manipulate him so that he wouldn’t give me what I want. Of all the wives we’ve dealt with Helen is by far the worst.I bet that’s why Izzy’s avoiding coming home, even considering a doctorate now. I know my sister is super smart and loves to learn, but grad school was her goal. Now because of the wicked bitch she’s going to be gone for another three years.
If only I could escape to Oregon for college. But, no, Helen insists I’m too immature to leave Seattle. Not even Spokane is allowed on the list of possible places to go to. It feels like I’m stuck in a cage and my caretaker doesn’t even like me.
What’s next? Selling our family home on the island so they can watch me more closely?
As we stand beside Cedric’s car, I can’t shake off the feeling of being trapped in Helen’s manipulative web. I pull open the passenger door and slide into the seat. The familiar scent of the car, a mix of leather and Cedric’s cologne, is oddly comforting.
Cee follows, settling into the driver’s seat with easy confidence. As he buckles his seat belt, he says lightly, “Let’s forget about them this weekend and just have fun, okay?”
But as he turns the key, starting the smooth purr of the engine, I blurt out, “Why do you think she has so much power over Dad?”
Cee lets out a half-hearted chuckle, the car rolling gently forward as he backs out of the driveway. “She has a magic pussy?” he suggests, trying to lighten the mood with his typical humor.
I glare at him, unamused at his crass attempt at a joke. “Don’t be gross.”
He holds up a hand in apology, steering onto the street. “I don’t know, really,” he says, serious again. “But it’s probably best to just go along with what they want. Stupid? Yeah, but it makes life easier.”
I digest his words silently. Is that really the only way—concession and compliance? Bitterness rises in my throat at the thought. There has to be another way . . . right?
“Is that why you always do whatever he says?” I probe further, seeking to understand his obedience.
“Yep,” he admits, a hint of bitterness creeping into his voice. “Karla was my own little fucking hell—remember her? Wife number four. But I never complained, did I?”
He briefly glances at me, his face hardening into a grim expression.
She was okay with me. “I had no issues with her,” I protest. “You two seemed to get along.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Pretend everything is cool, and when she goes, things will go back to normal.” His advice sounds so simple, yet the weight behind his words suggests it’s anything but.
I mull this over on the drive to the ferry, feeling a mix of frustration and resignation. It’s easy for him to say, “Let Helen be.” Meanwhile, she undermines me whenever Dad’s away.
Our conversation shifts to my tests and college applications. He warns me not to even think about applying to schools not pre-approved by our father. It limits my options drastically, but I bite back any complaints.
When we arrive at his apartment, I’m greeted by an unexpected sight. Streamers and balloons are everywhere, like a rainbow exploded in the room. John and his latest girl are the first to yell, “Surprise!” as soon as we cross the threshold. Then the rest follow. I notice Harper and Lyric, Gabe’s sisters, are here too. And maybe I’m not celebrating with Dad, but at least I have Cee with me.
I whirl around and wrap my arms around Cedric. “You’re the best brother in the world,” I say, my voice muffled against his shirt.
He responds with a gentle kiss on the top of my head, a smile in his voice. “I try.”
Gabe steps forward from the crowd, a birthday cake in his hands, the warm glow of the candles illuminating his face. He begins to sing “Happy Birthday,” rich, clear, and soulfully resonant, effortlessly carrying over the room.
And the cake might be the best. It has balloons and in the center it reads, “Happy Birthday, Ame” in periwinkle icing. It’s kind of adorable. This might be one of the best birthdays I’ve had in a long time.
* * *
After the cake, Gabe suggests we go to Thrice, a local music venue. One of my favorite bands, “Too Far From Grace,” is playing and the place is packed. Since his father owns the place we have front row seats, not that we use them—everyone is on their feet, dancing and singing along.
