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Brontë
“Happy birthday!”
Silas and Jenson run into my arms, barely letting me make it through the front door of their house.
“Thank you, boys!” I take turns hugging each of them, swinging Jenson around a few times.
“We got you a present,” Silas says matter-of-factly.
“Oh, how exciting!” I crouch down to meet them at eye level. “Let me guess,” I say, tapping my chin like I’m thinking hard. “Is it a dinosaur egg?”
“No!” Jenson shouts.
“Oh!” I clap my hands together. “It’s a transformer, isn’t it!”
Silas rolls his eyes in exasperation, clearly already too old for my silly games.
“No silly.” Jenson props both hands on his hips as he steps nose to nose with me. “Optimus Prime is too big!” His hands dart out over his head.
“Well, you boys have stumped me then. I’m all out of guesses.”
“Mom, can she open it now?” Jenson asks Chantelle as he jumps up and down in excitement.
“She will open it later with her other presents.”
“Awww, why not now?” he says, his lower lip pooching out.
“After cake, Jenson; you know this. Happy birthday, Brontë.” Chantelle turns to me and pulls me in for a warm hug.
“Thank you. You really didn’t need to go through all the trouble of this.” I motion toward the beautiful balloon arch and the six-foot-wide banner that hangs in their atrium.
“Nonsense. I know you’re only ten years younger, but you’re the only daughter I have whom I get to spoil with pretty stuff like this instead of baseball and dinosaurs.” She whispers the last part, throwing me a wink.
“There’s the birthday girl!” My dad walks around the corner, arms spread wide as he pulls me in for a hug. “Come here.”
“Thanks, Dad.” He loops his arm around my shoulders as we make our way toward the kitchen.
“You need to see this cake your stepmom had made for you. You’re going to flip.”
We walk into the kitchen and I gasp when I see the five-tier cake on the counter. The base icing is a pale pink, my favorite color, with a cascading waterfall of beautiful daisies, my favorite flower.
“Your father said you loved daisies; I hope that’s still the case?” Chantelle looks at me questioningly, and I nod.
“You remembered?” I look over at my dad who’s admiring the cake, his arm still around my shoulders.
“Of course I remembered. I know I wasn’t present, Brontë. I’ve got so much to make up for, but I remember so many things about you.” He says the words in a hushed tone, almost as if he’s saying them to himself. When he turns to look at me, I see tears in his eyes.
“Can we just eat it now already?” Silas interrupts with an exasperated tone, making us all laugh. “It just seems silly to wait until later. There’s enough for us to eat some now and some later.” He has one hand on his hip, the other flipped palm up for emphasis.
“No. You boys follow Mrs. Ludlow and go put your swim trunks on. You promised me a cannonball contest.” Chantelle turns Silas around by his shoulders and swats him playfully on the behind. “I bet your sister wants to help me judge so make sure you boys try your hardest.”
“A cannonball contest? How fun!” I clap and grab Silas’ hand, Jenson running up to grab my other hand. “I’ll help the boys change. I’m going to put my suit on too,” I say as I take them upstairs.
After we change, I bring the boys back downstairs and we peek around the corner of the French doors that lead out to the pool. Chantelle is reclining in her chair, her long legs outstretched, a pair of cat eye sunglasses perched high on her nose. She looks like a throwback to one of those fifties bombshells with her big floppy black-and-white hat.
“Okay, so remember what we talked about? Your mom is out there in her chair so let’s go surprise her. On the count of three we’ll run out and shout ‘cannonball’ and jump in, okay?”
“Got it,” Silas says, giving me an enthusiastic double thumbs-up which Jenson watches him do, then copies.
