Oddly enough, she doesn’t.
The flames topping all eight candles—representing her seventy-eighth year—sink lower in the awkward pause.
"Well," my daughter Lucy says as the tiny flames descend toward the lemon-of-all-flavors cake, "are you going to blow out your candles?"
Nini darts a cutting glare at Lucy; her lips pursed over her teeth.
"Come on," Martin says softly, "you want to make a wish, don't you?"
Nini turns the look in his direction. "You superstitious fool!"
“Nini," Mom and I blurt out in unison.
I shoot Martin anI’m sorrylook, and find that his face is hidden in his hands as his shoulders bounce. Lucy mirrors the action beside him, audibly fighting laughter of her own. At least they have a sense of humor about it. If they were any younger, the pair would be traumatized by the horrors of living withNini the Meanie.
"Are you going to blow out your candles, or should we just throw water on you instead?" Dad’s patience is wearing faster than the wax on the candles, most of which is puddled beneath the shrinking flames.
Nini lifts her chin proudly as a light flickers in her beady eyes—a light not related to the candles. An idea has popped into that narrow head of hers, and that’s usually not a good thing.
Slowly then, she angles her face toward mine, fixes her lively eyes on me, and grins with her nostrils.
Dread stirs low in my gut.
"You,”she demands, jabbing a bony finger in my direction. “Youblow the candles out.”
All eyes settle on me, causing the heat in my chest to climb up my neck. I glance at my parents, my sister, and my kids, feeling oddly exposed in the dreadful pause. Like any good bully, Nini has sniffed out the weakest of the bunch, the one she can order around, and she’s calling me out to prove it.
I stare at the cake, willing the small flames to snuff out in the pooled wax already. I spin the bracelet on my wrist as I contemplate. What’s the big deal? It’s not like she asked me to slit someone’s throat or anything. Still, I can’t ignore the fact that this is a power play on her end. A bizarre power play, granted. Possibly one of the most bizarre in human history.
I lock eyes with my sister Annica across the table.“Should I?”I mouth, shrugging.
She shakes her head adamantly.
"I’ll blow them out for you, Nini," Martin offers.
Lucy puts a hand on his shoulder. "No. Nini is supposed to do it. It'sherbirthday. Unlessshe'sthe superstitious one. I have a friend who thinks it’s bad luck to blow out her own candles. I bet that’s?—"
Nini waves a scrawny hand in the air. "Ah, hush, you." Then, to my amazement, the crotchety old woman huffs out every candle in one blow. The withered wicks smolder and smoke. "There!” She pins a glare at Lucy. "Happy?"
Lucy grins wide. "Yep."
Mom douses the discomfort by asking Martin to retrieve the dessert plates and silverware.
Annica approaches me from behind and leans close to my ear. "I can't believe you actuallylivehere."
My nostrils flare as I shake my head. I can’t believe it either. “Hey,” I say, “remember when we tried to fool our teachers one day in school by wearing each other's clothes and going to one another's classes?" Not that we’re twins or anything, but we did look an awful lot alike, and it was worth a try.
Annica giggles ruefully. "Don't even think about it.” She lifts a hand as Mom cuts into the cake. “I'll take a piece to go, Mom, if you don't mind.”
"I hate you," I mumble under my breath. Mom dishes out the cake and distributes it throughout the table before placing Annica’s in a to-go box.
"Where’d you get those take-out boxes?” Annica asks.
“Lucy found them on TikTok,” Dad says rather cheerfully. It’d be fair to say his bad mood was absorbed by the compliment or the cake, but it’s actually Lucy who does that; the two have a special bond.
“It’s better than sending all my Tupperware home with you only to never see them again,” Mom adds.
"Oh, I was supposed to give those back?” Annica secures the to-go box and plants a kiss on Mom's cheek. "Thanks, Mom. Love you. And about the tattoo? I say go for it." She turns to me. “Walk me out, will you?"
