Jenna nods to her husband, and he slides a large white box from the back of the van. “The bakery was running behind.”
“Still go around back,” Brie says, shooing Jenna off the porch. “The kids have been practicing all day how they are going to surprise their aunt.”
Yet another reason that I’m grateful for the preparation.
Once Jenna is gone, Brie reopens the door, and with Charlotte at my side, I tentatively step over the threshold, my arms wrapped across my chest to brace myself.
Owen springs out of the crawl space under the wide stairs. “Surprise!”
The word echoes off the wood paneling, followed by a chorus of voices, the shouts reverberating around the foyer and out the door still open behind me. While I’m not really intending to run, I’m glad I left it open. Unlike my sister, I’m not enamored of being in the center of anything, at least not without a book in my hand.
People seem to step right out of the paneling, like ghosts of all sizes in the hours after dark. I, on the other hand, wish I could fold myself back into the wall so they aren’t all staring at me.
And they are staring, waiting for me to say something brilliant, I suppose. My mouth hangs instead. Catching flies, my father used to say when I couldn’t find words. Oh, for a book to supply them for me.
Both my nephews race toward me, elbowing each other in the process. In seconds Owen is beside me, clinging to my leg. And Oscar—he’s yanking on my hand, pulling me toward the kitchen. “Come on, Aunt Callie.”
I glance back at Charlotte as the sea of people parts, and she’s smiling at me.
The sea follows us into the kitchen, filling the shared living and dining space. Jenna is beside the counter with her husband, both of them frantically lighting the last of thirty candles on the expanse of cake, like Piglet and Tigger lighting so many candles that Pooh loses sight of the cake.
“Would you care for a piece of my oh-what-a-surprise birthday cake?”
Like the candlelight, Pooh’s words flicker in my brain.
Some of the guests circled around us are from church and my college years; others are my story-time kids with their parents. I don’t see Devon or his father in the crowd, and at first, I’m relieved they haven’t come, but the guilt quickly follows. I should be thrilled to see Devon here even if he’s with his father. I should be thrilled to see everyone.
I suspect I’ll be feeling guilty a lot tonight.
Jenna rushes around the counter and gives me another hug as if she didn’t see me on the porch. “Come blow out your candles before we start the house on fire.”
“It might take all night,” someone quips from the back.
I glare in their direction. “Very funny.”
Jenna props up the flickering cake, the white icing framing a photograph of me in my Story Girl attire. The edges of the cake are frosted with books that look like bricks, the whole display reminding me of a fireplace glowing with flames.
Charlotte begins singing from the back of the room, her beautiful alto inviting the others to join her in the familiar song. As they sing, I read the words written in red icing to match my story-time attire.
Happy 30th, Callie
Our Favorite Story Girl
“Blow them out!” Owen shouts when the song ends, and everyone laughs.
I take a deep breath, but Brie stops me. “You have to make a wish first.”
My eyes close, but I can’t think of a single thing I’d wish for—itseems I have everything I could ever need here in this room. Then I wish for the only thing that comes to mind in that blur of a moment, that I could have my own family one day. A wish I’ll tell no one because I don’t want anyone in search of a man for me.
If only I could have a family without the heartache.
With a deep breath, I blow out every last candle, and the room erupts in applause. Then one by one, as if they’re teasing me, the flames reignite. In seconds, the entire cake is glowing again.
I groan. The children laugh. And I hear a few adults snicker as well.
When I look around the room this time, I’m smiling along with everyone else. “Who’s going to blow these out now?”
“Someone get a bowl of water,” Jenna shouts, but Brie already has a bowl ready. The kids slowly realize I’m serious—I am not blowing out thirty candles a second time—and a horde of them jump in to help me, blowing and then drowning the germ-infested wicks in the bowl before licking off the icing and strawberry cake clinging to the wax.
