“Why not tonight?” Dad offers.
All of us, caught a bit off guard by his suggestion, are quiet for a minute. On the one hand, bugs and humidity and other gross outdoorsy things. But then... Abuela’s house is so tiny, and eight people under one roof (and most of them in my room!) is no joke.
“Can we really?” asks Ellen, breaking the silence.
Dad looks to Abuela.
“All my tents are still out there in the barn. I’ve even got a few lanterns and sleeping mats,” she says.
“I don’t want to caaaaamp,” moans Willowdean.
“Well,” says Millie, “it’s Callie’s birthday, and if she wants to camp, we’re camping.”
“Come on,” I hear Ellen whisper. “It’ll be fun.”
Amanda hoots and whistles.
“But first,” I say, “cake!”
Abuela throws her hands up. “Yes! I’ll be right back.”
Dad dims the lights when she returns with a beautiful cake decorated with creamy-white whipped frosting and multicolored flowers all over, with sparkler candles that crackle and pop.
“‘Happy birthday, Ashley Cheeseburger’?” Ellen asks as she reads the cake from over my shoulders.
“Oh my God.” I cover my face with both hands. “Dad, what the hell?”
He laughs. “When Callie was a little girl,” my dad says, “she was very upset that she didn’t get to name herself, so she demanded that everyone call her Ashley, her name of choice.”
“And Cheeseburger?” asks Millie.
Abuela lets out a big belly laugh. “Well, we told her she’d have to pick out a new last name too.”
I turn to my dad, waving my hands in the air. “You named me Calista because Mom was anAlly McBealfan. No one even knows that show anymore!”
“Calista Alejandra Reyes,” says Abuela.
“So you chose Ashley Cheeseburger?” Hannah shakes her head. “That’s amazing.”
I shrug. “The other kids in my kindergarten class didn’t exactly have an easy time pronouncing Calista, okay?”
“Middle name Puddin’,” says my dad. “That was her grandmama’s nickname of choice. On her mother’s side.”
Millie snorts knowingly. “Oh, that’s good. Ashley Puddin’ Cheeseburger.”
“Whatever,” I say. “Just sing to me before these candles melt all over the cake.”
They all obey my command, but definitely not in unison. “Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you, Ashley Cheeseburger!”
“Ha. Ha,” I say. But I can’t help the smile on my face.
“Happy birthday to you!” they all finish.
“Make a wish!” shouts Amanda.
I pull in a deep breath and blow out every one of my seventeen candles. I don’t make a single wish, because I don’t believe in them.
Or do I? Because all I do right now is go to school, work for free, and go home, and sometimes my mind wanders to Mitch and what the hell his deal was when he turned me down under the bleachers. So maybe a small, little wish wouldn’t hurt. But as I sit here with every one of my candles blown out, I guess it’s too late to bother with wishes.
