My older sister, Josephine, waves a hand in our mother’s direction as she saunters around the table to embrace me.
“Happy birthday, little sis," she says, then pats me on the head like a child before running her fingers through my hair. I roll my eyes; I've tried to break Josephine of this habit, but it must be a protective older sister thing.
Wesley, my younger teenage brother, gives me a bro hug with a chest bump that sends me staggering into the table.
“Oh shit, sorry!” he says, gripping my shoulders to steady me, his face caught in a grimace.
“Wesley! Language, please,” our mother admonishes as she flips a napkin into her lap.
I sit down between my dad and sister, and beam around at my family. It’s not often we manage to all gather together like this, and I’m so glad they were able to meet up on my birthday. This one is already turning out better than the last.
My family are all feline shifters, and their animals are strikingly appropriate for each of their personalities. My dad shifts into a large house-cat, with long, fluffy fur and a penchant for naps. My older sister’s animal is a sleek black panther. She’s fiercely loyal, always looking out for others. Wesley shifts into a bobcat; when he was younger he was super cute, but now that he’s in his last year of high school, his bobcat’s sneaky demeanor definitely compliments his often snarky attitude. Thankfully, today he seems to be in a good mood, likely due to the massive stack of pancakes he’ll be devouring.
Lastly, my mom, strong and regal, undoubtedly the matriarch of the family, shifts into a beautiful Siberian Tiger. As a child, I always loved petting her thick striped fur when the family all shifted together.
Well, all except for me, of course. My shifts didn’t start happening within the normal age range of five to ten like every other shifter we know, and instead began long after I had given up hope of ever shifting at all, exactly one year ago.
Despite being my “golden birthday” as they say—turning twenty-two on June twenty-second—my last birthday wasnota favorite, and I blink away the memories of that awkwardly embarrassing day. Between my first ever shift, an awkward half-shift at that, plus it being in public, in front of both friends and family, it was one of the worst days of my life. Not only was it physically painful, but the mental stress it’s brought to my life has been unbearable. I’m constantly anxious now, worried about shifting, wondering when it’s going to happen, and how long it’ll last, and if I’ll ever have control of my life again.
Here’s to hoping twenty-three goes better,I think, mentally crossing my fingers for extra luck.
“So, darling.” My mother pauses for a sip of water as she looks over the rim of the glass in my direction. “Any new lovers of late?”
“MOM.” Wesley’s wide eyes convey his horror, but I’m not surprised. Mom loves to make a statement and I've gotten used to the nosy nature of her questions.
“What? I’m only asking because I care," she says to Wesley, then turns back to me. “No cute girls or boys at work you might be interested in?”
“Ew, Mom,” Josephine cuts in this time. “First off, girls or boys? She’s turning twenty-three, not thirteen. Secondly, lay off! It’s her birthday.”
While she pouts at the rebuke, my dad pats her arm to comfort her, then turns to me as well.
“How’s work, sweetie?” he asks, and I do my best to hold in the cringe. I hoped to avoid directly lying to them, but here it is.
“Oh, you know," I say, eyes directed at the menu in my hands. “Work is work. How’s everything with you all?”
I can feel my sister’s inscrutable gaze drilling into me, but Iignore it, and when no one responds quickly enough, I fill the silence.
“These maple donuts sound amazing. Should we get some for the table?” I look to my brother, who is always ready for more food, and he unknowingly jumps to my rescue.
“I’m always down for donuts, I’ll split with you," he says, and I chuckle at his ambition. There’s no way I’m eating half of that donut plate, but he can think what he wants.
The conversation picks up around me, ebbing and flowing, and I enjoy listening to my siblings poke at each other, my mother playing mediator while my dad relaxes next to me. Thankfully, no one brings up my shifting, and I know the only reason they refrain is so they don’t add strain to my birthday or bring down the mood. The last thing anyone wants is a reminder of my breakdown last year.
As the food disappears and the meal winds down, I tap my glass lightly with my fingernail.
“I wanted to say thank you for making the effort to be here. I know you’re all busy and it’s tough to make all our schedules align, but after the last year,” my voice hitches and my dad squeezes my arm as they wait for me to continue. I clear my throat, “After last year, having your support means a lot. So. Yeah, that’s it. Love you all.”
My face heats, but I don't regret the awkward, bumbling speech. Dad gives me a sideways hug from his seat on one side as my sister does the same from the other. My mom reaches across and pats my hand with a smile on her face, and when I glance at my brother, he’s making a gagging face into his elbow.
“You’re the worst,” I say with a laugh as Mom pretends to swat at him, cracking a smile at his antics. My heart balloons in my chest when he smirks back at me, his intention to distract everyone and lighten the moment having been wildly successful.
4
HOW MANY TABS IS TOO MANY?
RAYA
Zuri sauntersin one evening with two glasses of wine and a tall glass bottle. It looks like one of those fermentation-type bottles that restaurants use for water when they leave it at the table, only instead of being clear, the liquid inside is a deep, rich red.
