WASHINGTON: But we didn’t see each other today. And I have a birthday gift for you.
A smile overcame me with enough cheesiness to satisfy an entire elementary school’s pizza party. He remembered.
ME: I bet.
WASHINGTON: My ducktail is .0000001 inch long. You agreed to a private date.
I laughed so loud that my sister rushed into the room, dressed in khakis and an icky polo with her company’s logo. And her tennis shoes were NASA prototypes that never advanced beyond the test track. I cackled harder.
As if realizing she was now the subject of my elation, she dropped a hand to her hip and tilted her head. “You know what? I came to see if you’re dying. Because you laugh like a hyena after a pack of lions got to it.”
“Thank you for the birthday funnies.” I giggled again, not minding my sister shading me. I pointed my finger with the precision of a fashion sniper. “Those shoes are so thick you could hide all your cats underneath them.”
“What cats?”
“The dozen you will end up with if you keep walking around looking like you do.” I sipped my tea, my smile almost faltering as I remembered my own grumpy cat fiasco. Maybe I should avoid the cat jokes.
“Happy birthday, baby sister.” She sighed.
“Thanks.”
“I canceled geocaching with my friends tonight. Where are we going to dinner?”
I crossed my fingers at my side. “Mom handled those plans. A surprise, I guess. They should arrive by two. I’m supposed to pick them up at the airport, but if she complains about my Mustang.”
“Oh, my gosh! Your vase projects have done that well? You dumped the Daewoo?”
My eyebrows crinkled.Okay, too far.“No, I named my DaewooMustang.”
“Like the Ford?” She leaned against the doorframe, eyebrow raised.
“No, silly. Like a real, wild, majestic horse. A mustang.” I did my best impression of a David Attenborough nature documentary. “They’re free-spirited, gorgeous, powerful. So pretty.”
“Maddy,” she said, chortling, “your car wheezes when you speed. And I’m talking twenty-five miles per hour. The only thing wild about yourMustywoois the mystery goop in the backseat.”
“Whatever!” I threw a pillow at her. She dodged, rushing out the door. Okay, those shoes served a purpose.
Lynetta popped her head back into the room. “Hey, so you let Mom make reservations for your birthday dinner. Are you sure … they’re gonna make it?”
I pulled my scarf off. My hair, in a smooth wrap, fell into position. I muttered the obvious. “They promised.”
“Well, we’re doing dinner then.”
Hours later, I had shaped glass out of fire and received one of the best gifts ever … from Omari Riche. Good news. After he placed the newest vase I’d created into a kiln to help it cool, he’d shared about one of his connections, a man who owned a good chunk of HomeGoods. He said after we finish with the Philippes, he’d introduce us. So, I wouldn’t be creating reproductions, a.k.a., potentially illegal art anymore. I’d create authentic pieces again.Mypieces.
Now, the music at a Spanish tapas restaurant, a little louder than I expected my mom would enjoy, pulsed in my chest. I put down my sangria and clutched the phone tight. My other index finger wedged into my opposite ear. “Mom, you’re still in Portugal …?”
“No, honey. Of course not. Portugal was last month.”
“But you’re not here … in New Orleans.” I glanced at the table setting for four, where I sat. Alone.
She sighed. “Snookums, we met a couple in Jordan. You know what they say about vacation cronies. You’ll meet no one like them. Anywho, they invited us to their ranch in Austin. See? We’re nearby.”
I fiddled with the Spanish baroque silverware. “Yeah, so close.”
“We intended to fly out yesterday, but your father is enjoying the most exclusive golf club.”
“Oh, so he’s more like Wash than he realized.” Except my ex-husband hadn’t missed my birthday.
