𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐏𝐒𝐎 | ᴍɪʟʟᴀʀᴅ ɴᴜʟʟɪɴɢꜱ

𝟓] 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒, 𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐈𝐓

CHAPTER FIVE ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ THANKS, I HATE IT

     I COULD NOT HAVE BEEN LESS IN THE MOOD FOR A PARTY.

     I had known I was in for one the moment my parents began dropping unsubtle hints about how boring and uneventful the upcoming weekend was sure to be, when we all knew perfectly well Jacob was turning 16.

     Well, to be fair, nobody knew exactly how old I was because Grandpa Portman found me at his doorstep one night. It was some real Harry Potter shit if I do say so myself. All I had was a small cradle and a tag with my name on it. They tried to trace down my family, but Grandpa gave them a stern no and basically begged them to raise me.

     I'd say they did a pretty good job. Sure, I was probably a month old when they found me, which meant I was still about a month and a half older than Jacob, which is why I got my license before him

     Jacob begged them to cancel the party this year because, among other reasons, he couldn't think of single person he wanted to invite. But they were too worried that he spent too much time alone.

     But my mother was one to pass even the flimsiest excuse for a celebration—she once invited friends over for our cockatiel's birthday—in part because she loved to show off our house. Wine in hand, she'd herd guests from room to overfurnished room, extolling the genius of the architect and telling war stories about the construction ("It took months to get these sconces from Italy").

     We'd just come home from Jacobs disastrous session with Dr. Golan he was following our dad into our suspiciously dark living room as he muttered things like "What a shame we didn't plan anything for your birthday" and "Oh well, there's always next year," when all the lights flooded on to reveal streamers, balloons, and a motley assortment of aunts, uncles, cousins we rarely spoke to-anyone Mom could cajole into attending.

     Once everyone had finished cheering and we had finished pretending to be surprised, my mom slipped her arm around Jacob and whispered,"Is this okay?"

     He was upset and tired and just wanted to play Warspire II The Summoning before going to bed with the TV on. But what were we going to do, send everyone home? He said it was fine, and she smiled as if to thank him.

     "Who wants to see the new addition?" she sang out, pouring herself some chardonnay before marching a troupe of relatives up the stairs.

     Some family took Jacob away to celebrate. I had always felt like I never belonged. I had always been the odd one out in the family. I was a Harry Potter baby for Gods sake.

     I didn't look like anyone in the Portman family (with their pale skin which seemed like it hadn't seen sun in years), yet I still had the name at the front of my last. Portman-Nuñez.

     Sometimes I wished they would take the last part off. I didn't know why I had this name or why they decided to keep it. But, I guess it was a reminder that I would never fully be part of he Portman family. And I resented it.

***

     My mother announced that it was time to open presents. She always insisted we do this in front of everyone, which was a problem because, as I may have mentioned already, I'm not a good liar.

     That also means I'm not good at feigning gratitude for regifted CDs of country Christmas music or subscriptions to Field and Stream--for years Uncle Les had labored under the baffling delusion that we were "outdoorsy" but for decorum's sake we forced a smile and held up each unwrapped trinket for all to admire until the pile of presents left on the coffee table had shrunk to just three.

     Jake reached for the smallest one first. Inside was the key to my parents' four-year-old luxury sedan. They were getting a new one, my mom explained, so he was inheriting the old one. Jakes first car!

     Everyone oohed and aahed, but his face went hot.

     It seemed like our parents were always trying to get us to care about money, but we didn't, really. Then again, it's easy to say you don't care about money when you have plenty of it.

     The next present was the digital camera Jacob begged our parents for all last summer. "Wow," he said, testing its weight in his hand. "This is awesome."

     "I'm outlining a new bird book," Dad said. "I was thinking maybe you could take the pictures."

     "A new book!" my mom exclaimed. "That's a phenomenal decision, Frank. Speaking of which, whatever happened to that last book you were working on?"

     Clearly, she'd had a few glasses of wine.

     "I'm still ironing out a few things," my dad replied quietly.

     He looked at me, and immediately I had felt bad. I still couldn't believe that I could have been so cruel to him earlier.

     "Oh, I see." I could hear Uncle Bobby snickering.

     "Okay!" Jacob said loudly, reaching for the last present from Aunt Susie.

     "It's for both of you," my aunt said as Jacob began tearing away the wrapping paper, "it's from your grandfather."

     Jacob stopped midtear. The room went dead quiet, people looking at Aunt Susie as if she'd invoked the name of some evil spirit. My dad's jaw tensed and my mom shot back the last of her wine.

     "Just open it and you'll see," Aunt Susie said.

     Jacob ripped away the rest of the wrapping paper to find an old hardback book, dog-eared and missing its dust jacket.

     It was The Selected Works of Ralph Waldo Emerson. I stared at it as if trying to read through the cover, unable to comprehend how it had come to occupy my now-trembling hands.

     No one but Dr. Golan knew about the last words, and he'd promised on several occasions that unless I threatened to guzzle Drano or do a backflip off the Sunshine Skyway bridge, everything we talked about in his office would be held in confidence.

     I looked at my aunt, a question on my face that I didn't quite know how to ask. She managed a weak smile and said, "I found it in your grandfather's desk when we were cleaning out the house. He wrote your names in the front. I think he meant for you to have it."

     God bless Aunt Susie. She had a heart after all.

     "Neat. I didn't know your grandpa was a reader," my mom said. trying to lighten the mood. "That was thoughtful."

     "Yes," said my dad through clenched teeth. "Thank you, Susan."

     I opened the book. Sure enough, the title page bore an inscription in my grandfather's shaky handwriting.

     To Jacob Magellan Portman & Calypso Alma Portman-Nuñez, and all the worlds they have yet to discover.