One More Thing

Chapter Twelve: The Message

I look at my phone. It's just an Instagram notification from someone I've never heard of.

I shove my phone back in my pocket and try to focus on the conversation. Dad is telling us some embarrassing stories from when we were little kids.

A few of the stories are particularly mortifying. 

Apparently, when I was three, I went through a phase of running around with no clothes on screaming "where's Kermit?" - presumably because I was desperately searching for the Kermit the Frog teddy that I tragically lost in Spain.

Ugh. I think I want to disappear and die right now.

Dad then goes on to tell us that Lucas once escaped through the garden fence into our neighbour's garden and peed in the pond.

I almost spit out my lemonade.

They'd kept this one quiet from me.

Lucas is beetroot-red, staring at his plate. His face is scrunched up like a piece of paper, spelling out the definition of humiliation.

"Dad," he groans. "That's so embarrassing. I almost forgot about that."

I laugh.

Dad's wine-assisted guffawing only makes it funnier.

"How old was he when he did that?" I ask.

"Twelve," says Dad.

Lucas rolls his eyes.

A waiter - a young guy, probably in his late teens - approaches us and asks us if we are enjoying our food. He has dark floppy hair and long spidery lashes.

Lucas nods hurriedly, now twice as crimson.

"Anyway," says Dad, once the waiter has moved on to another table. "Are you having a good birthday, Val?"

"It's been great," I smile. "Perfect. Thank you."

Dad nods vigorously, shoveling another spoonful of onion soup into his mouth.

After the main course, Dad asks for the bill and we head off. Apparently there is a special surprise waiting for me once I get home.

When we return, the house is pitch black. I switch on the hall light and am greeted with a small avalanche of ribbons and balloons. 

"Surprise!" says a voice. 

A soft, feminine voice.

I look up to see Cathy standing in front of me, beaming.

The kitchen is embellished with the fanciest decorations and, while it's not something I'm used to, it's nice to feel appreciated. In front of me, on the dining table, is a chocolate cake with a pink fondant '18' in the middle and sparklers arranged in a circle.

"Oh wow," I say. "Thanks."

Cathy smiles humbly. Dad tells me that she hadn't really been babysitting, but actually she'd gone to Tesco's to buy the cake and all the decorations. They'd wanted to keep this a surprise.

"You didn't have to do all this," I say. "But... I'm not complaining. It's beautiful."

Dad laughs. "You only turn 18 once! Thought we'd mark the occasion nicely for you. Now, take a seat everyone."

He beckons us to the table before striking a match and lighting the sparklers on the cake. Then, he, Cathy and Lucas are singing happy birthday. Lucas is staring at the floor, looking like he wants to dissolve into it, and my cheeks are burning.

I've never been very good at being the center of attention.

Once we've eaten our slices of cake, we end up going into the living room. Since it's my birthday, I'm allowed to choose what we watch. I decide on Mamma Mia, much to Lucas' dismay. 

When it's time for the commercial break, I pull out my phone. I haven't missed much aside from a few birthday messages from classmates and relatives. 

Then I remember the notification from earlier.

I go onto Instagram and there it is, sitting in my requested queue. I grit my teeth, expecting the message to either be from a spammer or some middle-aged creep. But it's neither of those.

The username is 'js004' and the message says hey, just wanted to say i hope you're having a great birthday!

I narrow my eyes, confused. The profile picture could be anyone. It's a boy on a skateboard, taken from about ten feet away.

Then I go onto the profile and my heart skips a beat.

This boy has messy brown hair and tan skin. In one photo he's holding a cat, and in another photo he's with a bunch of people I recognise from school, including Sydney.

Oh my god. It can't be real....