Handwritten ✓

06 | card

MY MOM TRIED TOO HARD to convince us boys that she wasn't a cool mom.

But come the weekend, also known as our seventeenth birthday celebration, she was totally cool. She let Jamie and I occupy the house and gave us permission to throw a party — with alcohol and no parental supervision — something that she'd never have done ten years ago.

Vallen, our older brother, got the stricter version of Mom as he was growing up, but she'd mellowed right out after dealing with us twins' competitive antics when we were younger. Broken PlayStations, stained wallpaper, fractured limbs, nearly passing out trying to win breath-holding competitions — we did it all.

Now, she was wholly done with cleaning up with our messes. She didn't want any responsibility or knowledge of the shit we got up to, because it would just give her heart palpitations. Saturday morning Jamie and I went out for a birthday brunch with our big, extended family: our grandparents, Vallen and his husband, Aunty Rina, Sophie and Luke were in attendance.

Then the teenagers plus Luke spent the day at home chilling and watching movies before we had to start preparing for the party later tonight. Mom and Dad decided to spend the night at the Olsens' place with Aunty Rina. They were just about to depart, taking Luke with them, but not before laying down very detailed ground rules. This was the first party being hosted at our house, after all, at least since Vallen was in high school.

"Dad and I are going to open the front door at ten tomorrow morning. Exactly ten o'clock, atomic time," Mom explained. "We'll literally arrive slightly before and wait in the car until ten before we knock, so you can pretend it's like the movies where there's a very precise countdown till when you're busted," she continued, in a voice that brooked no misunderstanding. "Enjoy yourselves tonight, but I expect to see no rubbish, no bottles, no cups, no stomped-in food, no odd smells, no naked ladies in your beds, and certainly no grandchildren in the making."

Jamie laughed and rolled his eyes, but Mom snapped, "I mean it, Jamie. Franny's a lovely girl, but until you move out, you're a child. Children can't have children. Look at me. Yes?"

Jamie reluctantly stared her down and nodded, "Yes."

"Good," she smiled. Her gaze slid to Sophie, reading a book on the living room couch. "Sophie's going to be the one to bring the cake out and do the candles and everything. I've also told her to call me if anything gets broken, or too loud, or too pregnant. Won't you, love?"

"Yes," Sophie replied sweetly. Goody-two-shoes.

"Perfect," Mom smiled. "Happy birthday, boys. Love you."

"Love you, Mom. Love you, Dad," Jamie and I replied in unison. Satisfied that we were adequately incentivised to behave, Mom opened the door and slipped out. Before Dad followed her, joining her and Luke in the car, he gave us a wink.

"Have fun, sons." Jamie and I grinned at Dad. What a good sport.

Then the front door clicked shut, an engine sputtered to life and the house became occupied only by juniors.

"Alright." Jamie clapped his hands together loudly. "Party-proofing."

He and I sprang into action. I ran upstairs to get the cardboard boxes I'd taken from the supermarket. When I came down the stairs, Jamie had stripped the walls of all the framed photos. He placed them into the box in my left arm, and took the one in my right.

Sophie asked pointedly, "What are you doing?"

"Mom said you're going to nark if anything gets broken or pregnant, so we're preparing," I responded.