And Then There Was Vince

Chapter 11: The Bad Birthday

The next few weeks of September passed by in much the same way. Ashley and I still weren't speaking, but Vincent always more or less saved the day, in a removed kind of way. We talked often in and between classes and linked new music back and forth, but outside of those two incidents of necessity made by trig and other such projects, didn't see each other outside of school. I had started sitting with him and his friends at lunch time, except on the days that that couldn't happen, where I ate in lonesome peace. Despite us becoming that bit closer as friends, the rumors had cooled down almost as much as the air had. I saw my breath on a Sunday morning.

Sunday, September 30th.

Happy birthday to me.

My parents were both coincidentally gone for this. Dad had been drafted for mandatory overtime at his factory, and mom had decided to pull voluntary overtime to catch up on whatever she did in her office that she'd fallen behind on.

I would be spending the day alone, which suited me just fine to be honest. I would waste it by watching cartoons on the couch and shoveling junk food into my mouth. At one point, I would even write a poem. It was a truly fascinating day to turn seventeen.

    Nothing pathetic about it at all.

    Except there was.

    I spent a much larger portion than I wanted to admit willing some wishes to come in on my phone. I wasn't interested in the flurries of greetings on social media that everyone was pretty much forced to send me. I wanted real, honest, text-to-text, "I remembered you" congratulations.

And I didn't get any.

I was more excited than I should have been when my mother stumbled in the door that evening, arms overflowing with Chinese food. It was her tradition to get this for me every year, and I was never NOT looking forward to that dinner.

"I forgot the wonton soup," She apologized.

"Doesn't matter," I said, hastily grabbing one of the brown paper bags and starting to serve its contents. "The only thing that matters is the chicken."

She laughed at my enthusiasm for food as she always did, and made conversation with me as we ate.

"You know that weird guy from down the street?" She asked. "The one with the long greasy hair who told me he only showers once a month? He came in today to give me a lollipop."

"A lollipop?" I asked. "Why?"

    "I don't know," She laughed. "He just gave it to me and walked away."

"That was nice of him," I tried.

"More like the moment I realized the cheese is farther off the cracker than I thought," She cackled.

Mom was always cracking herself up with her stories. Her work in a public office gave her a never ending supply.

"What did you do today?" She asked, dipping a dumpling in soy sauce.

"I watched at least four hours of old cartoons and did...well, nothing!" I answered, jabbing my chicken into my rice pile and coating the piece with white grains. "It was great."

"You didn't invite Ashley or the girls over?" She asked. "I told you I wouldn't care. That's why I brought so much food home. I thought they'd still be here."

    The cartons towered over us as I assessed the situation.

    "Dunno," I said as I sipped at water. "Seems like a suitable portion for me."

    My mother had grown up in a house with four sisters and had raised another girl before me. Her lifetime spent in the household as well as in public service meant that she didn't buy most people's shit, and she especially didn't buy mine.

    "Something wrong, dear?" She asked, watching me closely.

    "Nothing at all," I said, still trying to force the subject out of her reach. She'd probably contact every other mom on her mailing list if she found out how their daughters had been treating me.

    "It doesn't seem like nothing," She said, putting her fork down on the table. "I haven't seen Ashley in almost a month. What's really going on here?"

    "Nothing," I said, getting up and dropping my dish in the sink.

    "Vanessa Lee Henley!" She shouted at my back as I retreated to the staircase to shut myself in my room.

    As I had said before, I liked talking to my mother. But once again, I wasn't in the proper mindset to do it.

    I wanted to cry alone in my room more than I did like a weakling in front of my mother.