Authors: Rebecca Donovan
“But what if I'm overreacting?” I asked quietly, lying on my bed next to her.
“Overreacting? Um… the whole school is talking about
them
. They went to a party together last Friday. She’s over at his house all of the time, and he drives her to school. They look more like a―”
"Okay," I interrupted, not needing the detailed visual. "I get it. I'll talk to him."
"Why do I feel like I'm talking you into this?" she questioned in concern. "Do you not remember being blindsided at lunch today? I saw the look on your face when she brought up the dinner."
Just the mention of it made me clench my teeth. "Yes. I'll talk to him."
“Okay. I have to go. My mom's waiting on me for dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Sara said, grabbing her things and opening the door.
Evan appeared at the top of the stairs. Sara stopped short. "Uh, hi, Evan."
"Hi, Sara," he returned. She scooted past him and flashed me a bared teeth,
good luck
look as she disappeared down the stairs.
Evan remained outside of my room, hesitating at the sight of me.
“Hi,” he said lowly, shutting the door behind him.
“Hi,” I returned, barely audible. I sat against the headboard, pulling a pillow onto my lap.
Evan sat down on the end of my bed―the strain between us suffocated me.
“I should have invited you to the dinner,” Evan began. “I guess I know how much you hate them… but I should have given you the choice.”
“It’s not just the dinner,” I returned, letting out a distraught breath. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with her, and I… I don’t like it. It’s that simple.”
“Em, I don’t see her like that, I swear. She’s like a little sister to me.” He silently pled for me to believe him.
“You may feel that way about
her
, but Evan, she has a thing for
you
. You have to know that.”
“I know,” he sighed. “It’s not what I meant to happen. I just wanted to make her feel welcome, being new and everything. I know how hard it can be.”
His words drifted through me and swelled my heart. I knew he meant it, because that’s exactly who he was. “Evan, you’re the most thoughtful person I’ve ever known, and I love you for that. But you need to set boundaries with her.”
“I will,” he agreed, moving closer. “So, did you just say that you still love me?” He teased, continuing to scoot along the bed until he was next to me.
“Yes,” I battled to hide my grin. “Some sunshiny sprite is not―”
“Emma!” Evan balked in surprise.
“Sorry,” I smirked. “She's nice. I just…”
I was interrupted by the warmth of his mouth pressed against mine. And suddenly she wasn’t important anymore. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him toward me, sinking down along my headboard so that I was lying on my back as he pulled the pillow off of my lap.
Evan continued to find my lips, trailing his mouth along my neck and sliding his hand across my stomach to the small of my back, positioning himself over me. I relaxed my knees as he lowered himself onto me, my legs wrapping around him.
Our breathing quickened as our kisses became more frantic. I ran my hands along the tight, lean muscles of his back, gripping the end of his shirt, sliding it up.
My door squeaked open. “Your car’s…”
Evan rolled over quickly to sit. I pushed up, smoothing the back of my hair, staring at Jonathan’s wide eyes and open mouth.
“Sorry, should’ve knocked,” he rushed in a single breath and shut the door.
“Uh, boundaries?” Evan stressed from beside me.
“Yeah,” I breathed, staring at the door.
24. Happy Birthday
"Should I be worried?" I asked under my breath as my mother danced around the kitchen, pulling bowls onto the counter―dumping bags of chips and spooning containers of dip into them.
"Honestly?" Jonathan asked from beside me, watching the same spectacle.
"Of course," I stressed.
"Probably." His honesty made my stomach churn.
"That's what I thought," I breathed in defeat.
"Hi," Sara greeted joyfully as she opened the front door. I turned toward her, covering the worry with a smile.
"Hi," I responded.
"Sara!" my mother exclaimed, brushing past me to give Sara a hug.
"Happy Birthday, Rachel," Sara offered, hugging her in return while eyeing me in shock over her shoulder. I shrugged in response.
"I brought you something," Sara told her upon being released. She opened her bag and pulled out a neatly wrapped package about the size of a deck of cards.
"You're so sweet." My mother opened it without hesitation and removed a necklace from the box. She held the delicate silver chain in front of her. "It's beautiful. Thank you."
"You're welcome," Sara returned, taking off her jacket.
"Sara, you must know how to cook," my mother insisted, fastening the chain around her neck.
"Not really," Sara confessed. "My mother's tried to encourage it, but it hasn't taken yet."
"What's with you guys?" my mother shook her head. She returned to the kitchen where she proceeded to pull ingredients out of the refrigerator. "I'm going to have to give Anna a hard time about this. What are you going to do when you go to college?"
A knock followed at the door. Jonathan went to open it as Sara and I took the bowls of chips into the living room. Jared entered carrying a bottle of wine with a bow around it. I stopped short at the sight of it.
"Well, hello," my mother greeted with a smile.
"Rachel, this is Jared," Sara introduced, slipping her arm through his.
"Happy birthday," he stated, presenting the bottle to my mother.
"My favorite," she gushed, taking the bottle from him. "Thank you."
"Where's Evan?" I asked, scanning the driveway. When I didn't see any sign of him, I shut the door.
"He drove separately," Jared explained, following after my mother and Sara toward the kitchen. "He should be here any second."
I remained in the foyer, hoping Evan would arrive soon―and not wanting to go anywhere near the kitchen in fear that I'd be recruited to cook something.
"Are you friends with Evan?" my mother questioned, laying tortillas on a griddle.
"He's my brother," Jared explained, standing in the kitchen doorway.
"I would have never guessed that," my mother replied, eyeing his broader frame and blond hair, flipped out around his ears. "You look as much alike as Emily and I." She let out a laugh, making Jared smile. "So
you
must know how to cook."
"Not at all," Jared confessed, glancing at Sara―obviously not sure what to make of my mother. "My brother and I are pretty opposite in just about everything. Is there anything else I can do to help?"
"Do you know how to make margaritas?"
"
That
I can help with," Jared replied, continuing into the kitchen.
"Great," I muttered under my breath.
The door opened with a knock, and Evan entered with the poker table.
"Let me help you with that," Jonathan offered, appearing from the living room to take the table. Evan followed him with folding chairs in each hand.
"Finally!" my mother exclaimed. "Evan, please come help me cook these quesadillas. You and I appear to be to be the only ones who have any talent in the kitchen."
"Jared has talent," Sara defended. "It's just not in the kitchen, that's all."
"Oh, so what room are we talking about?" my mother smirked. "The bedroom?"
"We did not just go there," Jared blurted in disbelief, looking from my mother to Sara. Sara started laughing, and I stared, wide-eyed, in shock at my mother's inappropriate candor―wondering if she'd already started drinking.
Evan returned to the kitchen after hanging up his jacket. "Uh, okay. So, what do you want me to do?" he asked, having no idea what he'd just walked in on.
"Flip them when they're ready," she instructed, handing Evan the spatula. "Want a drink?"
"I think
I
might need one," Jared interjected. My mother pulled two glasses from the cabinet, filled them with ice and held them out for Jared to fill with the margarita blend he’d created.
She handed one glass over and held up hers with a smirk, "To being talented."
Jared raised his eyebrows in shock and clinked against her glass.
"Hey, I want in on this," Sara insisted, filling another glass to tap with theirs. I tried to keep from having heart failure as I watched my mother quickly drain half of her glass. I realized I had to prepare myself. This was about to happen.
"You okay?" Jonathan asked, passing me as he carried in more folding chairs from the porch and set them around the poker table.
"Not until tomorrow morning," I muttered, deciding to follow him to help set up the chairs.
"Emily, would you put on some music?" my mother hollered from the kitchen, although there was no need to yell since I could hear every word they were saying.
"Sure," I replied. I flipped through the CD collection, not finding anything I would deem party-worthy.
"Here," Jonathan offered, handing me his iPod. "There's a playlist on there for Rachel's party."
"Thanks," I accepted, plugging the iPod into the wire attached to the stereo. I scrolled to the
Rachel's Party
playlist. My mother hollered in excitement from the kitchen when the first song came on.
"Perfect, Emily," she praised.
I was about to explain that it wasn't my selection, when Jonathan stopped me. "Just let her think it was you."
"Okay," I shrugged, not understanding why it mattered.
About half an hour later, the door opened and six people let themselves in, carrying brown bags filled with alcohol and snacks.
"Is this where the party is?" a guy with a tightly trimmed beard asked peeking in the kitchen. He opened his arms when my mother squealed in excitement and rushed toward him, wrapping her arms around his neck while kissing him on the cheek. "Happy birthday, Rach," he offered, kissing her cheek in return. She hugged each person, directing them to hang up their coats and instructing them to place their beers in the cooler on the porch. She was so excited. I tried to let the worry go and be happy for her. This was her birthday after all.
"We brought the other poker table and chairs," one of the guys announced, popping open a can of beer after returning from the porch.
We had to introduce ourselves since my mother was too pre-occupied pouring margaritas for the two women she'd dragged into the kitchen.
"Wow, Emily," a woman named Sharon noted upon meeting me. "I can't believe how much you've grown up."
"Thanks," I responded, studying the woman who obviously knew me. Her voice was crackly from too many years of smoking, and her face was etched with lines from a life that didn't care for her. She wore her curly black hair long over her shoulders. Her dark eyes were heavily lined in black and layered with mascara.
"You still look just like your dad," she continued.
"Right?" my mother chimed in from behind Sharon, holding out a glass for her to take. "I swear she's not mine." She laughed playfully.
Sharon cackled. "You've been trying to get away with that one for years. But I was the one who drove you to the hospital when you went into labor, remember?"
"I couldn't exactly drive myself," my mother huffed.
"The bottle of wine may have had something to do with that," Sharon added, her laugh turning into a cough. I narrowed my eyes and looked from her to my mother.
"Relax, Emily," my mother chuckled. "She's only joking." I nodded with an awkward smile. Sharon clamped her mouth shut to keep from laughing, causing her to convulse in a coughing fit.
"Can I smoke?" Sharon asked in a rasp, pulling a pack from her pocket.
"Porch," my mother instructed. "I'll come out with you."
My mother and Sharon disappeared out the front door.
Evan finally emerged from the kitchen with several platters of quesadillas. Jared and Jonathan were helping two of the new arrivals move furniture to make room for the additional poker table. Sara and I brought in pitchers of margaritas and set them on the coffee table.
"I know, right?" my mother said to Sharon as they entered from the porch, the smell of cigarettes swirling around them.
"Evan, you can have a beer," my mother insisted. "It's my birthday. Besides, you're staying over, so you don't have to worry about driving." She smiled and handed him a freshly opened bottle.
"Thanks.” He accepted it and placed his hand on my back, probably sensing my uneven breaths. I watched as my mother poured herself another drink. Closing my eyes, I exhaled quickly, trying to remain calm.
"You okay?" Evan bent down to ask in my ear.
I played off my worried expression. "I'm not so sure I know what I'm doing with poker."
"I'll help you," he assured me. "I'll give you a cheat sheet so you know what hand beats what."
"Okay," I replied, trying to appear relaxed. I met Jonathan’s eyes across the room. He looked from my mother to me and shook his head. He was expecting something to happen, and my gut twisted in a knot, knowing it too. I looked away and tried to shake it off.
"Let's play," my mother announced, herding everyone into the living room.
As she drank more and more, my mother played less and less. She finally declared that whatever Jonathan earned would be her winnings. She hopped from table to table, initiating conversation; then she’d jump up to select songs on the iPod and dance around with whomever she could pull away from the game.
And I played poker, or at least tried to. I had no idea what I was doing. I kept glancing at Evan's cheat sheet to decide if my hand was worthy of placing a bet. We had to buy chips, so the betting was real―the birthday girl's insistence. This kept a few of the guys a little too serious, considering it was
supposed
to be fun.
A few margarita pitchers later, my mother was a giggly mess, sitting on Jonathan's lap with her arms draped around his neck.
"Come on, baby. You need to bet big on this hand," my mother urged, kissing him on the cheek. With that statement, one of the guys folded.