The air conditioner kicked on, blowing cool air into the living room and causing birthday streamers and balloons to sway back and forth above the food covered table. My 38th birthday is this coming weekend, but since my younger sister has planned a weekend trip to Miami with her new boyfriend, and my husband will be traveling for work, we have opted to celebrate this evening. I placed a plastic bowl full of chips between a veggie tray and a plate of mini corn dogs, half listening as my sister blabbed on, and on, and on about her boyfriend.
“You know what I mean, Sam?” she asked, briefly pausing the continuous flow of adjectives describing her beloved. “Mhm!” I replied, attempting to sound excited about whatever intimate detail she’d just shared with me, likely for the third time. She smiled and continued talking, seemingly oblivious to the fact that I was entirely uninterested in this conversation and had been for at least the last fourty-five minutes.
“He bought me flowers the other day! Roses. Red roses, out of nowhere. I was so surprised, I nearly burst into tears.”
“That’s nice,” I offered, thinking about bursting into tears myself. She was starting to get on my nerves. I was happy for her, sure, but I couldn’t help but remember that my husband hadn’t bought me flowers in years, and even then, I’d had to ask. I adjusted the position of chicken taquitos on the table, turning the plate slightly to match the dish of mini-quiches beside it. Perhaps an immaculate display of previously frozen party foods would lift my sunken spirits. The birthday blues had taken hold and, for the last several weeks, I’d felt older and more decrepit than ever before. Each small flaw became a glaring beacon of inadequacy under the looming threat of this supposed celebration. A wrinkle where smooth skin used to be. Sagging flesh that was once a muscular curve. All natural signs of aging I may have been grateful for if I weren’t overwhelmed by the internal pressure to be glowing and youthful indefinitely. My demoralizing internal monologue briefly drowned out her high-pitched voice, which was the only positive thing about it.
“What was his name again?” I interjected, pretending I’d been listening intently for the last few minutes. I adjusted the taquitos back to their original position.
“Oh! His name is… uhm—”
John burst through the front door, interrupting her response, one hand holding his car keys and the other unsurprisingly void of flowers. “I love what you’ve done with the place” he exclaimed, gesturing to the party decorations as he strode confidently into the living room, stopping to kiss us both on the cheek.
“How was work?” I asked, desperate for a conversation that didn’t revolve around my sisters blossoming love life.
“Fine, yeah. Good,” he responded, looking me up and down as he turned to walk towards the bedroom. “That’s the dress you’re wearing?”
I smoothed my red dress with the palms of my hands, trying to wipe away the insecurity he had so easily thrust upon me. This was my favorite dress. My sister resumed her onslaught of romantic anecdotes, if she’d even paused when John arrived.
“You know, my boyfriend bought me a lovely dress to wear on our vacation. Yup, says he’s going to take me out for a nice dinner so I’ll have a chance to wear it.”
Thankfully, the doorbell rang, indicating the arrival of my guests and gracefully providing an excuse to ignore my sister. I briefly considered slapping her before answering the door but I didn’t want to keep anyone waiting on the porch. I’d forgotten to sweep the stoop and I could already hear my mother’s voice through the thin door complaining about the dried leaves and spiderwebs.
My parents, neighbors, and friends flooded in the front door, chatting, laughing, and shouting overenthusiastic birthday wishes in my direction as they spread like a river throughout my living room. The arrival of all my favorite people at one time was the perfect distraction. I completely forgot about being annoyed at my sister and truly enjoyed myself for, oh, about an hour. I drank wine, ate far too many potato chips, and flitted around the living room joining one lively conversation after the next. Until, in one quiet moment, I heard her.
“I’m telling you, Joan. He is the sweetest man I have ever met. He treats me like a queen. You know, he told me just the other day that he has never loved another woman the way he loves me. Isn’t that adorable?”
My face flushed with anger, or was it embarrassment? Hard to tell. I’d never been jealous of my sister before. In fact, we’d always been uncharacteristically close for siblings who are more than ten years apart in age. I took a big swig of wine, then another, and hoped a nice buzz would calm me down. That worked for a while. I continued to mingle, occasionally grazing the snack table, and even shared a brief dance with John, though he seemed a bit tense.
“Are you okay?” I whispered in his ear, hoping he could hear me over the cacophony of music and babbling party-goers.
“I’m, uh, yeah. Totally fine.” He smiled to punctuate the sentence. “Just nervous for the trip to Miami next weekend. You know, lots of pressure to perform in front of the higher-ups,” he explained.
“Miami? I thought you were going to Cleveland,” I questioned. His eyes went wide for a moment before he shrugged and let out a half-hearted chuckle.
“Right. Cleveland. Sorry, it’s been a long day. I’m gonna get another beer.” He shook the beer can in his hand to demonstrate that it was devoid of liquid before walking briskly towards the kitchen. What the fuck was that about. He could have at least offered to get me more wine while he was at it. I shuffled towards a small cluster of people beside the couch and attempted to join their conversation about football. Not that I give one single shit about football or any other sport for that matter. But before I could say a word, I heard her.
“Shannon, you’d just love him. We’re going to get married, you know? Eventually. No, I know! I know. Isn’t it just fantastic? I have never been happier.” Shannon smiled and grasped my sisters’ hands, clearly ecstatic about her impending nuptials. The thought of the poofy pink or maybe purple dress my sister would select for her unlucky bridesmaids made me laugh so hard I briefly forgot to be irritated at her incessant yacking.
As the laughter subsided, I began to feel a bit guilty for how I’d reacted to her boasting. I should be happy that my little sister had finally found someone worth bragging about. Chills ran down my spine at the thought of her last relationship, if you could even call it that. It had lasted no more than three months and, if I recall correctly, he’d been middle-aged and working as a DJ at a local nightclub. Yeah, the poor girl deserved some roses.
I considered retreating to my bedroom for a moment to relax away from prying eyes. A minute or two apart from my sister would allow me to reset my emotions and, hopefully, enjoy the rest of the party that had, quite frankly, been a bit of a letdown thus far due to my own pessimistic attitude. As I turned to start down the hallway my mother grasped my hand and led me towards an empty chair at the head of the table. John emerged from the kitchen carrying a pink birthday cake adorned with far too many blazing candles.
“Make a wish, Sam,” he requested as he placed the flaming dessert in front of me on the table. I thought for a moment, unsure of what to wish for. Not that it mattered anyway. It’s not like there was any sort of real magic within these thirty-eight dollar store candles. My friends were nearing the end of the dreaded Happy Birthday chorus and I only had another moment or so before it would be time to blow out the candles. That is when I heard her. The only guest not singing.
“He’s very handsome. Easily the most handsome man I’ve ever been with. I swear, sometimes I just get lost in his eyes.”
Could she not stop talking about him for long enough to sing Happy Birthday? This song is, what? Two minutes long? The guilt I’d briefly felt dissipated and was quickly replaced by annoyance once again. The rest of my friends continued singing, almost, but not quite loud enough to mask her continued commentary.
“He is so tall and so strong! No, I’m serious! I mean, the muscles. Come on. They are to die for.”
“Good idea,” I thought. “I wish my sisters new boyfriend would drop dead.”
As the song came to an end, my lungs released a powerful gust of air and all thirty-eight candles were diminished at once. It was impressive, really. My guests cheered loudly and clapped their hands, probably more excited for a slice of cake than for my above average lung capacity. In all the celebration, we almost didn’t notice when John fell silently to the floor, clutching his chest and knocking bowls of spinach and artichoke dip off the table as he went down. The paramedics pronounced him dead on arrival.
That fucking bitch.