Invincible Summer(31)

Claudia says, “Happy birthday, Chase!”

Noah drops me and we both stare at each other and laugh. So that’s why there’re waffles!

Gid keeps signing happy birthday over and over even though no one’s really watching him. But I appreciate it anyway. He signs really over the top, bringing his hands way away from his chest before he brings them back for happy.

.Mom’s feeding Lucy sliced-up strawberries. “You forgot your birthday, Chase? You really must be getting old.” “It’s a little trickier when no one else is getting born.” I kiss the top of Lucy’s head. “Happy birthday, baby. This time last year we were burning turkey for you.”

“We’re going out to dinner to celebrate,” Dad says, his voice all frank and resigned. I can practically hear the shitdamn.

Claudia goes, “Oh, God, no!”

Mom laughs. “Nowhere fancy, all right? Just out for some seafood. Somewhere we can get Lucy some people to scream at and Chase some crab cakes, all right?”

“All right.” I look at Claude. “We’re trapping you in the booth this time. There will be no sidling out.”

“Please, who do you think I’m going to find at a seafood restaurant?” She slips a piece of a burned waffle into her mouth and crunches. She makes some dirty joke I can’t quite make out around the waffle. Something about crabs.

Mom says, “What?”

“Nothing,” we say together. I tuck Claudia under my arm, and we squeeze close. I say, “Can we bring Shannon? I’ve barely seen him outside of work in, like, years.”

Noah walks over to Dad at the waffle iron and steals a fingerful of batter.

Mom says, “Just Shannon? That sounds . . . honey, let’s keep it family. Or invite Melinda, too, at least.” Noah looks at me, eyes huge, finger in mouth.

“Family,” we say together. “Family.”

Claudia looks between us. “Wha . . . ?”

I pull her even closer. “Nothing!”

The doorbell rings, thank God. I shove Claudia away and walk backward down to the door to answer it, making faces at her as I go.

It’s Melinda. She’s wearing this pale yellow halter top. I never really understood halter tops until right now. Her shoulders are brown and boney. She snaps a bubble with her gum.

“Happy birthday,” she says. She hands me this blue balloon. It’s full of air, not helium, so it bobs instead of really floating.

I don’t know what to say. I’m surprised she remembered.

I say, “I’ll share the balloon with Luce.”

She smiles. “I had fun last night.”

Over my shoulder, Noah clears his throat, and I feel his hand on the back of my neck. I’m really surprised by how tall he is. Then I realize he’s actually standing on the step behind me. I like the effect, though. He feels like a giant.

She smiles, not really at him, but so obviously because of him. “Oh, hi.”

“Come on, Melinda.” His voice is soft. “What do you think you’re doing with him? He’s a kid.” Is he upset with her? But he wasn’t upset with me. I don’t understand. We did the same things. Am I really being excused—practically f*cking congratulated—because I’m a few years younger?

Now there’s quiet. She’s scuffling her flip-flop against our walkway, jamming her polished toes into the wood, and I realize—she’s embarrassed.

Did she think I wouldn’t tell Noah? Did she think there was nothing weird about sleeping with a guy more than four years younger than her?

God, maybe she knew I would tell him. Maybe she wanted us to fight over her like hungry animals. I want to tell her that I can tell when I’m being used, but this seems like a lofty statement when I don’t think I’ve ever been used before.

Oh. I’m being excused because I’m his brother.

Melinda gets a hold of herself quickly, raking her fingernails through her hair, rubbing her cheeks, telling us, ““To be sure, this cannot last. But what can last, after all?’”

Behind me, Mom and Dad are bitching softly to each other about something. I want to make Melinda watch. I want to tell her that this is what comes of relationships that weren’t meant to be.

She waves good-bye and lopes back to her house, flip-flops kicking up little wisps of sand. Noah closes the door behind her and raises his eyebrows

at me. “Can you think of a more fitting quote?”

“Oh, I so, so want to.”

“I know. Come on, we can do this. We’ve got to be able to outquote her . . .”

I search for a second. “Um . . . Sisyphus! ‘ Yet at the same moment, blind and desperate, he realizes that the only bond linking him to the world is the cool hand of a girl.’”

Noah offers me his fist. “Very nice.”

I tap it with mine.

“What are you boys doing over there?” Claudia calls over the arguing.

Noah jerks his head. “Come on.”

We step back into the kitchen. I smile at them all, even pissed-off Mom and Dad. “Melinda brought me a balloon!” t w e l v e

D inner has barely started, and my father’s already thrown back four shots of Jack Daniel’s. And my mother is sucking on her third glass of red wine. Why are my birthdays always weird?