The front yard of my sister’s home smells like charcoal and grilled meat. Charlotte and I step out of the Prius, onto the sidewalk, and I brace myself for the front door to spring open, my nephews attempting to tackle me with their hugs.
On the way home from Columbus, Brie texted and asked us to join her family for dinner. Charlotte seemed to forget her own plans for the night, readily agreeing to a meal of barbecued chicken, fried potatoes, and fruit salad.
I scan the narrow driveway that leads to an attached garage before glancing up toward two stories and attic dormers of the Victorian house. Typically my nephews are either playing in the drive or watching for me from the windows, but I don’t see them peeking down at me this evening.
Did Brie forget to tell the twins I was coming? Or maybe she wanted to surprise them.
Charlotte glances at her watch. “Perhaps we should wait a few minutes.”
“Brie won’t care if we’re early.” After our excursion today, I was glad to be ten minutes ahead of schedule. “And Ethan already has meat on the grill.”
After flipping the latch on their picket fence, I open it wide for Charlotte and we stroll up the pebbly path that divides the lawn in two, giving my nephews extra time to tumble out. But when we step up onto the porch, the front door is still closed and, oddly enough, locked. I ring the doorbell and wait.
Charlotte checks her cell phone. “Perhaps Brie is still at the store.”
“I know where the key is.” Tucked away on the corner of their porch in a tiny pop-up box that Ethan rigged up after Brie locked herself out one afternoon, their boys napping upstairs. Before the locksmith arrived, she’d busted the window on the back door and let herself in.
“I’ll text her,” Charlotte says as I retrieve the key. “We won’t want to scare her if she’s inside.”
Seconds later, my sister’s face appears in the narrow window that lines the evergreen door. She waves at us, but it takes her way too long to open the door. An image flashes in my mind of Miss Clavel in Madeline’s Parisian boardinghouse.
“In the middle of one night Miss Clavel turned on her light and said, ‘Something is not right!’”
Except there’s no disaster at the end of the Madeline book, only a roomful of little girls wanting what they don’t have.
I take a deep breath, pushing Miss Clavel and her girls back to Paris. Dissatisfaction can lead to disaster almost as much as panicking when nothing is wrong.
Brie cracks open the door. “You’re early.” She looks at Charlotte and then me as if we’ve made a major faux pas.
“Just a couple minutes.” I point back toward the sidewalk. “Should we wait in the car?”
“No, that would be silly.”
“It’s all starting to seem a little silly to me.”
“Give me a minute.” But Brie doesn’t move, standing in front of us as if she’s guarding the entry into the foyer. She’s a few inches shorter than me so I glance over her shoulder, wondering where Oscar and Owen are. Something moves behind her, but I don’t see either boy.
Charlotte turns toward me. “Let’s go get a cup of coffee.”
“You don’t drink coffee.” I tilt my head. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” My sister steps onto the porch, and when she inches the door closed behind her, I know something is definitely not right. A horrific thought pierces my mind, my imagination succumbing to the worst possible scenario.
Are the boys and even Ethan inside with some sort of intruder? Perhaps Brie can’t say anything or someone will hurt her family.
I lower my voice. “Is everyone safe?”
“Yes,” she assures me, “just not quite ready for dinner.”
“I’ll help you get ready.”
A minivan pulls into the driveway beside the house, parking in front of the garage. Brie groans when the passenger door opens and a petite woman steps out—Jenna Sainte, a friend from church. Her husband walks around to the back of the van.
Brie swipes her hand over her head. “Now they’ve spoiled it.”
“Spoiled what?” I ask, exasperated. Then slowly, like sap trickling down a tapped maple tree, it hits me. Brie’s secrecy and her strangeness when I told her I needed to go to Columbus today. Charlotte’s insistence that we return home for dinner instead of going to the mall.
I turn back toward my sister, my words processing the slow revelation. “You’ve planned a party.”
“Of course I’ve planned a party!”
Anxiety clenches my chest. “But my birthday’s not for another week.”
“I wouldn’t have been able to surprise you next week.”
My legs feel wobbly. She probably would have still surprised me, but not like this.
“I know you’re not big on surprises,” Brie says, apologizing in one sense, but not relenting. Not big on surprises is stating it quite mildly.
“I’ll be fine,” I say, but the quaking has traveled into my voice as I eye the door. Exactly how many people are waiting on the other side?
Charlotte reaches for my arm, this time steadying me. “Everyone needs a surprise party once in her life.”
Jenna steps to the porch and gives me a hug. “Happy birthday.”
“Thank you.”
Brie plants both fists on her hips. “You were supposed to park around the back.”
“Oh no.” Jenna’s smile falls. “Have we ruined it?”
“No,” I assure her. “I’m still going to act surprised.”
Jenna nods to her husband, and he slides a large white box from the back of the van. “The bakery was running behind.”
“Still go around back,” Brie says, shooing Jenna off the porch. “The kids have been practicing all day how they are going to surprise their aunt.”
Yet another reason that I’m grateful for the preparation.
Once Jenna is gone, Brie reopens the door, and with Charlotte at my side, I tentatively step over the threshold, my arms wrapped across my chest to brace myself.
Owen springs out of the crawl space under the wide stairs. “Surprise!”
The word echoes off the wood paneling, followed by a chorus of voices, the shouts reverberating around the foyer and out the door still open behind me. While I’m not really intending to run, I’m glad I left it open. Unlike my sister, I’m not enamored of being in the center of anything, at least not without a book in my hand.
People seem to step right out of the paneling, like ghosts of all sizes in the hours after dark. I, on the other hand, wish I could fold myself back into the wall so they aren’t all staring at me.
And they are staring, waiting for me to say something brilliant, I suppose. My mouth hangs instead. Catching flies, my father used to say when I couldn’t find words. Oh, for a book to supply them for me.
Both my nephews race toward me, elbowing each other in the process. In seconds Owen is beside me, clinging to my leg. And Oscar—he’s yanking on my hand, pulling me toward the kitchen. “Come on, Aunt Callie.”
I glance back at Charlotte as the sea of people parts, and she’s smiling at me.
The sea follows us into the kitchen, filling the shared living and dining space. Jenna is beside the counter with her husband, both of them frantically lighting the last of thirty candles on the expanse of cake, like Piglet and Tigger lighting so many candles that Pooh loses sight of the cake.
“Would you care for a piece of my oh-what-a-surprise birthday cake?”
Like the candlelight, Pooh’s words flicker in my brain.
Some of the guests circled around us are from church and my college years; others are my story-time kids with their parents. I don’t see Devon or his father in the crowd, and at first, I’m relieved they haven’t come, but the guilt quickly follows. I should be thrilled to see Devon here even if he’s with his father. I should be thrilled to see everyone.
I suspect I’ll be feeling guilty a lot tonight.
Jenna rushes around the counter and gives me another hug as if she didn’t see me on the porch. “Come blow out your candles before we start the house on fire.”
“It might take all night,” someone quips from the back.
I glare in their direction. “Very funny.”
Jenna props up the flickering cake, the white icing framing a photograph of me in my Story Girl attire. The edges of the cake are frosted with books that look like bricks, the whole display reminding me of a fireplace glowing with flames.
Charlotte begins singing from the back of the room, her beautiful alto inviting the others to join her in the familiar song. As they sing, I read the words written in red icing to match my story-time attire.
Happy 30th, Callie
Our Favorite Story Girl
“Blow them out!” Owen shouts when the song ends, and everyone laughs.
I take a deep breath, but Brie stops me. “You have to make a wish first.”
My eyes close, but I can’t think of a single thing I’d wish for—it seems I have everything I could ever need here in this room. Then I wish for the only thing that comes to mind in that blur of a moment, that I could have my own family one day. A wish I’ll tell no one because I don’t want anyone in search of a man for me.
If only I could have a family without the heartache.
With a deep breath, I blow out every last candle, and the room erupts in applause. Then one by one, as if they’re teasing me, the flames reignite. In seconds, the entire cake is glowing again.
I groan. The children laugh. And I hear a few adults snicker as well.
When I look around the room this time, I’m smiling along with everyone else. “Who’s going to blow these out now?”
“Someone get a bowl of water,” Jenna shouts, but Brie already has a bowl ready. The kids slowly realize I’m serious—I am not blowing out thirty candles a second time—and a horde of them jump in to help me, blowing and then drowning the germ-infested wicks in the bowl before licking off the icing and strawberry cake clinging to the wax.
“Wait until you turn thirty,” I threaten my sister, but she just laughs and takes a photograph.
So I dive in. Not into the cake, but into Brie’s party. Charlotte is sitting on a chair in the living room, gleaming as if someone is celebrating the birth of her own daughter, and her pride strengthens me.
“Can I have a piece of cake?” It’s Michael, the boy who educated everyone in the store about his new underpants. His mother nods to signal her consent.
“I believe there’s a piece of cake just for you,” I say, ruffling his hair.
“Cake for everyone,” Brie announces like it’s a story-time snack, and the kids around us cheer. I’m thankful that the spotlight has turned and the cake is right smack in the center.
A red paper plate in hand, I scoop up a corner piece and lower it to Michael with much pomp and circumstance. Then Brie slices, I serve the cake along with a scoop of ice cream for each plate, and everyone seems happy. My sister is right in her element, entertaining this crowd in her home.
Charlotte steps up to the counter and serves herself two scoops of chocolate ice cream, no cake. “Surprise,” she says, kissing my cheek. “The best in your life is yet to come.”
If she weren’t holding a plate of ice cream, I’d hug her. “I think I’ve already had the best, thanks to you and Brie.”
“Thanks to the Lord. It’s hard to imagine, but He loves you even more than I ever could.” She takes a bite of the ice cream and nods toward the small group circled around Brie. “I think having a sister who loves you must be one of the greatest blessings of all.”
“She’s certainly a blessing to me.”
Around nine, the guests begin to fade away like clams claimed by the sea, the tide calling them home. Charlotte kisses my cheek again before driving her Prius away on her own, and Ethan wrangles each twin upstairs for bed.
Once everyone is gone, Brie slides down to the crumb-covered floor, leaning her head back against the wall. “That was a disaster.”
I shove a plate out of the way with my toe before sitting beside her. Instead of flowing away with the tide, I want to dig myself deep into the sand. “It was fabulous.”
“Are you certain?”
“I loved it. Truly.”
She sighs. “That’s the important thing.”
“And I love that you did this for me. Award for best sister ever goes to you.”
“I wish we had more family here who could celebrate with you.”
“Our family would have only caused chaos.”
I’ve never had any contact with my mother’s relatives, and no one on our father’s side of the family seemed to care much about us—or him, for that matter, while he was alive. When he died, Brie reached out to his family with the news that Arthur Randall was gone, his arteries clogged by smoke. She courageously reached out, but no one in the family reached back in. I figured they were afraid Arthur’s daughters would ask them for money.
Ethan has a large extended family who bicker among themselves and debate about everything from who should win the Super Bowl to what sort of sauce belongs on ravioli. Ultimately, they love each other to pieces, no holds barred. For Brie, joining the Goretti family was like finding her way home. She slipped easily into their chaos, contributing quite well to it all.
“I wanted to give you something special for your birthday,” Brie says.
“You outdid yourself.”
“This was a party, not a gift.”
I lean my head back against a cabinet. “You don’t need to give me a gift.”
“That’s good because you already have the Bambi book I bought for you. Or at least, the professor has it.”
“He’s going to bring it back.”
Ethan slips into the kitchen, standing beside his wife. When Brie glances up at him, a look passes between them. Love in the deepest of forms, grounded in crumbs and kids and complete exhaustion.
I’m envious of their relationship, but also insanely happy that my sister found a man who clearly adores her, a man who has given her what she desired most in life. And he’s given her plenty of other good things along with a family—a beautiful home, security, a love that will undoubtedly last a lifetime.
She wants the same for me, but I’ve told her repeatedly that I don’t thrive on noise, that I’m plenty satisfied with the blessing of my small family—a sister in Brie, my amazing nephews, an aunt in Charlotte.
Brie looks back at me, a tentative smile crossing her lips. “Ethan and I have one more thing for you.”
I wave my hands in front of me, shaking my head. “You’ve already given me too much.”
Ethan hands Brie an envelope, and she tosses it over to me. “Before you open it,” she says, “we are absolutely, positively sure that we want to give this to you.”
Anxiety begins to bubble inside me again, and I want to dig myself deeper into my hole. Or have the salty tide sweep me out of my home in the sand, into the vast hiding places of the sea.
But my sister won’t let me hide. She and Ethan both watch as I open the envelope, waiting for my reaction. I’m sure it will be about as good as when everyone yelled “surprise” a few hours earlier.
Inside is a birthday card with a woman on the cover lounging on a hot-pink chaise, engrossed in a novel. The front reads, Some people live by the book.
Looking up, I glance at the two of them, at the expectation on their faces. There’s no turning back now. I open the card.
Others write their own story.
Under the words is a hand-drawn picture of a stick woman wearing a pair of green boots, a brownish structure that resembles the Eiffel Tower looming behind her. Oscar, I assume, drew it in crayon for me. He likes to draw and wants me to read Henri’s Walk to Paris almost every night I’m here.
Underneath is a note from Brie. Happy birthday, Sis. It’s time for you to write a chapter or two of your own.
I shake my head, eyeing her, then my brother-in-law. “I don’t understand.”
Ethan steps forward, handing me a slip of folded paper. “We want you to go away.”
“Go away?” My words fall out in a violent rush. It feels as if I’ve been slapped.
Brie laughs. “Not for good or anything.”
Relieved, I take a breath. “I still don’t understand.”
“You were so full of life when we were kids, Callie, always talking about the places you were going to explore when you grew up. I wanted to be just like you one day.”
“And now?”
Brie exchanges a glance with Ethan before continuing. “It’s like you’ve climbed up on the edge of the pool in the past two years, and I—we—want you to dive into life again. Fly to Paris or go swim in the Caribbean or take a Hawaiian cruise like Ethan and I did last year.”
The next words pour out before I can censor them. “Except I don’t have anyone to go with me.”
When I see Brie’s face, I feel rotten. Guilty, once again, for making my sister feel bad.
“Nor will you,” she insists, “if you don’t try to meet some new friends . . .”
Who aren’t married—I know what she’s thinking, but the thought dangles out there. My high school, college, and church friends have either moved or married by now. Most of them have children of their own, which isn’t very conducive to flying away for a week or two, at least not with an old friend. And even if Brie didn’t have kids, she couldn’t vacate with me. One of us needs to stay at the store.
Opening the check, I gasp at the number. “That’s too much.”
The smile returns to Brie’s face. “The money we find in our used books adds up.”
“We haven’t found three thousand dollars!”
“Charlotte contributed some to your travel fund, and Ethan and I threw in a little extra as well.” She shrugs. “Consider it payment for the many hours you’ve helped in the store.”
“I already get paid.” Not to mention my apartment . . .
“Please take it,” Ethan says in a way that deflects any argument. “And spend a few weeks traveling this summer.”
“Perhaps Charlotte would want to see Paris.”
Brie shook her head. “This is an adventure she wants you to have on your own.”
When I was a child, I wanted to explore the places I read about in my books, but I don’t want to go away anymore, at least not by myself. But the two of them look so happy about their gift that I can’t possibly refuse. “I appreciate it.”
“No, you don’t.” Brie laughs. “But you can thank me when you return.”
Hours later, after falling onto my bed, I think about what it would be like to visit the islands of Hawaii, but I’m terrified to go someplace like that alone.
Before I turn off my lamp, I make one more wish.
I wish I had someone special to share a trip like this with me.