“Come on in,” I hear Mom’s voice filter through my bedroom door, “it’s my son’s birthday.”

Oh, no.

Is Mom roping yet another innocent guy into her weird birthday bit?

This used to be embarrassing, but now it’s just sad and exhausting.

I’d go out and give that guy a helping hand, but I’m kind of busy right now, and I’m running late.

I glare at my hair in the mirror. Why won’t you curl like I want you to?

My arms are already getting tired from holding my hair up, curling it, and sticking one hairpin after another into it. And I still have another section to get through.

But I can’t just stop now. I’d draw too much attention—in the wrong way—if I were to show up with 75% of my hair in an elegant updo and the remaining 25% falling stick straight the way it usually does.

I mean, Karen and I aren’t supposed be there in the first place.

We’re taking her parents’ spots so it’s not like we’re crashing the party, but we have a long day at the hospital tomorrow and we really should be having an early night. We’d get lots of frowns if we’re spotted by one of the residency directors, who will definitely be there.

I really shouldn’t go. If I start partying and staying out late now, in the first month of my medical residency, what’s next? Before I know it, I’ll be missing my shifts, getting fired, and joining the throngs of millennials all over the country who can’t find jobs.

At least one person in the house should have her shit together.

With my hair finally done, I grab my purse and take one last look at myself in the mirror.

Even though my arms are a little sore, I now have a loose bun of blonde hair on the top of my head and soft, wavy tendrils framing my face.

I really didn’t want to put so much work into my hair, but it’s the hairstyle that looks best on me. I’ve tried different options: the big, glamorous, Hollywood waves; the simple French twist; the stern, tight bun. I watched so many YouTube tutorials to get my hair just right.

The bright scarlet of my classy fit-and-flare dress contrasts nicely against my blue eyes. A string of pearls hangs just above my cleavage, and a black satin ribbon bow covers the clasp closure on the back of my neck.

Keeping my eyes on the mirror, I slip my feet into a pair of black velvet pumps.

That completes the look. The look that I’ve been putting together the whole month.

I have to work with what I’ve got, but I think I look pretty good, if I may say so myself. I need all the confidence boosters I can get if I’m going to see him.

Gabriel Kent.

Gabe.

Beautiful, strong, sensitive Gabe.

Sometimes, I call him “babe” in my head, ever since I overheard a couple calling each other by that pet name when I was ten.

I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw the winner of the Award for Excellence in Medicine this year. I didn’t even know Gabe was back in town. But that’s exactly why I’ve chosen to intern at Hill Crest Hospital–so at least I’d be close to his dad and get the latest info on him.

Okay, I realize I’m starting to sound like a crazy stalker here, so I should probably also add that it’s a good hospital and there’s a lot of competition for the handful of internship positions available. So it’s not like I’m sacrificing my career for my Gabe obsession.

“Happy birthday to you… Happy birthday to you…” The song floats up from downstairs.

Oh God, I feel so bad for my mom’s latest victim.

Okay, it’s time to go and save someone now.

I’m as ready as I can be anyway.

I step down the stairs, grabbing the railing for balance. I’m not used to wearing heels.

Damn it.

I forget how dusty the handrail is. Most of the time, I try not to touch it, but I’m just a bundle of nerves tonight. I rub my palms together to remove the dirt particles.

I’ve tried to persuade my mom to sell the house. It’s way too big for the three of us to maintain. If we move to a smaller place, we’d save money and have fewer house chores. But she never listens.

“Oh, you look wonderful, darling,” Mom says when she sees me descending down the stairs. “Did you dress up for Sam’s birthday?”

My mom is wearing a pair of jeans and a plain white shirt. She used to dress up all the time, but not these days.

“No, Mom.”

“That’s a shame.” Mom sticks out her bottom lip. “I got a cake and everything.”

“I had cake last week, Mom. And the week before that.” My words are punctuated by the staccato sounds my shoes make as they hit the hard marble tiles.

“Sit down and have a slice, Jackie,” Mom insists.

“I have somewhere else to go to, and I’m running late.” I shoot an apologetic look at the perplexed guy wearing the UPS uniform and standing awkwardly in our dining room. “In fact, I’m going with—” I read the guy’s name tag “—Bill.”

The UPS guys’s eyes widen with surprise, but he quickly catches on. “Uh, yeah. That’s right, Ma’am, I have to leave, too.”

“Oh, that’s too bad.” Mom uses a knife to cut through the cake and puts a slice on a small tea plate. “At least Ray is home,” she says before she yells out my brother’s name.

I glare at my brother as he emerges from his bedroom, his hair a mess.

“What?” he asks when he sees my expression.

“You were here the whole time? Couldn’t you have put a stop to this?” I speak softly through gritted teeth so Mom won’t hear.

“Hey, cake is cake.” Ray shrugs.

Jerk.

I have to do everything around here. I hate being the fun police, but without me everything would crumble. It seems unless the house is literally burning down, nothing matters to Ray.

Last year, when Mom bought a huge, 55-gallon aquarium because “Sam likes fish,” I knew it was going to be trouble. And not just because we couldn’t afford it.

I was in the middle of important exams so I decided to let things go for a while. I thought Ray was bound to do something at some point.

But as the water went from cloudy to murky, it became clear that neither Mom nor Ray was going to do anything. By the time I found someone to take the massive tank off our hands, it had become a festering pool of algae.

So even though I don’t enjoy spending the few days off that I get fending off crises, someone has to do it.

“Come on, Bill.” I look over my shoulder at the UPS guy.

“Yeah.” As Bill follows me out of the dining room, his eyes are glued to the doll sitting at the dinner table, staring blankly at the birthday cake through its beady eyes.

I open the door and step outside, where the air is nice and fresh. I take a deep breath and apologize to Bill the UPS guy with a simple “sorry.”

“Yeah, no, it’s not a problem.” He looks like he has questions, but he’s too stunned to string together the right sentences to sensitively broach the subject of what the hell has just happened.

I don’t blame him, but I don’t have time to give him an explanation either.

It would take too long to tell him a list of things that are wrong with my family. It would take an entire novel.

And my ride is here.

It’s time for me to see Gabe.