starting on the next calendar, I see,” June says in a flat tone.
“I think we could sell these,” I say, flipping through the rest of the months while my birthday guests crowd around. Most of my guests, at least.
Tory’s taken a seat on the sofa on the other side of the room, a clear invisible wall between him and his brother—between him and me and his brother. It feels thick and ruled by silence. I lift my eyes to his, finding him waiting, staring. I try to form a smile, but it’s faint and sad. It matches the one he gives back to me.
June claps again and as she wrangles everyone’s attention, I walk my new favorite calendar ever over to Tory, handing it to him and being careful to keep a friend-type of distance between us even though every cell in my body is battling to make contact with him.
“Did you know about this?” I ask, remembering how he looked around my room at my photos of June, and the one of him and me.
“Nope. She did this all on her own,” he says, looking up with a half-smile. We stay locked in a stare for a full breath, both looking away when the noise of the room makes us realize we aren’t alone.
“Tory, I need you to be a part of this,” June hollers.
“She’s like a teacher,” he says, twisting up his lips and pulling in his brow.
“That’s what I’ve always said!” I step back to make room for him as he leaves the sofa and rounds the small coffee table. I’m careful to keep extra distance between us, walking slower than him, and curving to the other side of the room. I feel confident that I have everyone fooled—everyone but Hayden, whose glare at his brother is marked by a notable heavy brow and dimmed eyes that look like a predator ready to strike.
“So, before we eat,” June says, these first few words receiving a collective groan from a room full of hungry bellies. “I know, it smells good. It’s almost ready! Just waiting on the wings.”
June went all out, making all my favorites. Other than the soup my mom made, everything else in this spread falls in one of two categories—bakery item or bar food.
“Everyone take a paper. Mom is passing them out.”
My chest constricts because games are not really my thing, but June seemed excited so I told her it was fine as long as it’s not something hard or a pain in the ass to organize. When I take the paper from her mom and read through the first few questions, I wish I let her set up kickball instead.
“Now, no cheating. We have a timer, so you cannot start writing until I say go.” June’s directions are background noise while I scan the list of personal questions about me. My birthday, which everyone should get right. My favorite thing at Holiday Theme Park—easily the glitter cotton candy. My favorite color, favorite time of the day, favorite thing to wear, first crush . . .
I swallow and fold my own paper, moving over to the dessert spread to pick at a few more treats while I wait for June to finish this game. I’ll be shocked if anyone gets more than two. I’m not sure even June knows all the answers. My mom doesn’t, and that thought makes me sad. Over the last few years, we’ve been so consumed with my career and fighting for our independence from my dad that the personal things have sort of fallen to the side.
“And . . . go!”
Instant silence follows June’s directions, and I turn while I nibble on a chocolate pretzel to see everyone feverishly writing answers. June has her paper flattened against a wall so she can write quickly, which . . . why didn’t she just cheat and do it beforehand? She picked the damn questions.
Hayden and Lucas seem to be teaming up, making each other laugh over their answers. Lola and Naomi seem to be working really hard, and my mom and June’s mom are concentrating and giving thought to each answer. Even if they get them wrong, I bet there will be some element of rightness. Tory is hovering in the back of the crowd, his paper folded in his hand. He slips it under some mail in the nook space by the refrigerator where the Mabees keep their keys and phone chargers, then opens the fridge to pull a cold water