The First Birthday They Skipped

Chapter 4 The Last Message

I spent the rest of that Friday doing things that looked, to anyone watching, like a normal day. I made breakfast. I took Nora to the park. I stopped at the grocery store for milk and bread. And the whole time, my phone was buzzing in my pocket, one message after another, a chorus of voices that had been silent for six months, all of them suddenly interested in my life.

I did not read them at the park. I did not read them at the grocery store. I did not read them until after Nora was down for her nap, and I was sitting in the living room with the phone face-up on the coffee table, watching it light up.

Aunt Sofia: elena? did you get my message?

Uncle Robert: elena, we need to know about the room.

Cousin David: hey! are you there?? we're trying to plan.

Aunt Pauline: sweetie, please answer. we're making arrangements.

There were more. There were so many more. My uncle Brian sent a message that said, "We're coming. Let us know what time works." As if it were a given. As if my home were a hotel and my time were theirs to schedule.

My cousin Lisa, who I had not spoken to in two years, sent a message that said, "Hey! We're going to be in your area! Can we crash at your place? We'll bring the kids. It'll be like old times!!"

Old times. What old times? Lisa had skipped my wedding because of a "scheduling conflict." She had skipped the baby shower. She had skipped the birthday party. And now she wanted old times.

I scrolled to the bottom of my messages and found the last one, which had come in at 4:47 PM.

Aunt Pauline: elena we're all coming on the 2nd. there are 23 of us. we'll need at least 3 bedrooms and a place to park 4 cars. we can figure out the rest when we get there. see you soon!!

Twenty-three of us. Three bedrooms. Four cars.

I read that message twice. Then I read it a third time. And then I did the math that I had been doing since the first message came in, the math that Daniel had done too, the math that anyone with a brain would have done.

Twenty-three people. In a three-bedroom house. With one guest room. On a date they had chosen without asking me. For a visit they had decided to make without asking me. Because they wanted to see the city, and I lived in the city, and that, apparently, was reason enough.

I set the phone down. Nora was asleep. Daniel was at the office, finishing out the year. The house was quiet, and I was alone with my thoughts, and my thoughts were very clear.

I had spent six months waiting for something. I had kept a list in my wallet and a check in my drawer and a question in my head, and now the question was being answered, and the answer was this: they came when they needed something. My mother had said it. She had said it while on pain medication, with her filter low, and I had not understood it then, but I understood it now.

They were not coming to see Nora. They were not coming to see me. They were coming because they needed a place to stay, and I had a place, and I was family, and family meant that you could use them without asking.

I picked up my phone and opened the message from my aunt Pauline. I typed out a response.

Elena: We won't be home.

I looked at it for a long moment. Then I deleted it. Then I typed out another one.

Elena: You should have asked.

I looked at that one too. Then I deleted it. Then I put the phone down and walked away from it, into the kitchen, where I poured myself a glass of water and stood at the window, looking at the backyard.

Daniel came home at 6:30. He found me in the same place.

"So?" he said.

"So."

"Did you answer anyone?"

"No."

"Are you going to?"

"No."

He set his bag down and came to stand next to me at the window. "Elena. Talk to me."

"I am talking to you."

"You're standing at a window looking like you're about to set something on fire."

I turned to look at him. "I'm not going to set anything on fire. I'm going to pack a bag. And I'm going to take Nora to my mother's. And I'm going to turn off my phone."

He was quiet.

"Daniel. You have to be okay with this, or it doesn't work."

"It works either way. They're your family."

"They're not my family. They're people I'm related to."

He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, there was something in his face that I had not seen before. Respect, maybe. Or relief.

"Okay," he said. "What time do you want to leave?"

"Tomorrow morning. Early. Before Nora wakes up."

"You'll drive nine hours with a baby by yourself?"

"I'll stop twice. She's good in the car."

He did not argue. He knew that I had already decided, and Daniel had learned, over six years, when I was persuadable and when I was not. This was not a persuadable moment.

"What do I tell them?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"Elena."

"Nothing. Let them knock. Let them call. Let them figure it out."

He let out a breath that was half a laugh. "You're really doing this."

"I'm really doing this."

"Okay." He pulled out his phone. "I'm calling my mother. She'll want to know."

"About what?"

"About the fact that her son-in-law's relatives are about to show up at our house and find no one home. She'll want a front-row seat."

I laughed, and it felt strange in my throat, like a muscle I had not used in a while. "She'll want to know what happens."

"She'll want to know everything. She loves drama."

"She loves you."

"She loves both of us. But she also loves drama."

I went to the bedroom and pulled out a suitcase. I packed for a week, then added a few more days, because I did not know how long I would want to be gone. I packed for Nora: clothes, diapers, her favorite blanket, the stuffed rabbit she could not sleep without. I packed the check from the restaurant and the list from January, and I put them both in my wallet, and then I called my mother.

"Elena? Is everything okay?"

"Everything's fine. Can we come stay with you for a bit?"

"Of course. When?"

"Tomorrow."

There was a pause. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong. I'll tell you when I get there."

"Elena."

"Mom. Please."

She was quiet for a moment. Then she said, "Okay. I'll make up the room."

"Thank you."

"Elena."

"Yeah?"

"Good for you."

I did not ask her what she meant. I already knew.