Six Candles, Six Suspects

**CHAPTER ONE** Rocket ship I blew a stray strand of hair out of my face, the taste of vanilla and frustration sharp on my tongue. My fingers, slick with blue frosting, smeared another desperate patch onto the cardboard tube I had convinced myself could pass for the USS Space Imagination. It was a mess. The red frosting meant for a fiery exhaust bleed into the silver stars like a cosmic wound. One of the gumdrop astronauts had already gone missing, no doubt kidn*pped by the short fingered mission commander lurking somewhere in the apartment. I shoved the final candy planet into place a skill born of arranging centerpieces for fussy brides and organizing chaotic kid friendly seating charts “Mom! Is it ready? They’re here!” The thunder of small, urgent feet echoed down the hallway. I shoved the final candy planet into place just as my entire universe my six year old boy with a grin that could short circuit my heart barreled into the kitchen. Newt came to a halt, his eyes wide. “Whoa.” The four hectic hours of my life felt worthy after I saw the awestruck face of my little sunshine. “It’s the coolest cake in the whole world,” he declared, launching himself at my legs for a hug that left a sticky imprint of frosting on my jeans. I laughed, sounding a little breathless as I ruffled his impossibly soft messy mop of golden hair. “Only for the coolest six year old in the whole wide galaxy.” I looked down at him, my heart doing that familiar, painful squeeze in my chest. He had my hair, my mother’s stubborn chin, but his eyes… His eyes were a question I had spent six years trying to answer. A startling, too deep to be true sapphire blue that seemed to look right through my soul, to the parts of me I kept locked away. The doorbell chimed and the next hour was a blissful, cycle of wrapping paper, squeals, and the sugar fueled chaos of a kindergarten birthday party. My best friend, Mira, moved through the fray like a special ops agent serving juice to the guests with the sweetest smile ever, making sure everything was perfect. “You’re a lifesaver,” I whispered, handing her a wad of paper towels after a punch spill. “It takes an entire army to survive a six year old’s birthday,” she said, her sleek brown bob not a single hair out of place. “Even if the army is just the two of us and my deep, deep need for wine later.” Finally, the moment came. I killed the lights. Six tiny flames flickered on the lopsided rocket, painting shadows of Bliss on Newt ’s face, a perfect portrait of pure, unfiltered joy. This was a beautiful sight I was going to hold for ever on my heart. “Make a wish, sweetie!” someone’s mom called out. Newt squeezed his eyes shut, pouring himself into the moment. The room held its breath. He took a giant gulp of air and blew. Every single candle went out. And cheers erupted, loud and happy, full of joy. “What did you wish for, Newt ?” asked Chloe a cute girl from his class, her voice tiny and curious. Newt ’s smile didn’t even flicker. He turned it directly on me, a beacon of longing and hope in his eyes. "I wished I could know who my daddy is.” The silence that followed was definitely deafening, thick and heavy, sucking all the air from the room. The catchy I'm a believer from Shrek playing from the Bluetooth speaker suddenly felt obscene. My own smile froze on my face, a brittle mask. I felt the blood drain from my cheeks, a cold dread washing down my spine and pooling in my stomach. I saw the other parents, their judging glances cutting to each other, then away, to the ceiling, to the crumb covered floor. Anywhere but at me. Newt , blissfully unaware of the volcano he had just exploded in the center of my world, just beamed, waiting for me to share his happiness. An hour later, the last little guest was gone, leaving behind a vacuum of silence and a carpet littered with glitter. Mira was attacking the kitchen furiously like a crazy woman, loading the dishwasher like she was punishing it. Newt was on the living room rug, without a care for what was happening around him, happily assembling his new Lego set, his little tongue poked out in concentration. I sat at the sticky kitchen table, staring at a plate smeared with chocolate icing, my hands still trembling in my lap. “Mom?” His small voice was too loud in the quiet, invading my thoughts. “When can I meet him?” My throat closed up. I pushed myself up and went to him, sinking onto the floor and pulled him into my lap. He smelled of cake and sweat and that unmistakable little boy scent that was the closest thing to heaven I knew. “Oh, baby,” I said, the words feeling like sand in my mouth. “It’s… it’s complicated.” “Why?” he asked, pushing his glasses up on his nose, he always did that whenever he was in thought. Then he dipped his head back to look at me, those blue eyes, his father’s eyes wide and confused. “Doesn’t he want to meet me?” The question was a shard of glass straight to the heart. I had to force the next words out. “It’s not that. It’s… Mommy was very mixed up for a while. It’s not as simple as just looking him up.” His little brow furrowed, trying to fit this new, difficult shape into his world. “But… you can find him, right? For my wish?” I pressed a fierce kiss to his forehead, my eyes starting to burn with tears. “I will try, Newt . I promise I will try to figure it out.” It was a promise that I wasn't sure I could keep. Once he was finally asleep, tucked under his comforter surrounded by a plushie plastic army, I made my way back to the war zone in the kitchen. Mira was waiting, arms crossed, leaning against the counter. The party planner was gone. Now it was just my best friend, the human lie detector. And she didn't look happy at all. “Okay,” she said, and her tone brooked no argument. “We need a game plan. You have to tell him something. What’s the story? Is he a charming tour guide you met on one of your vacations, a brilliant scientist, a doc you met during a check up. You need to give that kid a story, Hazel , before his imagination fills in the blanks with something terrifying.” I slumped against the fridge, the cold seeping through my blouse. Every muscle in my body ached. “I can’t just make up a story, Mira.” “Why not? It’s literally in the parenting handbook. Chapter Four: Lie For Their Own Good Until Further Notice.” “Because!” The word exploded out of me, sharp and raw, fueled by six years of fear. “Because I don’t I know who to make up the freakin story about! Okay? I don’t know!” The exasperation vanished from Mira’s face, replaced by a blank look of disbelief. She was staring at me like I had grown a second head. “What do you mean, you don’t know?” “I mean.. I. Don’t. Know.” The admission, spoken aloud for the first time in my life, hung between us, ugly and humiliating. It sucked all the air out of the room. “After Wes… after everything blew up, I just… I went a little numb. I stopped caring. There was a whole summer where I… I don’t even remember half their names, Mira.” Mira’s hand flew to her mouth. Her eyes were huge. “Oh, Hazel." A hot tear of shame finally escaped and tracked through the icing smudge on my cheek. “So, no. I can’t tell him his dad is a charming tour guide or some super smart scientist. I don’t have a damn clue who his dad is.” For a long moment, she just stared at me. I watched the shock in her eyes morph into calculation, then into a fierce, blazing determination. A slow, wicked grin spread across her face. It was the same grin she’d had in college right before she convinced me to crash a frat party or steal a pizza delivery sign. “Okay,” she said, her voice dropping to a scheming whisper. She reached for the half empty bottle of pinot noir on the counter and two relatively clean glasses. “Then we don’t make up a story.” She poured with a steady hand and slid a glass toward me. The deep red liquid looked like truth serum. “We find the story, sweet heart." She clinked her glass against mine. The sound was a starting pistol. One thing was for sure, I had no choice but to go with whatever she had in mind. “Start talking. Who’s on the list?”