Toby and Annabelle Lee have joined the party.
The doorknob rattles and then the knocking starts, louder than my heart.
âNo,â I say, hunched over the bowl and resting my forehead on my arm.
âWhat are you doing?â my brother says. His voice is muffled and loud, like heâs smooshed his face against the door. Soto makes her tiny happy yelp. âAw, hi, honey. Hallo. You are such a good girl. What is this thing? This is a dog?â
âMateo?â I say. My brothers are supposed to be at college. My stomach lurches.
âBest surprise ever,â Mateo says. âAre you throwing up?â
âYes,â I say.
âDo you have bulimia?â he asks.
âShut up, Mateo,â I say. Nausea is oozing through my body, up my throat, and I am trying not to let it out again. I swipe away the strands of hair that are sticking to my forehead.
âAha, you do have bulimia!â
âI donât have bulimia, Mateo.â
âOh okay,â he says. He sounds disappointed. âIâve heard good things about it.â
I grimace. âWhy are you here?â I slump back against the wall and rub my eyes.
âItâs your birthday,â he says. âSurprise! Are you coming out of there? Clara wants you to come down for breakfast. Why are you throwing up again?â
I cover my face with my hands. Maybe if I am quiet and itâs dark heâll go away. But heâs like a tick, or my conscience. I scrub at my cheeks with the palms of my hands.
âAre you really sick?â he says, and he sounds concerned this time. âDid you eat bad clams?â
âIâll be out in a second,â I say.
âOkay,â he says. âHurry up. Waffles!â He goes thumping down the hallway, Sotoâs toenails clacking along behind him, andToby and Annabelle Lee scurrying to keep up. I can hear him shouting at Lucas, the shaking of the house as they all thunder downstairs.
Both my brothers are here, then. Everyone is downstairs waiting for me. I drink a glass of water, tepid from the tap, and then refill it again and then one more time. I brush my teeth and wash my face and avoid looking in the mirror. Even through the bathroom door I can hear my brothers shouting over each other and pans clattering and chairs being dragged screaming across the old linoleum.
When I appear at the kitchen door, Soto makes a happy circle and Toby yaps and races around the kitchen island. Annabelle Lee yips from the crook of Mateoâs arm. Lucas takes two long strides over from the center island and hauls me into a hug. âAshley!â he says. He rocks back, lifting me just a tiny bit, and goes, âOof!â and I push away. Soto circles around me and I scratch her head until she huffs and wanders off. Mateoâs sitting at the island with a plate of bacon in front of him, feeding strips into his face like heâs a wood chipper and ignoring Annabelle Leeâs tiny bark, which is vibrating her entire body. My fatherâs hair is sticking straight out from his head in all directions. He is practicing his pancake flips while my grandmother sips coffee out of a Worldâs Best Grandma mug, which the twins bought her for her birthday last year because they thought it was hilarious. It suits her the way a propeller hat would suit a Tibetan monk. She uses it only whenthey visit, and thatâs because they take it out and put it in front of her. She is perfectly pulled together even though itâs not even nine in the morning. The rest of us look like animals who just crawled out of hibernation.
âI thought we were having waffles,â I say, tightening the belt of my big fuzzy pink robe.
âHappy birthday, kiddo!â my father says, glancing away from his pan. âWill you please shut that little thing up?â he says to Mateo.
âDad thought waffles would be too messy,â Mateo says, his mouth full of bacon. He hauls Annabelle Lee up
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