Dear Diary,
I can’t remember the last time I was this excited about my birthday. Not the presents, or even turning sixteen. I just keep imagining the party, and having this perfect, candlelit evening with my friends and family to celebrate all the changes in my life over the last year. A very civilized, elegant affair that says to the world, “See? She’s becoming such a refined young lady.”
M.P.M.
in the Porter-Malcolm household was that for twenty-four hours, you got to choose all your favorite things, and no one was allowed to complain. In practice, this applied mostly to food. Picking a menu without editorial comments from six other people was a luxury—as I’d explained to my friends when asking them to join us for dinner.
Though I had yet to forgive Van for inviting her illicit girlfriend to my party without so much as a by-your-leave, my general mood was upbeat. The changes in my life since last year felt satisfyingly dramatic: a milestone worthy of celebration. Plus my grades were good, my skin reasonably unblemished (knock on wood), and I had real friends—the kind who seemed genuinely excited for me, instead of complaining that I was too hard to buy for because I only liked books, and since I’d read everything they had no choice but to forgo the giving of presents altogether, as Anjuli had done last year.
By contrast, Arden, Lydia, and Terry had been whispering about my birthday for weeks, with a dramatic uptick once I mentioned Neill’s probable attendance. I knew perfectly well he was only coming to gorge himself on free food, but rather than spoil the festive atmosphere, I decided to let them discover the truth firsthand. As soon as he regaled them with a few choice anecdotes about papers he was thinking of writing, or the pithiest comments he’d made in class that week, my friends would beg me to run the other way.
The day swept onward, and I sailed happily in its wake until it was almost six o’clock and the house smelled pleasingly of fondue. My triple-layer yellow cake with chocolate frosting was waiting in the kitchen. At last the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” I yelled, hurtling down the stairs. When I yanked open the front door, Anjuli glowered back at me. My smile crumbled to dust.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, after rapidly discarding my first theory (a rupture in the fabric of space and time).
Anjuli gave a huff of annoyance. “Your mom called my mom.”
“Why didn’t you say no?”
“She would have asked too many questions.” Her eyes shifted sideways. Was that a flash of guilt? “Don’t worry. I won’t stay long. There’s a Maya Deren retrospective at the Orpheum later, so obviously everybody from EFS is going. We might get coffee after.”
Speaking of mothers, mine chose that moment to step into the hall. “Come in, come in,” she said, beckoning to Anjuli. “Why don’t you go on into the living room? We have snacks.”
As soon as Anjuli was out of earshot, I turned on my mother. “Why did you invite her?”
“I assumed you’d been too busy with school to worry about party planning.” She patted my cheek. “Sorry if I undermined your independence.”
This was so far off the mark I had no idea where to begin. Had she not noticed Anjuli wasn’t coming over anymore? Did she pay any attention to my life whatsoever?
The doorbell sounded a second time. “I’ll get it,” I said, reaching for the knob.
I was so ready to turn to my mother and say, See? These are my real friends! that it took me several heartbeats to register that I was looking at Neill. He didn’t wait to be invited in.
“Got something for you,” he said, and I almost fell over from the shock. Neill had gotten me a present? Then I realized he was talking to my mother. He held out a thumb drive as if presenting her with a jeweled scepter. “My latest magnum opus.”
Mom smiled thinly. Neill wasn’t one to write twenty pages when forty-five (plus references) offered so much more scope for his brilliance. “Thank you, Neill. I’d better get back to the kitchen. There are things in need of . . . stirring.”
“Is she here?” Neill asked as soon as we were alone.
“Who?”
“That girl you were talking to at Mung’s. Your sister’s friend?”
“I’m not sure friend is the right term. And no, Phoebe is not here.” She was probably too glamorous to attend a sixteenth birthday party. Even though I hadn’t wanted her to come, I felt preemptively offended by the idea she wouldn’t show.
“Great name. Perky.” He made squeezing motions with both hands that I opted not to interpret. “Can’t wait to further that acquaintance, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, she’s pretty busy. Lots of . . . commitments.” Not that she was honoring them.
He winked. “That’s what I’m counting on. Fits right into my plan.”
Part of me considered putting my fingers in my ears and humming, but the rest was too curious. “What plan?”
“Have you seen my course load this semester?” When I shook my head, he snorted. “Let’s just say it’s monumental. Do I have time to manage a relationship? No way. But does that mean I have to be alone? No. It means I need to be smart. Which as you know is not a problem.”
By pretending I was a statue, I managed not to gag.
“I figure anywhere between a third and a half will work with my schedule.”
“A third of . . . ?”
“A girlfriend. Especially if there’s another lady involved. The two of them can handle all the emotional business, freeing me up to devote the necessary time to my studies.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “I’m on track to finish my PhD by twenty-two.” He nodded, as if I’d made some expression of amazement. “Quite a feather in your parents’ cap.”
I shook my head. “Van will never date you.”
“Not directly, but by extension—”
“No. And Phoebe already has a boyfriend, so you’d be looking at a foursome. At least.”
Neill’s foot tapped. “But is he an academic wunderkind?”
“He’s not dumb. And he’s quite debonair.”
He thought this over, breath whooshing loudly through his nostrils. “You’re just jealous.”
Before I could assure him of my indifference, someone knocked at the door. “Snacks are in the living room.” I waved Neill in that direction before turning to greet the new arrival.
This time I was braced for another unpleasant surprise, so of course it was my friends, the people I’d invited to my birthday party. They came in like springtime, soft and sweet-smelling and bearing flowers, as well as a helium balloon, gift bag, and giant box of chocolates. They took it in turns to hug me, calling me Lady Mary and telling me I looked great. (Anton had found me a vintage Liberty print blouse in rich autumnal shades.) Before I could explain about Anjuli, someone tapped the half-open door.
“Hello,” said a deep voice. Apparently my mother had also invited Pittaya, who was holding a book-shaped present with an elaborate red bow. I wondered if he’d wrapped it himself.
“I thought you said Neill was short,” Arden whispered behind her hand.
“This is Pittaya.” I pointed out Terry and Arden. “Lydia you know.” They nodded at each other, not quite smiling. “Why don’t we . . . go into the dining room?” I suggested, since the living room was now full of people I preferred to avoid.
We’d taken a few steps in that direction when the front door swung open behind us and Bo staggered in, carrying a pot of mums so voluminous he could barely see over it.
“Oh my gosh,” said Arden.
“I told my mom to get the biggest bunch they had.” Bo’s voice sounded strained.
“Would you like some help?” Pittaya asked.
“Thanks, man.” Bo passed him the flowers, dusting off his hands before adjusting his tie.
“That is so sweet!” Arden looked like she wanted to pinch his cheeks.
“Yeah, thanks.” I smiled at him. “Jasper would never bring me flowers.”
He winked at me. “I’m not your brother. Can’t say that enough times.”
“Nice tux,” said Lydia.
“This old thing?” He smoothed his lapels as he sauntered past us, leading the way into the dining room. “Why don’t you put them in the middle of the table?” he told Pittaya.
“Actually, the fondue pot goes there,” I said quickly, before the table could be turned into an arboretum. “How about here?”
As I arranged the flowers and gifts on the sideboard, Mom hurried in from the kitchen with a basket of cubed bread.
“Hello, Pittaya and Bo.” She turned to the girls, smiling politely. “Are you friends of Cam’s?”
Heat rushed to my face. “Mom, these are my friends. Arden and Lydia and Terry.” They smiled politely at my mother.
“Hello, ladies.” Jasper posed in the doorway, one hand to his heart. “You’re a vision of loveliness.”
While my friends laughed, I counted placemats. “Can we put another leaf in the table?” I asked my mother, sotto voce.
“Boys.” She clapped her hands. “Go down to the basement. We need more chairs.”
Jasper opened his mouth.
“Because you’re standing there, that’s why,” Mom said before he could protest. Muttering to herself about extra skewers, she headed for the kitchen.
Voices approached from the other direction. My shoulders stiffened, while Arden’s expression brightened. “Is it him?” she asked.
“Um,” I replied.
Anjuli entered first. Neill followed, a bowl of cheese puffs clutched to his chest.
“Hi. We’re friends of Mary’s from school,” Arden announced with a perfect cocktail party smile. “How do you know each other?”
Open-mouthed, Anjuli looked from me to the other three, and then at Pittaya. Her eyes narrowed. “I’m basically her oldest friend.”
“From my old school,” I hinted.
“Ah.” Arden was temporarily at a loss for words. “How nice that we can all be here to celebrate Mary,” she finally managed, placing a restraining hand on Lydia’s arm.
Thumping and clattering, Jasper and Bo made their way up from the basement. “Excuse us,” Jasper said, forcing Anjuli to dodge out of his way. “Oops,” he added, disingenuously. “Didn’t see you there.”
“Is dinner ready?” Neill crunched as he spoke, his fingers scrabbling at the bottom of the mostly empty bowl.
“No!” Jasper sent me an accusing look. “You didn’t tell me there were cheese puffs!”
“It’s a night full of surprises,” I replied as my brother stalked across the room to repossess the bowl.
He looked suspiciously at Neill’s hand. “Have you been licking your fingers?” Neill shrugged. With a scowl of disgust, Jasper shoved the bowl back at him.
“You know it’s bad when Jasper won’t eat it,” Bo whispered from behind me.
I could only nod, thinking how ill all this boded for the meal ahead. Food shortages. Petty squabbles. Poor table manners. Instead of seeing my family at its best, my friends would be treated to the kind of infighting that always broke out when resources were scarce.
Then I heard footsteps on the stairs and Addie appeared, bringing with her a ray of hope. If anyone could keep things civilized, it was my serene oldest sister.
She smiled at me as she placed a package next to the other presents. “Full house.”
“Mm-hm,” I agreed through closed lips.
Next to arrive was Cam, who took in the scene with a quick side-to-side flicker of the eyes but otherwise betrayed no reaction. Van arrived a few steps behind.
“Which one is from us?” she asked her twin, glancing at the pile of gifts.
“That depends,” Addie replied. “What did you get her?”
“I assumed you were on top of it. You know the strain I’m under. Four extra rehearsals this week alone. I’ve barely slept.”
“It really is a tragedy,” Addie said, not quite under her breath.
Mom burst through the swinging door. “Hot stuff, coming through.”
“And we have fondue,” Dad quipped, a few steps behind.
A pair of extra pans had been pressed into service as fondue pots; one cast iron and the other a cheerful red enamel. Hopefully the arrangement appeared semi-intentional, and not as though we were scrambling to accommodate unexpected guests.
“Grab a chair, any chair,” Dad said. Anjuli and Neill reacted as though a piñata had burst open, leaping forward to seize what they could, while Jasper calmly pulled out a chair for Terry. Pittaya and Lydia reached for the same seat, but he immediately conceded, bowing her toward it. When the dust cleared, I tried not to mind that I was stuck with the worst folding chair, the wooden slats striping the backs of my thighs.
“That’s certainly an impressive pile of gifts,” my father remarked as the bread basket made its way around the table.
“And flowers,” added Bo.
Jasper stabbed his fondue fork into the nearest pot of bubbling cheese. Neill, seated next to him, pulled out an empty skewer. He cast an accusing glare at Jasper, who smiled beatifically. Neill flushed, looking around for someone to whom he could tattle.
“More bread?” my father offered.
“Do you have any white bread?”
Mom gave Neill a look.
He gulped. “The crunchy kind is perfect.” Careful to avoid Jasper’s marauding skewer, Neill began covering cube after cube in cheese, filling his plate with gradually congealing lumps. Lydia stared, aghast.
“That’s what you call a fon-don’t,” Bo whispered. He and Jasper fist-bumped.
Arden smiled at my parents. “This is delicious. You know what it reminds me of?” I wondered which part of the experience she was referring to: The fondue? The uninvited guests? Neill’s gluttony? An eighth-grader in a tux? Her eyes gleamed. “Little Women.”
Everyone with the last name Porter-Malcolm froze.
“Because of the big family,” Arden said into the fraught silence, her smile dimming. “Or . . . not. I mean, obviously you’re not all girls.”
“I could be Laurie,” Jasper offered. “The heartthrob next door.”
Mom failed to notice that her youngest child had made a literary reference. “Alcott is a sensitive subject around here,” she said grimly. “I lost a sister to that book.”
Arden blanched. “Like Beth,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her lips. “I am so sorry! I had no idea.”
Jasper snorted into his milk glass. “Aunt Abigail’s still alive and kicking.”
Mom lifted her chin. “It was a question of interpretation.”
“Our aunt is kind of literal,” I explained.
“As opposed to literary,” added Van.
Jasper tossed a chunk of bread into his mouth. “She’s a reenactor, basically. They have this whole old-timey village, and they live there and pretend to be the Alcotts.”
“The Marches, you mean,” Addie corrected.
He shrugged. “Whatevs.”
“They’ve turned that novel into a tourist attraction.” Our mother quivered with righteous indignation. “Can you imagine?”
“Er, no,” Arden said quickly, though I could tell she’d been doing just that.
“Cousin Jo loves her calico.” Jasper jerked suddenly, then bent to rub his shin. I couldn’t tell which of my sisters had kicked him.
Mom was eviscerating a chunk of bread with her fingers. “Some of us are more serious about literature than others.”
“I’m sure you’re the most serious,” Arden said fervently.
Another silence descended on the table, making it easy to hear the light tapping at the door. Van went instantly alert, setting down her fork. “Come in,” she yelled.
Phoebe floated into the room, pink-cheeked from the cold with an adorable knit hat over her abundant curls. She looked like a magazine ad for ice skating and engagement rings.
“Sorry I’m late.” She offered no excuse beyond a glimpse of her dimples and a wave that took in the table at large. Something about her smile tugged at my memory, but before I could place it a more immediate dilemma presented itself. We were out of chairs. Van kept looking around the room as though additional seating might materialize from the ether.
“She can sit by me,” Neill offered, though he had neither an empty chair nor space to add one.
Addie scraped the tines of her fork across her plate. “Maybe she should take my place.”
Van frowned at her. “How would that help?”
“She obviously brings more to the table than I do.” Addie wasn’t looking at her twin, so she didn’t see the way Van’s entire body tensed.
“Seriously, Addie? What is your problem?”
“You have no idea, do you?”
“Obviously not, which is why I asked!”
I snuck a glance at Phoebe, still marooned in the middle of the floor. In that moment, I almost felt sorry for her. Then again, it wasn’t her birthday going to wrack and ruin.
“Girls.” Dad spoke with a note of bewilderment. “Perhaps there’s a more appropriate venue—”
Addie threw down her fork. “I’m tired of being ignored.” Her voice was thick, as if she were on the verge of tears.
Van looked stricken. “I know we haven’t been spending as much time together lately,” she began, falling silent when her twin gave a bark of bitter laughter.
“You think I’m jealous because you’re spending all your time with her?”
From the way Van’s eyes met Phoebe’s, I could tell they’d developed this theory together. “Maybe?” Van ventured.
“I wanted that part,” Addie said quietly, her eyes fixed on her plate.
“You?”
Even without the air of incredulity, this would have been the wrong response. Addie threw up her hands. “Yes, me,” she snapped. “Why is that so shocking? You think I can’t do it.”
“No—I just—you never said anything.”
“I shouldn’t have to tell you. You’re supposed to know me.”
“There are recorded examples of identical twins with—” Neill began, before our mother cut him off with a razor-edged glare.
“I thought you wanted to be Iago,” I ventured.
Addie gave a small shrug. “I figured Desdemona was more attainable. It’s a minor part. Nowhere near as challenging.”
It was as though the twins had switched personalities, and kind, patient Addie was now the caustic one. Or maybe that side of her had always existed, but she’d been content to let Van supply the edge for both of them.
“You are such a snob,” Van snapped, casting a worried look at Phoebe.
“At least I’m not a cliché,” her twin retorted.
“Excuse me?”
“The director dating the leading lady?” Addie scoffed. “Spare me. I think we should add a dance sequence. I wonder where that idea came from!”
Van set down her fork. “You know, Addie, maybe the reason I’ve been avoiding you is that you’re acting like such a shrew.”
“Me? You’re the one who goes on and on about how it’s so hard trying to balance the life of an artist with your relationship, like the rest of us couldn’t possibly understand.”
Van lifted her chin. “I really like Phoebe. She’s important to me.” To her credit, Phoebe blushed.
Arden’s fingers closed around my wrist. “Like like?” she mouthed.
I nodded. Her raised eyebrows posed the next obvious question—what about Alex? To which I could only shrug. Even if we’d been able to speak freely, I wasn’t sure what to say.
Nor, it seemed, was anyone else. Aside from the sound of Neill chewing, the room was painfully quiet—until Yarb started retching from somewhere under the table. Feet jerked out of the way, though we were packed so tightly it was hard to move very far. The convulsive gagging went on and on, like a lawnmower trying to start.
Happy birthday to me, I thought glumly.
“Jasper,” Mom said.
“What do you want me to do, reason with him? Hey there, Yarb, maybe you could yack up that hairball later, when we’re not eating fondue?”
Arden, who had a sensitive gag reflex, clamped her lips together.
Jasper pushed his chair back far enough to peer beneath the table. “False alarm,” he announced, straightening. “Far as I can tell. But I’d keep your shoes on, just in case.”
Cam stood. “I have a boyfriend. We’re going to Winter Formal. He might stop by later for cake, if there’s any left.” She grabbed her plate and glass. “You can have my place,” she told Phoebe.
Phoebe perched nervously at the edge of the chair. There was another awkward silence—almost long enough to make me wish Yarb would start hacking again.
“Winter Formal is a lot of fun,” Arden said with a faint air of desperation.
“High-school dances,” Neill scoffed, still working on his lukewarm fondue nuggets.
“You went to a lot of them?” Phoebe asked sweetly. Jasper grinned at her in open-mouthed delight.
“Jeff,” I said, before another fight could break out. “That’s the name of Cam’s date. He’s very environmentally conscious.”
Mom’s lips pursed with interest. “Hmm.”
“We set them up,” Arden confided.
Pittaya turned to Lydia. “Do you have a date?”
She folded her napkin before setting it down. “Are you asking?”
He nodded.
“Okay.” Lydia tried to sound casual, but a smile was about to break free, despite—or perhaps because of—the death glare she was getting from Anjuli.
“But . . . just like that?” Arden looked as stunned as I felt, though I doubted she’d mentally penciled Pittaya in as a date for Terry. “After all the times I tried to set you up?”
Lydia moved a few leaves of salad around her plate. “Maybe I didn’t want a pity date.”
Oh no, I thought desperately, clutching the edge of the table. Not them too!
“We should go together,” Terry said, throwing me a lifeline. “Since we don’t have dates.”
“That’s hot.” Neill spoke through a mouthful of bread and cheese, making the words even more distasteful.
My parents turned to him in unison, smoke all but billowing from their ears. “I was talking about the fondue,” he choked, reaching for his glass.
“Well, this has been unexpectedly fun.” Jasper folded his hands on the table in front of him. “Is it time for cake?”