Chapter 2 - The Aftershocks
The venue manager, a kind-eyed man named Arthur who had known my father, didn't hesitate. He stepped between Drew and me, his hand raised toward the exit. “Mrs. Howerin, your sister has asked you to leave. Please gather your children.”
Drew’s face flushed a violent, mottled red. The silence in the party room was absolute, broken only by the muffled pop of a stray balloon being cleared by a catering assistant in the hallway. “Are you out of your absolute mind, Maggie?” Drew shrieked, her voice cracking as she grabbed Cody by the collar of his designer sweater—a sweater I had bought him for Easter. “You’re making a scene over a stupid cake? It’s just sugar! Cody didn't mean anything by it, you humorless shrew!”
“Get out, Drew,” I said, my voice unnervingly calm. I didn't yell. I didn't cry. I simply looked at her with an emptiness that terrified her more than any shout could have.
My mother, who had been sitting quietly in the corner nursing a cup of lukewarm decaf, finally hobbled forward with her cane. “Margaret Rose,” she scolded, using my full, formal name meant for reprimands. “You fix this right now. Don't you dare embarrass your sister in front of her friends. What got into you? You look pale. Apologize to Drew and Cody.”
“No, Mom,” I said, turning my gaze to her. “I’m not apologizing. And if you keep screaming, you can catch a cab home with them too.”
My mother gasped, clutching her pearls as if I had struck her. In our family, defying our mother was treated like treason. Drew took advantage of the shock to rally her troops. She herded Cody and her younger twins, Chloe and Caleb, toward the glass double doors. Before stepping out into the brisk Brooklyn air, she pointed a manicured finger straight at my nose. “You are cutting off your nose to spite your face, Maggie! Don’t you dare call me when your little bookkeeping business crashes and you need grocery money! We are done!”
The doors swung shut. The room exhaled.
Arthur walked over, a box of fresh cupcakes and a brand-new vanilla sponge cake from their bakery downstairs balanced on a tray. “On the house, Theo,” Arthur said, smiling gently at my son. “Happy birthday, buddy. Let’s get these candles lit again.”
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Theo looked up at me, his eyes wide with a mixture of confusion and sudden, fierce pride. “Mom, did you really cancel her money?” he whispered as the other children gathered around the new table.
“I did, sweetie,” I whispered back, kissing his forehead. “And we are going to be just fine.”
