Not until now anyway.
“Laura, would you like to stay?” Gramma asked Billy's mom. “We're having pizza and cupcakes, if you're interested.”
Billy's mom shook her head and passed the gifts to Gramma's wrinkly hands. “I have some errands to run,” she said as I noted that Mom never ran errands. That was Gramma's job. “But I'll be back in a few hours to pick these guys up for a sleepover at my house, if Soldier wants to come.”
I turned to look up at Gramma with hopeful eyes. “Can I, Gramma?”
“We'll talk about it, okay?” she answered before looking back at Billy's mom. “I'll let you know.”
Billy's mom nodded and gave Billy a kiss on the top of his head. He rolled his eyes and told her to leave already. I wondered if he'd want her to leave so bad if she regularly left on her own, like my mom did.
Gramma closed the door as Billy's mom went back to her car, and my friends and Sully and I ran like a herd of elephants up the stairs to my bedroom. And I was right; they liked my room. They liked my room a lot, and we took turns playing video games until the pizza was delivered.
Gramma called us to the dining room, so down we went like a herd of elephants again. Grampa told us all to wash up before we ate, and while my friends made a line at the kitchen sink, I announced I needed to pee anyway.
I went upstairs to the bathroom with the good-smelling soap—the downstairs bathroom soap smelled like baby powder, and I hated baby powder. The door was closed, which was kinda weird because Gramma and Grampa always said to leave it open unless someone was inside. And if Gramma and Grampa were downstairs and Mom was at work, then who was in there?
Maybe someone forgot to leave it open.
So, I turned the knob, finding it wasn’t locked, and gasped when I saw Mom standing at the sink with a bottle of medicine in her hand. She turned on her heel as she tossed something into her mouth and swallowed quickly.
“S-Soldier!” she shouted angrily, her eyes squinty and her cheeks red as she stuffed the medicine bottle into her pocket. “Goddammit! You're supposed to knock!”
I hurried backward a couple of steps. “S-sorry. I'm sorry.”
My heart was beating so, so hard and fast. What was she doing home? She was supposed to be at work; that was why she couldn't be at my party. That was what she had said, so … what was she doing here now?
“Hey, buddy, don't leave your friends hang—” Grampa stopped talking when he saw Mom in the bathroom. “Diane, what are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be at work?”
Mom's eyes moved rapidly from me to Grampa. “I, um … I-I got off early.”
“O-kay.” Grampa used the same voice on her that he had used when I told him I ate all my broccoli at dinner the other night when he knew I had given it all to Sully.
I hated broccoli, but Gramma kept giving it to me.
I was never ever, ever going to eat it.
“What's that in there?” He pointed at the white cap of the bottle sticking out of her pocket.
Mom shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. “I have a headache.”
“Oh, yeah? So, what are you taking for it?”
“Something for a headache.”
“Let me see.” Grampa held out a hand and waited for Mom to give the bottle to him.
I didn't like this. I didn't feel good. My heart was going to blow up, and Mom was going to yell. I could see it in her frowny mouth and tomato-red face.
“How about you just mind your own fucking business?” she shouted, proving me right once again.
Grampa squeezed my shoulder. “Soldier, go downstairs and eat your pizza with your friends. Tell Gramma to come up here.”
“B-but … but I have to pee,” I said, suddenly feeling like I was five again, not eight. Eight-year-olds weren’t supposed to sound like they were going to cry.
“Go pee downstairs,” Grampa ordered.
My bottom lip began to wriggle like a stupid baby. “B-but, but, but—”
“Fucking hell, Soldier! Why the hell are you like this?! Get the fuck out of here!” Mom yelled at me, pointing her finger toward the stairs.
I took one look at her angry eyes, and then I ran.
I ran down the stairs to the bathroom with the baby-powder soap, slammed the door behind me, and wished so, so, so hard that my friends hadn’t heard my mom yell at me. I bet their moms didn't yell at them. I bet their moms didn't fight with their grammas and grampas.
I peed and washed my hands with the gross soap and hoped my friends didn't ask me why my mom had yelled at me on my birthday. Mostly because I was embarrassed, but also because I didn't know why she had yelled in the first place.
“Why the hell are you like this?!”
Like what? What did I do? All I said was that I had to pee.
I wiped my eyes, opened the bathroom door, and almost ran right into Gramma.
“Go eat your pizza, Soldier,” she said in a hurry as she ran up the stairs.
Grampa and Mom were still yelling at each other up there, and I wished my friends weren't here at all.
But I ate my pizza and talked with my friends, and they didn't treat me weird or anything. Even though Grampa and Gramma had been upstairs for a long time and I knew they were all mad at each other for some reason. But Billy, Matt, and Robbie didn't seem to notice or care. And when Gramma finally came back down, she announced that it was time to sing “Happy Birthday” and have cupcakes.
Mom didn't come downstairs.
Mom didn’t sing.
Mom didn't have a cupcake.
I bet Billy's mom sang and had a cupcake on his birthday. I bet Billy’s mom didn’t yell at him for having to pee. And then I was sad as I opened my presents and watched as my friends left. Gramma had asked if I wanted to sleep at Billy's house. She’d said she wanted me to because it was my birthday and I deserved to have fun with my friends, but I didn't want to.
Instead, I went to bed with Sully, feeling like a five-year-old instead of an eight-year-old because I cried into my pillow until I fell asleep and dreamed of walks with Gramma and fishing with Grampa.
“Soldier? Soldier, wake up, sunshine.”
My eyelids opened a crack to see Mom kneeling beside my bed and humming her sunshine song. She was crying, but she was also smiling, and in her hand, she held a cupcake with one lit candle standing in the center.
“You didn't think I'd let you go to bed without singing ‘Happy Birthday,’ did you?”
I sat up slowly, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and asked, “Why did you fight with Gramma and Grampa?”
She sighed and shook her head. “Because I screwed up again, baby. I … I have to get a new job, and I had a headache and took something I shouldn't have to make it better. The Bad Stuff, you know. But I'm gonna clean myself up, okay? I promised them I would, and I'm promising you too. Everything's going to get better.”
She always promised. But unlike Gramma’s and Grampa’s, Mom’s promises broke easily.
“Okay, Mom.”
“Now”—she checked her watch and smiled—“it's eleven eleven, baby. You changed my life at this time eight years ago. I told you then you were gonna save me, and I still believe that. I really, really do. You're gonna save me, right, baby?”
I didn't know what she was talking about. I was only eight years old. I was just a kid, and I wasn’t Superman. How was I supposed to save anybody? What did she mean?