Hunter
forty-one
MY BIRTHDAY IS ACTUALLY NOT SO BAD.
Although I’ve rarely been a fan of them.
When I was younger, Mom always made my birthdays so special: ice skating, petting zoos, cotton candy machines, magicians, clowns (I’ve never been scared of them), themes based on whatever I was obsessed with that year.
She always baked me a three-tiered cake with a little doll made of fondant that resembled me.
She went out of her way to make them all amazing.
I miss her most days, but it’s especially difficult on days like my birthday. After she died, I didn’t celebrate my birthday for years. As I got older, sometimes I just went out to eat with friends. My birthday has been an afterthought for a long time.
But Celeste and Stevie planned a really nice party, and I’m glad it’s mostly friends, cousins, and close family, and not those high society idiots that I can’t stand. Celeste must’ve convinced my dad not to invite them.
Gramps and Uncle Jack are here, of course, and a lot of my female friends are clustered around my grandfather, hanging on his every word as he regales them about his trips to Egypt to see the pyramids, his adventures on safari in Kenya and Tanzania (and how he almost got trampled by an elephant), and how he one time met Ernest Hemingway when he was a kid.
Maybe some of these stories are true, but they can’t all be true. Nevertheless, people are enjoying them.
Jack comes over and throws his arm around my shoulders, pulling me in and smacking a kiss on my cheek. “Happy Birthday, kid. You look happy. Your girl’s a smoke show, and you’re back winning hockey games again. Life is good, yeah?”
“Pretty good, yeah. Thank you.”
Jack squints at me. “But not perfect.”
“Nothing can be perfect.”
“What’s eatin’ ya? You can tell your uncle.”
“It’s nothing, Jack.”
“It’s not nothing. Ever since you were a little kid, you’d get that look on your face when you were unhappy with something but didn’t know how to fix it.”
“It’s just…” I trail off.
“Your dad? He has a way of sucking all the air out of a room. He’s an energy vampire.”
“He’s an everything vampire,” I mumble.
Jack throws his head back and laughs. “True.” He sips his cognac, his gaze on the partiers on the dance floor.
“So, what is it?” Jack insists. “Come on, this is a safe space.”
I glance at him. Is it a safe space? I don’t know how much I should tell him, but the urge to tell him is strong. He and my father have never been close. Jack is ten years younger than my dad, and I don’t think they ever really bonded growing up.
I turn and face my uncle. He turns toward me, an eyebrow raised in question.
“Did you notice Celeste’s broken arm?”
His eyes shift away as he swirls his cognac. “Yeah. She fell, she said.”
“You believe her?”
He looks at me. “Why shouldn’t I?”
I sigh and look back onto the dance floor.
Celeste, Becca, and Stevie are dancing and laughing together.
Some of my hockey teammates are dancing too, clearly already drunk as skunks.
Jamie and Ryder are leaning against the opposite wall, watching the dancers.
Everyone looks like they’re enjoying themselves.
“I think Dad did it,” I say, tired of beating around the bush.
Jack exhales. He doesn’t say anything for a long time.
A Sabrina Carpenter song comes on and all the girls start singing out loud.
Stevie spots me and smiles, blowing me a kiss.
Holy shit, I’m so glad she’s safe from that fucker for good.
Ryder said he checked Joe’s grave for a week and the asshole is well and truly dead.
He has to be. What was he gonna do, dig his way out with his hands taped behind his back?
One problem solved, one more to go.
I glance at Jack. He’s frowning, a deep crease marring his forehead. When he realizes I’m staring at him, he says, “We shouldn’t jump to conclusions. Ben has changed.”
“You always do that,” I accuse.
“Do what?”
“Protect your big bro. You know he’s an alcoholic, a wifebeater. You know what he did to Mom. You and Grandad always protect him, and for what? Is it worth it? Is it fucking worth it?”
“Keep your voice down.”
“Fuck this.” I turn and walk away, disgusted by my whole family, and eager for this night to end.
I walk down the hallway, on the way to the library.
I just need a few moments to myself. It’s dark inside, except for the light coming from the fireplace.
Two large armchairs flank it. I sit in the one on the right and stare at the flames.
I don’t plan on staying long.
I just need to decompress and get my mind back into celebration mode. I can’t hear the music or any of the revelry in the library, which is cavernous, but I can’t just abandon my friends either. I’m about to head back to the party when the library door opens and someone walks in.
“Stop it, Ben.” It’s Celeste’s voice.
“How much did you spend on this stupid party?” my father bellows.
“Stupid? It’s your son’s birthday!”
“He’s an adult. He doesn’t need some bullshit party celebrating him.”
Celeste doesn’t respond. From the charged silence, I imagine she has her mouth open in shock. “I just…” she trails off. The armchair I’m sitting in has a tall back. There’s no way they can see me.
The thing is, my father doesn’t really care about the money; he just wants to pick a fight.
Any excuse will do. Then, once he picks a fight and the person naturally tries to defend themselves, he escalates.
Eventually, as you struggle to defend yourself and he keeps escalating, things get violent.
You end up hurt. You end up feeling helpless because he’s the rich and powerful and respected one, and you are, essentially, a nobody.
It’s your word against his. And you end up feeling like it was all your fault anyway.
“I knew you were a gold digger,” my father says. “Just like her.”
“Just like who?” Celeste counters. “I never wanted your money. I make decent money on my own. I-I love you.” Her voice stutters. Does she still love him, I wonder? Now that she sees his true colors. But denial is a powerful drug.
I’ve learned that most women take the “gold digger” accusation very seriously. None of them want to be called that. It’s another tactic my father uses to discredit people.
“Love?” my father spits the word like a curse. “You mean love of my money.”
“Ben, what’s going on? You weren’t like this before.”
I imagine my father’s face is twisted into a sneer. It’s a look that always terrified me as a child.
“Get out of my sight,” he says now. I think Celeste might protest, but then I hear the library door opening and closing.
My father’s long exhale fills the ensuing silence.
His footsteps get closer to me, and I realize he’s going to the sideboard to pour himself a drink.
As if he hasn’t imbibed his weight in scotch already.
He grabs a cut crystal glass and pours himself way too much scotch.
I don’t understand how he hasn’t developed cirrhosis yet. Demons are immortal, I guess. He takes a big sip and turns around. When he sees me, he nearly jumps out of his skin.
I suppress a grin.
“Hi, Dad. Thanks for paying for my party.”
He recovers quickly. “Spying on me? It’s not like you.”
“How would you know? You don’t know me at all.”
“Don’t get fresh with me.”
I cock my head, looking him up and down. I suddenly feel like I could bash his head in with one of the heavy candleholders on the fireplace mantel. It’s a heady feeling. Maybe once you pop your homicide cherry, it’s easy to keep going.
I slowly rise from my seat.
“Why are you mad at Celeste for throwing me a party? Don’t you want your only son to be happy?”
His eyes narrow. “What’s gotten into you?”
I lift one shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe I’ve finally grown up. And I’m not afraid of you anymore.”
“Is that a threat?”
“Could be.” I approach him, grabbing a candleholder off the fireplace as I do so. It’s shaped like a raven. Hmm, apt.
“You broke Celeste’s arm, didn’t you?” I ask, looking him straight in the eyes. They’re the same color blue as mine. I always wished my eyes were brown like my mom’s.
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“You did, didn’t you? You’re not denying it.”
“I absolutely am denying it!” His face is red, eyes blazing. And yet I still feel no fear.
I look down at the candleholder in my hand, then back into his ruddy face. “Hmm.”
“What do you think you’re doing? I’ll cut you off so fast your head will spin.”
“I’m not afraid of you anymore. And if you hurt Celeste again, I’ll kill you.” I place the candle holder back on the mantel. “See ya, pops.”
I walk out of the library feeling like a god.
“WHERE WERE YOU?” Stevie asks when I get back to the party. She grabs my hand and drags me to the dance floor. A slow song I don’t recognize is playing. “You’ve barely danced with me tonight,” she says with a mock pout.
I slide my arms around her waist and pull her tight against my chest. “Sorry, princess.”
She smiles up at me shyly. “Can we have sex later tonight?” she whispers.
“Baby, are you kidding me? When’s the last time we went a night without fucking?”
She giggles, cheeks flushing. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was a little tipsy. But I think she’s just high from all the dancing. The girl loves it.
She puts her head on my shoulder and we sway slowly to the music.
Uncle Jack watches us from against the wall. I raise an eyebrow at him, and he lifts his drink. I’m still pissed at him, but I plan on talking to him again this week. He owes me answers. So does my grandfather.
To my left, Jamie is dancing with Becca. My other teammates have also mostly paired off with some of the other women. It’s almost 11pm, and the birthday cake will be served soon. Then I can bow out, take Stevie home, and fuck her all night. That’s going to be my real birthday present.
Finally, the lights dim, one of the servers hired for the night brings out the birthday cake, my friends gather around me, and I make a wish as I blow out the candles.
The cake is devoured in no time at all. Ryder takes three pieces.
Not that I’m counting. Later, it takes about 20 minutes to say goodbye to everyone, thank Celeste for organizing the party, say goodbye to my uncle and grandfather, and leave.
My dad never made another appearance after I left him in the library.
When we get home, Stevie stops me from undressing her right away, much to my dismay. She disappears into one of the other bedrooms and comes out with a gift-wrapped box, handing it to me.
“Baby, I didn’t know what to get you. I feel like you have everything.” She bites down on her lower lip, looking adorably unsure.
“I’m sure I’m going to love it.”
I unwrap the gift. It’s a framed piece of dark blue paper with our names at the top written in gold, an image of a crescent moon, a date, and at the bottom it says: This is what the moon looked like the day we met.
I stare at it for a minute, then I notice Stevie fidgeting beside me.
“Is it stupid?” she asks, anxiety filling her voice. “Do you hate it?”
“It’s perfect,” I say, not taking my eyes off it.
“I know the day we met was…weird. But it was the night you rescued me, and it was the start of everything, and when I look back at it, it’s such a special day for me.”
I look at her finally. “Baby, I love it. Thank you. No one’s ever gotten me something like this.”
She smiles, still looking uncertain. I lean in and kiss her. “I love it, princess. So, can we fuck now?”
She gives me a naughty smile and starts undressing. First, I eat her out until she comes all over my tongue, then I flip her around and drill into her from behind. Her sexy moans and sweet sighs make me come faster than I’d like, but the orgasm is fucking incredible, so I can’t complain.
Best birthday ever.