Chapter 7 Feliz Aniversário
Feliz Aniversário
Mark’s screams must be able to reach hell.
Someone stole the heart of the deer he hunted over the weekend.
Trying to pretend I don’t notice my newest foster parent lose his shit, I focus on my math homework.
I love fifth grade, or at least, I love the things I’m learning.
Not so much my teacher or the other students.
Eventually Mark ends up spitting in my face, asking if I did it. Did I steal organs from the fridge?
Resisting the urge to recoil, knowing that could be misinterpreted as guilt, I look him in the eye and ask, "Why would I want a gross deer heart?" The words come out dead-even, and I hope I’m convincing.
What are the odds he’d figure out the truth?
That this morning I found a small bloody trail leading to under my bed. I’d already guessed that Shadow helped himself to a midnight snack. There’s no other reason for a monster under a bed to take a deer heart.
Thankfully, Mark buys my line and storms off to yell at his wife, Dana. After thirty more minutes of outraged screams that give me a headache, he slams out of the house, claiming he needs a drink, off to his favorite dive bar.
It’s only minutes before Dana slips into my bedroom.
She’s painfully thin to look at, but Mark keeps telling her she’s getting fat, so she continues to gnaw at celery and carrot sticks.
Bony hands pluck at each other. She wears a pretty floral dress that almost covers up the ugliness underneath.
The ugliness Mark put in her heart. It fears and frets.
It roils with insecurity. She’d be so pretty if she was able to cut it out of her.
I’ve only been here a couple of months, but sometimes I think of killing Mark, wondering if that would set Dana free. Or maybe I selfishly just want to silence his dumb mouth.
"He’ll be better after a beer or two," Dana reassures me, before sitting down on the twin bed next to my desk.
Here, I’m the only kid, and I even have my own room. Even with spittle flying from Mark’s mouth, this place is the best landing spot I’ve had.
"Are you happy here, Evie?" Dana asks, hands still nervously fluttering.
Pasting on a smile I know will barely chip at the edges of her insecurity, I say, "Yes. I love my room."
I don’t mention that I wish they would both stop coming into it.
"Oh good, good," she murmurs as she pats at her styled blonde hair. It’s the consistency of straw and has a tendency to fall out in chunks. "I know Mark can seem harsh, but he truly is a sweetheart. He’s just stressed out."
Even at ten, I know his stress is unreasonable to take out on me or Dana. Where I’ve developed a thick skin over the years, Dana’s might as well be made of tissue. It hurts, watching her try to soothe his irrational moods.
If I’ve learned anything, it’s that I won’t be here forever. I plan to appreciate the bedroom, and not having to "get along" with any other kids.
Everyone always thinks the system is like it is for little orphan Annie where all the kids band together in their hopes for forever parents. It’s not like that at all. Too many kids, too many traumas in one place. It gets messy and competitive.
But one room, one bed means that my nights with Shadow are private in a way I’ve never been allowed before.
Though he mainly chooses to stay under the bed, I’ll grab Snarp, a book, and a flashlight, and hang out under there with him.
Sometimes I’ll read out loud to him. He doesn’t say much, but I think he likes it.
"You’ll understand one day," Dana says, reaching over to cover my arm with bony ice cold digits. "You’ll fall in love and realize you’ll do anything for that person. Anything to see them smile back."
I fake a smile at her, but my ten-year-old heart knows without a doubt, what her and Mark have isn’t love. I wouldn’t know better if not for the monster under my bed. I keep him secret and he keeps me safe.
In the short time I’ve come to be with Mark and Dana, I know one thing is for sure. I’ll never give my heart to anyone. Not ever. The movies try to paint it as a healing, joyful thing. But as Dana drifts out of my bedroom like a ghost, I know that it’s anything but.
In the last year and a half, I’ve never been invited to any of Helena’s family gatherings. Cramming into the car with Marie and Alice, I find their eyes are done up with eyeliner and sparkly eye shadow. They are dressed for a party. I panic at seeing the girls wearing dresses.
I picked out my nicest sweater which complements the electric green of my eyes, though it has a hole toward the bottom left side. My jeans don’t have any holes, but there is a small blood stain on the knee I couldn’t get out after slipping and falling on the ice one day.
Then I see Helena is wearing her usual pair of jeans.
The only thing different is her tight-plaited braid is framed by two large gold earrings.
I meet Helena’s eye in the rearview mirror to find her studying me.
She gives a slight nod of approval before she takes off slowly on the dark ice-covered streets.
I sit a little straighter, like the nod filled a hole I didn’t know was gaping.
Unlike the droll mood of our workdays, the girls chatter excitedly in Portuguese. Something about cute boys, but I have no interest in that.
As we pull up to the rec center, I take in the sight of colorful balloons and streamers decorating the entrance. Inside, we follow the screams of kids and the aroma of hot delicious food to the basketball court turned party central.
The thought of socializing with strangers makes my skin crawl. I want to turn on my heel and go home, but I can’t afford to be rude to my boss. Not to mention, it’d be difficult to get back to my apartment from this part of town. I don’t know the nearest bus stop or the schedule here.
Putting my coat on one of the hangars of the rolling coat rack, I try to remember to breathe. I force a smile at no one in particular, lips tight and barely there, just in case someone’s watching.
As I watch the kids run around and play games, I can’t help the pang of jealousy that hits me. I never experienced a childhood like this.
Growing up in foster care, I was always the new kid, never able to make lasting connections. But as I watch Helena’s family interact with each other, I realize this is where Helena, Marie, and Alice live. They don’t live to work, they work to live this life, full of family, food, gossip, and fun.
And I live for the nights, waiting for a monster to show up.
Alice and Marie are off with a bunch of other giggling girls who are close to my age. Still, I have no desire to join them.
The smell of cooked meat wafts my way, and my stomach rumbles in response.
I follow the scent, weaving my way through the crowd of people, trying to blend in and not make eye contact.
Getting in line at a long table full of food, I start to help myself to large helpings.
I know my eyes are bigger than my stomach, but it all smells so good.
The man behind me in line says something I don’t understand. I turn to meet the warm brown eyes of a slim man half a foot taller than me, wearing a blue button-down shirt and a friendly smile.
"I’m sorry, I don’t speak Portuguese." I think he asked me what I’m doing here, but usually my Portuguese context revolves around how messy people are or how pretty their stuff is, courtesy of Marie and Alice.
"I was wondering what a nice girl like you is doing in a place like this?" he says in perfect English.
He has a nice laugh that washes over me as I scoop a large helping of macaroni onto my plate.
"My boss invited me," I say, just as my plate starts to buckle under the weight of the food. The guy sets down his own plate and grabs mine, steadying it before I make a mess.
"Thank you," I say breathlessly. Dropping food on the floor, becoming the center of attention at someone else’s party, would be a literal nightmare for me. I plan to stay as innocuous as possible. I prefer to be a ghost, haunting this place so filled with life.
"I think you may need a second plate, or perhaps a bucket?" he suggests.
Shame slices my insides as I feel the heat of his judgment. Then I meet his gaze and find his eyes sparkling with lighthearted amusement.
Pretending to look around for a bucket, I say, "I thought all those were taken."
He laughs again and my lips curve up despite myself. "So, she’s funny."
I surprised even myself with that comeback. I press my lips together, half afraid if I smile too wide, it’ll crack whatever spell let me be charming for once.
"Oh good," Helena says, coming up from behind me. "You’ve met the birthday boy."
"You’re Miguel," I start in surprise.
Helena pats his shoulder. "Be nice to Evie so she doesn’t quit. She’s the best employee I have."
"Ooh, I’m telling Marie and Alice," Miguel teases.
"Do it," Helena fires off over her shoulder as she walks off. "Then maybe they’ll get off their lazy asses and work harder."
I can’t help the small rush in my chest. Not pride exactly—but something adjacent. Something I’m not used to.
Almost as soon as she’s gone, I try to reach into my back pocket. "Here, can you hold this?" I ask, practically shoving my plate at him. He does so with that amused smile still playing at his lips.
My sweaty fingers fumble to pull out the half-crushed envelope. "Uh, this is for you," I say, holding it out to him.
Then we half juggle, trying to exchange the card for the overflowing plate of food.
He opens it up right there. "Have a roar-some birthday," he muses.
Stepping out of the way from someone trying to get at the macaroni salad, I say, "Err, I didn’t know how old you were turning today."