Chapter 35 Gabriel
Gabriel
Two Weeks Later
“Happy birthday, Sydney!” The moment we step through the front door of my parents’ Gothic Revival home in the Hamptons, our closest friends and family converge on us.
Beside me, Sydney squeezes my hand and smiles.
Mom wraps Sydney in a hug, then rocks her in her arms, before stepping back and shooting me a mock-scolding glance, her light blue eyes smiling. “You told her. She’s not even a little surprised.”
The moment I mentioned we were coming back to New York, my sister and mother went into celebration mode. The fact that our return also coincided with the weekend of Sydney’s thirtieth birthday was, according to Bronwyn, “serendipity.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t like surprises, anymore. This is so kind. But I’d rather not open a door and throw a punch into somebody’s face from being startled,” Sydney says quietly enough for only Mom and me to hear.
Mom’s eyebrows lift, then settle into a warm expression of contrition. “No, honey. I’m sorry I didn’t think of that.”
“I do love the party, though.” Sydney’s smile glows.
Mom places her hand on Sydney’s cheek, her eyes growing teary. “Good. We’re all so happy you’re here with us.”
Dad joins us and gives Sydney a gentle hug, then slaps my back in a slightly rougher version.
“Looking good. Both of you. Mom and I made the food, ourselves, with our own two hands. No caterers. There’s sealed apple juice, flavored seltzer, and still water in the fridge.
Cornhole is set up on the back lawn. We play at three. Gird your loins.”
When the two of them move on to herd the crowd toward the kitchens and patio, Sydney bumps my shoulder with hers. “I can’t get over how down-to-earth your parents are.”
My brows come together slightly. “We weren’t really. Not the way you’re thinking. Before Dad met Mom, he was raising a couple Little Lord Fauntleroys. Mom adopted us when they got married, and we all met in the middle, afterward. I was six or seven the first time I tasted a hamburger.”
Our ten-year-old niece, Phee, carrying a small, hand-wrapped gift, hops her way forward, careful to land only on the black tiles, not the white. When she reaches us, she looks at Sydney, her brow furrowing. Then she turns to me and lifts her arms for a hug.
I bend down and give her a squeeze, her curly dark-blonde hair soft against my cheek, then I release her. “Are the white tiles lava today, Phee Bee?”
“Only Dad still calls me a bee. I don’t buzz. The white tiles aren’t lava. I’m skipping them because this room is a big checkerboard,” she says.
“Do you prefer to be called Phee or Ophelia?” Sydney has remembered only small bits and pieces from her life after college, but Bronwyn and Dean agreed with her when she suggested not telling the kids that she didn’t remember them.
Sydney has gotten to know them through our video calls well enough for the kids not to notice.
Our niece turns her attention to her aunt. “I like Phee for home.” She hesitates. “Can I hug you, now?”
Sydney opens her arms. “I’d love it.”
Phee throws her arms around Sydney’s middle. Sydney squeezes her back, and when Phee doesn’t let go, Sydney takes her cue and continues to hold the hug.
“I was scared,” Phee says against Sydney’s chest, a small sob in her voice. “When I saw you in the chair at your house before you went on vacation. When I hugged you, and you didn’t hug back.”
A fist lodges in my throat. Me too, kiddo.
I place a hand on her head.
“I’m sorry I scared you. I got hurt. But now I’m better,” Sydney says.
“Maybe in a little while, we could go outside and kick around a soccer ball?” Phee asks.
“Absolutely. I hear you’re a goalie for your team now,” Sydney says, still holding on.
Phee nods.
“I brought a ball.” Sydney and Phee speak at the same time, then both laugh.
“It’s on,” Sydney says.
And, still, they don’t let go.
Finally, Phee releases her, so Sydney relaxes her arms.
Phee steps backward. “Hold on one second.”
She passes Sydney the small, squishily-wrapped gift. “I made this. Momwyn said gifts go on the table for later, but I wanted to see you open it.”
Sydney accepts the package. “Well, now you’ve got me too excited to wait.”
Phee rocks on her heels with expectation.
Sydney carefully separates the tape and opens the paper without tearing it, then lifts a crocheted olive-green blob with two braided yarn strings hanging from it. “Oh, how cute. Thank you so much! I love it!”
Phee beams at her. “I worked on it for three weeks.”
Sydney passes me the wrapping paper and holds it up to examine it more closely. It looks like a hat. Maybe. A sadly misshapen, too-small-to fit-a-person head covering with two unfortunate holes in it.
“That’s really . . . thoughtful, Phee,” I say.
She nods. “Do you think Rufus will like it?”
I make eye contact with Sydney and cover my grin with the back of my hand. It’s a hat for the cat. Rufus is going to fucking hate it.
“He’ll be so cute. How could he not love it? I’ll make sure I send you a picture of him wearing it,” Sydney says.
Rory races over to peek around his sister. “Aunt Syddie, knock-knock!”
“Who’s there?”
“Impatient cow,” Rory says, his dark hair flopping over his brow.
Sydney’s lips twitch. “Impatient cow, wh—”
“MOOOO!” Rory yells. Then, he takes off back into the crowd.
Phee chases after him. “You have to run in the yard, not Grandma’s house!”
Sydney’s co-workers arrive, gifts in hand.
I’m still not convinced I did the right thing when I didn’t ask Dad to fire Rob Sennett, but Sydney has been his staunch supporter in the past. When she remembers her lab, eventually, the last thing I want is her thinking I overstepped her authority while she was vulnerable.
Even if the guy is a dickhead. Sydney can fire him.
Amelia Webster follows after Rob, a giant snake plant in her arms. But where the man appears to wish he were anywhere else, the blonde looks around the marble foyer with delighted eyes, as though she’s studying for a pop a quiz later.
When the crowd clears, she trundles over to us with her armload. “Happy birthday!”
Sydney laughs, and I take the plant from Amelia before she drops it.
Immediately, Amelia hugs Sydney and bounces in her arms squealing, then breaks into a loud and jazzy version of the birthday song.
I place the plant on the floor in the corner, then return quickly to my wife, rubbing my eye with the palm of my hand and feeling like an ass that the woman annoys me so much.
I swear to God she didn’t used to be this bad.
“Wait, there’s more,” Amelia singsongs and holds out a hand to Rob where he stands with irritation written all over his face.
A slight man with a blond combover, glasses, and of slightly less than average height for a man, he makes up for his less than imposing presence with what Sydney used to affectionately call a “Grumpy Gus” attitude.
He passes over a black gift bag to Amelia, who, in turn, gives it to Sydney.
“You can open it now. It’s nothing too big. I promise. It’s from Rob,” Amelia says.
Sydney’s mouth quirks into a sardonic smile. “Thank you.”
When Sydney passes me the yellow tissue paper and pulls out a Pittsburgh Steelers ball cap, her mouth falls open. “How?”
Amelia nods. “I know you lost your lucky hat. When everything happened, I mean. You always kept it in your locker at the lab for good luck. Rob wanted to get you another one,” she gushes.
Rob shoots Amelia another annoyed glance. I never imagined relating to Rob about anything, but here we are.
“It was Amelia’s idea. She didn’t like that I was bringing a gift card,” Rob says.
Amelia props her hands on her hips and scowls. “You just ruined the whole point of me saving you from giving a generic gift.”
“Thank you, Amelia. This is so thoughtful. How in the world did you find an exact copy of a 2006 Super Bowl hat?”
“eBay,” she sings with a wobble of her head.
Sydney shakes her head. “It looks the same. It feels the same. Thank you so much.”
Amelia’s cheeks turn pink, and she gives Sydney a pleased smile. “It has a little cut on the brim there, and a little more wear than yours did, but I’m glad you like it.”
When Amelia and Rob head for the kitchen, Sydney affixes the hat on top of her head and feeds her thick ponytail through the hole in the back with a look of concentration. “I was wearing my lucky hat in the security footage the night I vandalized the lab.”
“I’d never actually seen it on your head before that. You were too worried about wear and tear.”
“Growing up, I kept most of my belongings in a garbage bag to move from home to home. If I got something that was important to me, it felt like the end of the world if something happened to it. One of my coaches gave the hat to me in high school and told me it was my lucky charm. Wherever I had a locker, I had to have my lucky hat. This isn’t the hat.
It’s just ‘a’ hat. But it’s a nice memory. ”
“At least your lucky talisman was headwear and not an unwashed jockstrap. I’ve seen way worse superstitions.”
She grins. “So have I.”
With the last of the well-wishers moving to the backyard, Sydney and I stop off briefly in the kitchen before heading out to the patio together, my palm on her lower back and an open can of flavored seltzer in her hand.
“I never had a real birthday party before. I saw in the photos and social media that we had dinners out and cake, but birthday parties are usually for kids,” she says.
“You just signed your fate. You’re getting a birthday party every year.”
“That’s too much.”
“I don’t make the rules. I just enforce them with extreme prejudice.”
She sputters and shakes her head. Finally, she says, “Okay. But small.”