1. Olivia #2
I never quite got that sentence out either, but it wasn’t because of a trio of sugared-up cousins. No, it was because suddenly there was a happy shouting from the back veranda, and the crowd parted to allow me to see four of my relatives carrying a cake covered in sparklers my way.
“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!”
More cheers arose as the majority of the partygoers joined in.
One would think that the vast range of keys people were singing in would be painful for our wolf hearing, but to me, it sounded like pure joy.
I smiled, giddiness bubbling through my core, and clapped my hands along with the scattered words.
I didn’t join in the singing, though. I never sang.
At least not in public.
“Happy birthday, dear Ooooolllliiiiiiivvvviiiiiiiiiaaaaaaa! Happy birthday to you!”
And then the cake was in front of me. The cake for my birthday. I realized that if I hadn’t been interrupted when I had, I would have continued to miss my own party, which I had spent so many hours setting up. Huh. Perhaps something to think about later. At the moment, I had a cake to deal with!
“Three cheers for the birthday girl! Come on now, blow out your candles!” That was my papa, of course, his cheeks red with merriment, disposable camera already in hand.
No matter how many times we explained to him that his phone could take amazing photos and keep them forever, he always insisted on wielding the past in one hand and the present in the other.
Personally, I liked it. The best of both worlds, really.
“Make a wish! Wish! Wish!” my mother chanted, her eyes nearly closed from how widely she was smiling.
There were more cries of encouragement all around, and I was acutely aware that, at least for the moment, all eyes were on me. It was terrifying, but it was also exhilarating in a way I didn’t mind. In fact... maybe I kind of liked it.
I took a deep breath, a wish sitting right in the center of my mind. But, before I could exhale, the table jolted three times, and a quarter of my candles went out.
Of course, it wasn’t due to some freak-of-nature gust of wind, but rather the triplets, who were standing to my right in a neat row on the table. Perhaps the only time they had been “neat” in their lives.
“Excuse you!” I could tolerate a lot, but blowing out someone else’s birthday candles went way over the line of childhood mischievousness and into downright rude.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Vedette cried, snatching two of them off the table while her husband, Cesare, grabbed the last one. “Here, someone relight the candles!”
How she managed to pull a lighter from her dress pocket with her hands so occupied was beyond me, but she did, and my uncle Luigi rushed to take it from her.
In the slight interim, Leandro stepped forward, looking like the cat that got the cream.
“Since we have a natural sort of pause here, I wanted to take a moment, with all of you assembled, to spotlight my darling Roma.”
“Who, me?” His girlfriend’s tittering voice rose up from further in the crowd, and she stepped forward, dressed to the nines in designer clothing like she was often wont to do.
She was quite literally named after the tomato. Her parents insisted it was a way for them to remember the homeland they missed so much. Roma was every bit the Italian princess one might imagine.
“There she is. Isn’t she gorgeous, everyone?”
I loved my brother—I did—but sometimes he could be so annoying, and he was beginning to get on my nerves. It was my birthday, but of course he had to find a way to—
Wait, is he getting down on one knee?
It was like watching a car crash in slow motion, yet I couldn’t look away.
“Roma, you’ve brought so much joy and light into my life. You’re the ultimate support, and you encourage me to be a better man. So I ask, with all my humble heart, will you marry me?”
“Yes! Oh God, yes! I thought you’d never ask!”
Then he was putting a ring on her manicured finger (when had he pulled that out?) and she was screaming as she jumped up and down. The furor was almost immediate, with everyone around me shouting and applauding.
“Amazing!”
“How romantic!”
“Looks like we’ve got another wedding to plan!”
I tried to be happy for them and joined in with some of the cheers, clapping as best I could.
In my heart of hearts, I was happy for them.
Despite my brother’s grandstanding and selfish tendencies, Roma did really bring out a more considerate, softer side of him.
But even if I did want the best for them, I couldn’t help but think, why propose on my birthday?
Why couldn’t I have one thing for myself?
Naturally, with such an announcement, the cake was forgotten for quite a while. I thought about redirecting the energy toward me, but that would have ruined the mood for everyone. So, I asked those carrying it to put it down on the table, then started plucking the candles out one by one.
It’s not like I had anything to wish for anyway.
I had a healthy, large pack. I was the daughter of the alpha and we were well enough off that I could pretty much ask for whatever I wanted and he would buy it.
I was great at my job in the family business and respected in my department. I had a degree.
Maybe a cat would be nice, but despite our own animal nature, we weren’t really pet people.
Except for Ginna, but those were her babies more than pets.
“I’m going to have to buy a new dress for the wedding with all the weight I’ve lost.”
“I’ll need to buy one with how much weight I’ve gained!”
“What a beautiful couple.”
“Her parents are going to be so thrilled when they hear!”
“I’m sure he’s already asked permission. Leandro is a good boy. Respects tradition.”
“Now it’s just you and Massimo who need to get hitched!”
I looked up sharply at that last line, realizing it was directed at me. I’d been half-heartedly listening to the conversation around me as I dutifully cut the sheet cake into even slices and blinked at one of my older cousins.
“Pardon?”
He grinned at me like what he was saying was perfectly normal. “Riccardo, Serafina, and Leandro are all married or getting married. You and Massimo need to get your rings!”
I was relieved he didn’t say anything about Rolando, because my baby brother was only seventeen and we all were very protective of him. I might have decked him even. Instead of starting a fight, however, I chose to calmly reply.
“Ginna isn’t married, either.”
“Yeah, but Ginna is Ginna; it’s by choice. Once her little sugar-baby fantasy dries up, I’m sure she’ll settle down too.”
“I think you fundamentally misunderstand what Ginna’s about.”
“Did somebody say my name?”
As if summoned, my second eldest sister and third eldest Rizoli child pushed through the throng of people waiting for the cake without looking like they were waiting for the cake, dressed in her usual guidette glory.
I said that with love, because my sister embraced the stereotype and loved every minute of it.
“Sure did,” I answered, allowing my cousin to sweat a moment before covering for him. “Paulie was just asking about Lil’ Champange, but I think you two broke up?”
When she had first texted me about him, I assumed it was a typo and he was named after bubbling alcohol from a very particular area of France. But no, his name was quite literally Little Cam-pang-knee.
Creative types, I guessed.
“Oh yeah, that was ages ago,” she said, popping her gum. “He got too into the biz, ya know? I love me a man in the spotlight, but he’s gotta know that there ain’t gonna be no hoes when you got Ginna on your roster!”
She nodded for emphasis, and I repeated the gesture back at her.
While the grand majority of my family had thick Italian, Jersey, or even Italian-Jersey accents, my sister often played hers up for emphasis.
I never took it as her being fake, but rather a way of expressing herself in a family where time and attention were the two tightest resources.
“But, oh! You should see my new girl. She owns a football club in the UK. Here, hold my babies!”
She shoved her purse into Paulie’s arms. He took it, of course, because we all knew that her two children, Rosemary and Oregano, were inside.
I wasn’t into small dogs, and a Yorkshire Terrier and a Chihuahua were the definition of small, but Ginna lavished them with so much energy and enrichment that neither had anxiety, aggression, or bladder problems. They loved their mama and most wolf shifters since they smelled related—at least, that’s what she told us.
“Here she is,” she said, brandishing her phone and shoving it into Paulie’s face. She was smiling, but I wasn’t sure if that was just because her high ponytail was so tight it was tugging up the corners of her mouth. “Isn’t she gorgeous? She says she loves spoiling someone down to earth like me.”
I nearly choked on my spit and quickly turned my attention back to the cake while my sister monologued. I knew she meant every word, but I also knew the two would eventually break up and then she’d be on to the next rich boyfriend or girlfriend she could land.
Some of the family judged her for it, but honestly, I admired her for doing her own thing. I was twenty-nine—wait, no; I was thirty now—and I’d never so much as lived on my own. Ginna had apartments in the heart of NYC, LA, Paris, and London. She knew what she was doing and living well.
She was living for herself.
That thought stayed with me while I finished cutting the cake.
It lingered in my mind, trying to slither down all sorts of rabbit holes I didn’t want to contemplate.
In the human world, it would be weird that I was still living with my parents and had no plans to ever be on my own, but I was a wolf. I had pack.
That made it normal… right?