Counting Candles for One

I stared at the cake, at the one name piped in white frosting across the blue top, and felt my fingers tighten around the little wrapped box in my lap.

My brother sat at the head of the table with a paper crown tilted over one ear. The candles in front of him shook with the draft from the kitchen vent, little points of fire around his face. Nobody had put anything in front of me except my own plate and the present I kept holding like it might make me visible.

My mother set down the serving knife and finally looked my way, not with surprise, just annoyance. “Don’t start,” she said. “He’s the one turning twelve tonight.”

“I know that,” I said. My voice came out thin.

My father was standing by the counter with both hands flat on the wood. He frowned like I’d spilled something. “Then act like it,” he said. “Stop ruining the moment.”

Something hot moved up my throat. I looked at the cake again. Big blue frosting. My brother’s name. His number. A row of candles, one for each year. Nothing for me. Not even a second plate had been set out when they brought it in.

“It’s my birthday too,” I said.

My mother crossed her arms. She still wasn’t looking at me. “You’re older. Let him have his day.”

“He is having his day,” I said. “I’m talking about mine.”

My father’s mouth went tight. “Why are you making this a fight?”

Because you made it one, I thought.

My brother watched from his chair, one hand on the table, the other near his fork. He didn’t speak. He just looked from me to the cake and back again, like he knew enough to stay still.

I stood up so fast my chair legs scraped the floor.

The room went quiet except for the candles hissing.

I lifted the gift in both hands and slammed it down on the table. The paper tore at one corner. The box jumped against the wood beside the cake.

“I mean nothing to you,” I said. My voice cracked on the last word, and I hated that they could hear it. “Nothing. You couldn’t even pretend tonight.”

My mother’s face hardened. My father looked past me, as if this were some mess he could wait out.

I grabbed my phone from the table and shoved my chair back hard enough to knock it sideways.

“Fine,” I said. “Have your birthday. I’m leaving.”

No one moved to stop me.

I went to the front hall, snatched my coat from the hook, and walked out before I could change my mind. Behind me, the chair lay on its side in the dining room.

Outside, cold air hit my face and made my eyes water. I kept walking with my hands shoved in my pockets and my phone in my fist. After a block, I looked back once.

Through the front window, my brother was still standing by the cake. The candles were still burning.