Now it just felt like a joke. I cried then, not loudly, just quietly. The kind of crying that slips out of you when you’ve been holding it in all day.
My shoulders shook. I wiped my face with the edge of the tablecloth and sat in the silence, letting it hurt. No one called.
No one texted. Not even a happy birthday mama. At around 1030, I wrapped the pie in foil and put everything in the fridge.
I blew out the candles. I changed into my nightgown. I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at the purple suitcase by the door.
Still packed. Still waiting. I turned off the light and laid down slowly the ache in my knees a little sharper than usual.
I stared at the ceiling fan as it turned the software of the blades the only sound in the room. I folded my hands over my stomach and whispered, Maybe they forgot. I tried to believe that.
But somewhere deep down, I knew. They hadn’t forgotten. They just didn’t come.
The morning after my 75th birthday, I woke up to a still house. Not the peaceful kind of still. The hollow kind.
I sat on the edge of my bed for a long time, staring at the little purple suitcase I had packed and repacked for weeks. The tag still hung from the handle untouched. A part of me still wanted to believe the trip was simply delayed like Andre said that it would happen another day.
That I just needed to be patient. I went through my usual motions. Brushed my teeth.
Tied my scarf tight. Shuffled into the kitchen in my slippers. But everything felt slow, like I was dragging my bones through a dream.
I made a cup of tea, but didn’t drink it. Opened the fridge, looked at the pie, closed it again. I didn’t have the energy to warm up leftovers.
The dishes from last night were still stacked in the sink. I didn’t touch them either. I sat on the couch wrapped in my old knit shawl, the one Harold gave me before he passed.
It smelled faintly like cedar and lavender. I stared at the floor for a long time, listening to the ticking clock on the wall. It was almost noon and still no calls.
No texts. Not even a sorry we missed you mama. I held on to that sliver of hope that maybe today they’d reach out.
Maybe they got the day wrong. Then I heard a knock. Three soft taps at the door.
I got up slowly and peeked through the curtain. It was Tyrell. Sweet boy.
He lived two doors down, always polite, always checking in on me. His grandmother raised him right. I opened the door.
Hey Miss D, he said holding a plastic grocery bag and smiling. Got you that lemon dish soap you mentioned? Oh bless your heart, I said stepping aside. Come on in baby.
He walked in and set the bag on the counter. I was about to offer him some tea, but he noticed my phone sitting on the table. You still having trouble with your apps? He asked, picking it up.
I nodded. It’s been freezing up again. You know how I am with that thing.
I press the wrong button and everything disappears. Tyrell chuckled. Let me take a look.
He sat down at the table, swiping through the settings. I went back to wiping the counter just to give my hand something to do. Then I heard him pause.
Miss D, he said gently. Did you say your son was planning to take you on a trip for your birthday? I turned toward him slowly. Yes, he said it was going to be a family vacation.
But the night before my birthday, he called and said it was postponed. Why? He hesitated, then glanced down at his phone. I didn’t mean to snoop, he said, but I follow your granddaughter on Instagram Imani.
I frowned. OK. He flipped the phone around to show me.
There was clear as day, a beach white sand, blue water. And in the middle of it, my family, my son Andre, his wife Brianna and Imani, all wearing matching shirts that said, Win Family Vacation. They were smiling tanned, holding fruity drinks and posing in front of a giant hotel pool.
The caption said, much needed reset sun with face hashtag win family hashtag no drama, just sunshine. It had been posted the night before. On my birthday, I stared at the photo frozen.
My mouth opened, but no words came out. I slowly reached out and took the phone from Tyrell’s hands, zooming in. It wasn’t just a day trip.
It was a full vacation. The kind with resorts and fancy dinners and spa days. I scrolled to the next post.
Brianna was twirling in a sundress with a champagne glass. Another showed Andre laughing with a cigar in his hand. There was even a shot of Imani showing off her new gold bracelet.
I scrolled and scrolled. Photo after photo, but no mention of me. Not one.
Tyrell sat quietly. I could tell he didn’t know what to say. I swallowed the lump in my throat and set the phone down gently.
They told me it was postponed. I whispered, said we’d reschedule, said they’d come by for dinner. I felt the sting in my eyes before the tears came.
I blinked fast, hoping to hold them back, but it didn’t work. My shoulders trembled. I pressed my hands flat against the table to steady myself.
They left me, I said. They really left me. Tyrell got up and knelt beside me, his voice soft.
I’m so sorry, Miss D. Thought you knew. If I had known. It’s not your fault, baby, I said, wiping my cheeks.
It’s mine for believing them. He didn’t argue. He just sat with me.