Page 57 of I'm Not Your Pet

So I continued to wait, and my excitement never died.

For three hours.

Three hours.

The clock ticked and ticked and ticked.

I called my mom’s cell sixteen times. I called my dad’s work fifteen times. My dad’s secretary told me he was out when she answered on the sixteenth ring. I figured he was getting the cake. You know. Tosurpriseme. Because I was naive, and young—and I’d wanted…well.

You can guess what I wanted.

The house was empty.

The clock kept ticking.

It was eleven-thirty when the front door finally pushed open.

When Dad entered, he wobbled on his feet. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was drunk. He had red lipstick on the collar of his shirt. He smelled like menthols and stale beer. I followed after him, legs numb from sitting so long. With every step I hoped and hoped and hoped.

He wobbled up the stairs without acknowledging me, gripping the railing tight. When he tripped, he chuckled to himself, white-knuckled and tipsy. His briefcase spilled across the steps, and I chased after him, picking up the papers and stacking them into a neat little pile. When we reached the top of the stairs I handed them over, my heart in my throat.

He looked me in the eye for the first time since he’d come home, and his gaze was blurry. Like I wasn’t even there. Like he couldn’t see me at all.

Say it,I’d pleaded in my head.

Say it, please.

“Happy birthday, Hugo.”

That’s all I need to hear and I’ll forgive you.

Say it, say it, say it, say it?—

“Thanks, buddy,” he said instead, slapping me on the shoulder twice before taking the papers from my grip and stumbling into his office. He returned after a few seconds, sans briefcase, and my hopes soared a second time. He squinted at me, his copper-colored hair sticking up in a sweaty mess. He smiled, and I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

“Did you need something?” he asked, leaning heavily against the doorframe.

I stared at him for a long time, and as the clock on the wall ticked, my heart shattered in two. I shook my head, and when I smiled I closed myself off, locking away my heart where he couldn’t break it again.

“Just wanted to say goodnight,” I managed, drowning from the inside out.

“Night,” Dad replied.

“And that I love you,” I added, my hands clenching so hard into fists I could practically smell the bloody smears my fingernails left behind.

“You too, bud.”

Mom didn’t come home.

I retreated downstairs to take the decorations down. I put the board games away. The clock kept ticking. When the house was back to being the mausoleum it had been before, I retreated to my room. I lay in bed and zoned out, head tipped toward the glow-in-the-dark stars on my ceiling. Numb. When the tears finally came I willed them away, but stubbornly, they kept coming.

I closed my eyes and slept.

I never planned a party again.

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