Page 133 of It's Always Been You
But I also acknowledge that I’m one of the fortunate ones. Many people live with chronic pain and never find the answers they’re looking for. That knowledge renewed my zeal for caregiving. Well, I neverlostmy zeal for it, but the pain made it impossible to enjoy some days.
All of that is behind me now. These days, I can focus on taking care of my residents during the day and studying for my nursing degree at night. When I graduate, I plan on returning to Dad’s home care agency as a skilled nurse.
I slow down as I approach Grandma’s door and press my ear against the wood. Mindless chatter greets me from the other side.
Just as I suspected.
I knock twice. “Grandma?”
“Come in!”
Pushing the door open, my entire family rushes forward, shouting “Surprise!” in unison.
Lifting my hands to my cheeks, I feign surprise. “Wow. . .”
Grandma pauses. Grimaces. Drops her hands to her growing hips. “You knew, didn’t you?”
“Since Friday,” I admit, grinning sheepishly. Grandma harrumphs.
Jamie runs up and blows a party horn in my face. Smacking it away, I scan the room, searching for the one person I was most looking forward to seeing today.
The gang’s all here. Grandma, Dad, Francine, Jamie, Rebecka, Isabelle, Hope, Adam, Penelope, Abi, Phil, Davy, Matty, Mitch, a few of my cousins, and . . . no Brandon.
My heart falls.
How could he not be here? He knows how important my twenty-seventh birthday is to me. After all, it’s my first official year as a Victorian spinster with no money and no prospects. I am now officially a burden to my parents, whom I’m still living with because they have been nothing short of gracious to me as I pay for school and save money for my upcoming trip to Europe.
Although, I was also kind of hoping it would be mylastyear as a spinster. But where’s my one-and-only prospect? The year I promised to spend “away” from Brandon is almost up, and yet he’s nowhere to be found.
I don’t have time to dwell on the disappointment, though, because Dad is currently shoving a giant box into my hands. “Open mine and Francine’s first.”
I tear into the wrapping, eager to see what’s inside. It’s a . . . doll? I squint and take a closer look. Yes, it’s a fabric doll. She’s got long chestnut brown hair and matching brown eyes. She’s wearing a black dress with fishnet tights and combat boots—and she’s making the peace sign. I laugh out loud and hold the doll up for everyone to see. “Is this supposed to be . . . me?”
Dad and Francine exchange a wary look as the room grows uncomfortably silent. Jamie is stifling laughter behind his closed fist.
Scratching his neck, Dad shrugs. “Well, you always liked dolls and stuffed animals growing up. I don’t know.” He blushes. “I thought you’d like it.”
The gift doesn’t seem all that silly anymore. Rushing forward, I throw my arms around him. “I love it, Dad. Thank you.”
Francine embraces me next, whispering low in my ear. “Don’t worry. Your real gift is inside your card.” She pulls back, offers a wink, and steps away.
None of the other gifts I receive are quite as weird or as touching, but they’re wonderful all the same. Grandma got me a Polaroid camera, and Jamie and Rebecka got me a scrapbook. Adam’s home group put their heads together to get me some pens, notebooks, and some stationery with the Eiffel Tower on it.
“So you can write to us about all your adventures,” Adam clarifies when I hold the gift up for everyone to see.
When the party’s over, Adam lingers to help me and Grandma with the clean up. He grins when we almost bump into one another while throwing some streamers away.
“Sorry,” he says.
I face him. “Adam.”
Tucking his hands into his pockets, he mocks my serious expression. “Evie.”
“You really don’t have to stick around.”
He laughs. “I know.”
My brows scrunch. “Okay, so . . .” Playfully, I wave him off. “Bye.”
