Happy Birthday to Me Again (Birthday Trilogy, Book 2) (13 page)

But she wasn’t
silent for long.
 

4.
Sixteen

I awoke to the
sounds of Kimber playing her violin. But what I heard was not the typically
soothing melodies she liked to play. This was as harsh as nails striking a
musical chalkboard, one that didn’t emit classical or new age, but hardcore
rap. I laid in my warm bed for a few minutes, noticing on my phone that it was
only 6:30 A.M. I still had another few hours to sleep before I’d start this
mostly uneventful day. I just had one single outing I needed to make.

When’s my tuxedo fitting? Two o’clock,
right?

I stared up at
the ceiling, reaching my hand out against the wall to feel the vibrations
coming from Kimber’s angry violin playing, trying to imagine the near future of
sharing a bed with someone else every single night. I didn’t know much yet
about Liesel’s sleeping habits. She could be a snorer, a farter. She could sing
out spells in her sleep, for all I knew.

I rubbed my
fingers against my forehead and decided I couldn’t take another minute, let
alone another hour, of Kimber’s chaotic practice time. I slipped on my socks
and made my way out of my room, yawning and trying not to trip in the hallway
from sleepiness.

I knocked on her
door. “Kimber?”

There was no
answer. The harsh sounds of the violin were blasting through the door.

I knocked again.
“Kimber! Will you please open your door?”

Again, no
answer. I decided to open the door anyway, even though I couldn’t think of a
time in recent history when I entered my sister’s bedroom without her
permission.

“Kimber, will
you please stop playing…”

I looked across
the bedroom to see my little sister with her back turned to me, sitting on a
chair, playing her violin ferociously, not so much like she wanted to practice
for her big June performance, but like she wanted to destroy her instrument.
She was pressing her bow against the violin so hard I was surprised it hadn’t
torn in two yet.

She was also
wearing just a bra and panties.

“Oh… oh God!”

Kimber heard
that
. She turned her head around and
screamed so loud I thought my head might explode. “Get out of my room you
pervert!”
 

I shut my
eyelids tight and decided not to open them until I was back in my bedroom
again. My eyes were watering, possibly because I was super tired, but more
likely because I had just seen a sight no eighteen-year-old brother ever wanted
to see of his little sister. It had been difficult adjusting to this new
reality of Kimber starting to date guys at her middle school. But the thought
of Kimber wearing a bra was something that had
never
crossed my mind.

You’re going to Hell, Cameron. It’s got a
spot with your name on it, at the front of the line.

I made my way
under my covers and decided that I wouldn’t come up for air until at least 11
A.M. and that I probably wouldn’t be seeing or talking to Kimber for a while.
The girl definitely respected her privacy. And I had just made a fool of both
of us.

Why oh why did she have to be playing
that instrument so—

I was in the
middle of my thought when my door shot open unexpectedly. Kimber made her way
inside, dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and jeans, thankfully. I thought she
was going to slice my body in half with a chainsaw. Instead, she took a few
steps forward, acting not too awkward, surprisingly, before sitting down at the
foot of my bed.

“Sorry,” she
said, “that was my fault.”

I poked the top
of my head out from underneath the covers. “What?”

“I was playing
too loud. I didn’t even realize
how
loud.”

“Oh… uhh… It’s
OK. It’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.
I’ve never felt like this before, Cam.”

“Like what?”

“Like…
jealous
.”

I pushed my head
against the pillows and tapped my fingers against the bed as Kimber continued
to vent. She wouldn’t even look at me. Instead, she just stared out my bedroom
window. I figured I could’ve been her big brother, or Mom, or guidance
counselor, or pop star icon. She just needed somebody to talk to. I let her.

“Tommy… he
breaks up with me, with no good reason, after months together. I barely have
time to, you know,
digest
, and he’s
already dating Gertrude, the school slut. I can’t get over it. I want to kill
him. I want to take my hands, press them against his skull, and blow up his
face.”

“Kimber… calm
down.”

“I will
not
calm down! How am I supposed to go
to school today? How am I supposed to face the stupid, snot-faced
Gertrude
, and that two-faced,
two-timing, shit-for-brains
sleazeball
?
It’s humiliating!”

“I know it is.
But trust me. You’ll be fine, Kimber. Just don’t hide from him. Show him
apathy… show him you don’t care. And you’ll be the better woman because of it.”

She smiled and
opened the door. “I like this, Cam. You calling me a
woman
.”

“Well, you’re a
young one, at least.”

“Thanks. I’ll
see you later.”

“OK. And
Kimber?”

“Yeah?”

“Sorry I barged
into your room like that.”

She didn’t seem
that upset about it anymore. “No worries. I promise to keep the volume down
next time.”

“Have a good day
at school.”

“I’ll try. I’ll
let you know what happens.”

Kimber closed
the door behind her, and I brought my head back under the covers, hoping I
could get a few more hours of sleep.

But I didn’t
sleep a wink. I just laid there for another hour or more, before I rolled out
of bed and headed to the kitchen for some breakfast.

---

I had circled
the shopping center parking lot twice now. Disoriented, and more than a little
aggravated, I almost slammed my car right into a corpulent mom and her shopping
cart, which was filled to the brim with enough food to last a six-month
hibernation. A little boy, maybe five or so, was trailing behind her. He looked
at me as happy as can be, performing a little dance in the middle of the street
while I waited for him to clear out and follow his mom.

Must be nice,
I thought.
Must be nice to be five years old, waited on hand and foot, completely
immersed in your own stupid games, without a care in the world. I’d kill to be
young again. Even just for a day…

“No you
wouldn’t,” I said out loud. And then: “Where the hell is this goddamn stupid
store?”

I passed the
Trader Joe’s for the third time, when I discovered in the corner of my eye a
side part of the lot I hadn’t traveled to yet. I rolled over five bumps as
quickly as I could without ruining my tires and made a left turn to find one
lone store in the back of the complex. Simon’s Formalwear was the name of the
shop, and it looked empty, which was a good thing. I could get in and out
pretty quickly, I assumed. I didn’t want this to take forever.

I parked the car
and glanced at my face in the rearview mirror. My skin looked even softer than
yesterday, and my eyes particularly looked vibrant. I smiled and stepped out of
the car.

“Knock, knock,”
I said, entering the smallish space of the store to see no one at the register.
I turned to my left to see another tiny space, this one with some tuxedos and
dresses along a bunch of racks. I started inspecting the tuxedos, when I heard
footsteps approaching from behind.

“Yesssss… How
may I help you, young man?”

I turned around
to see a short middle-aged man with thinning black hair and a goofy looking
pair of black-framed glasses. He was five-foot-three, at most.

“I’m looking for
a tuxedo to rent for the day,” I said. “At the end of the month? My dad said to
come see you guys.”

“What’s your
father’s name, boy?”

“Uhh, Stephen.
Stephen Martin.”

“Yesssss… Steve
Martin… the local celebrity who’s known for plastic surgery, not the
Father of the Bride
movies.”

Haven’t heard that one before
. “Yes, that’s right.”

“Yesssss… he
gave me some work on my chest, thighs, and buttocks three months ago. I’ve
never looked or felt better.”

My jaw dropped, and
then I swallowed, trying to keep the vomit down. “Umm… right… could I get a
tuxedo, please?”

He smiled and
ran his right hand through his miniscule amount of hair. “Sure thing, honey.
Whatever tux you pick out, it’s on the house. Make sure you let your dad know.
I may need some more work done.”

Ewwwww.
 

“OK, sure
thing,” I said. I wanted to get out of there.

“Let’s get you
fitted,” he said. “When’s the prom?”

“Pardon me?”

“Are you a
junior or a senior?”

“I’m getting
married
,” I said.

The man started laughing.
“Yeah. And I’m going home tonight with Bradley Cooper.”

“No, really, I’m
serious. I’m getting married at the end of the month.”

He crossed his
arms and looked at me bewildered. “You’re
serious
.”

“Yes, I’m
serious.”

“What are you?
Sixteen? Seventeen?”

“I’m eighteen.”

“Wow,” he said.
“You look younger.” He flipped through some tuxes and started analyzing me.
“How tall are you, son?”

“Six-one.”

“Really?”

He turned me
toward him and pulled me closer. If he tried to make a move on me I was going
to pop him in the nose. The guy looked fifty years old, at least. And, well, he
was a
guy
. As much fun as it was
kissing my basketball buddy Aaron a couple of times last year, I preferred to
stick with the ladies.

“Yes, really,” I
said. “What?”

“Would you mind if
I measure you real quick?”

“Uhh, sure,
yeah, whatever.”

He scurried out
of the room for a minute or two, and then returned with a tape measurer.

“Put your back
against the wall,” he said.

“OK.”

He set the end
of the measuring tape on the carpet and placed the other end all the way at the
top of my head. I yawned, bored, hoping that I’d sooner rather than later get
through this nightmarish scenario. The tux was free; that was nice. But I
wasn’t in the mood to become friends with this weirdo.
 

The man placed
his thumb against the top of the measuring tape. “As I thought.”

“What?”

“You’re about
five-ten.”

“What!”

I took a step
forward and turned around to see his thumb pointed near the seventy-inches mark
of the measuring tape.

“It can’t be…” I
said.

“Excuse me. I’m
gonna go to the back and see if I have a tux in your size. Your dad said you
were six-one, too. Been trying to account for something, have we, Mr. Martin?”

He disappeared
around the corner, and I took this moment alone to fall down to the carpet and
place my legs out in front of me. I hadn’t been able to touch my toes for the
last two years, since I was sixteen. I stretched out my legs as far out as they
could go, and reached my hands for the tips of my toes.

I touched them
without the least bit of difficulty.

“What the hell?”

Am I shrinking?

I had been proud
about the fact that I had finally grown to be an inch taller than my father.
Now I was shorter than him again? I had shrunk three inches? This didn’t seem
right.

It’s probably just his measuring tape.
Let’s see him actually try to fit me with the tux.

When the tuxedo
arrived a few minutes later, I tried it on with trepidation.

It fit
perfectly.

---

“How’s
work going?”

“Oh my God, Cam,
it’s been so crazy. Ever since we lowered the prices on the pizzas last month,
it’s just been insanity here.”

“I know it
sucks, but soon…”

“Yes. Just two
more weeks, and then I’m taking so much time off I won’t know what to do with
myself!”

“Yes you will.
You’ll be spending day and night with me, attending rehearsal dinners, getting
married, things like that.”

I stepped down
my hallway with my cell phone pressed up to my ear and entered my bedroom,
which had become a little messy in the last few days.

Note to self: get neater when you’re
living with Liesel.

I hung my tuxedo
in the closet and plopped down on the bed, yawning with extreme fatigue even
though it was just a few minutes past 10 P.M.