“So do I,” I said.
A few people smiled.
Then, the room went strangely quiet for a second.
Everyone there knew what Daniel had missed.
I noticed an empty chair at the end of the table and deliberately looked away.
I cut the cake, handed out plates, wiped frosting from Owen’s hair, and kept moving.
The twins smashed cake into their faces while everyone laughed.
Carol took photographs.
Mia tried to steal Owen’s piece, and Owen protected it by planting both hands on top.
For a few minutes, the room felt exactly as a first birthday should feel.
Happy.
Messy.
Loud.
Still, every celebration after Daniel died carried another version inside it.
The version where he was there.
After the last guest left, I began gathering paper cups and crumpled napkins.
Carol was unusually quiet.
“Don’t touch anything,” I told her. “You’ve cleaned enough messes in this apartment for one lifetime.”
