"Did you check her location?" father said, sitting comfortably on the living room couch, if looks newer than I last saw it, weird. "Of course I checked her location, that's the first thing we checked but she's been gone for a week now, and we haven't even filed a missing persons case, obviously some of us are more worried about her than some other people" Diamante looked Papa straight in his eyes when she said 'some other person' emphasizing that papa didn't care about our mother's whereabouts, which I don't think he did either. Diamante, that's what Fayola used to go by before mom left, she was named after mom. But ever since mom left she's insisted we call her by her second name, Fayola, because Diamante reminds her too much of our 'deadbeat' parents.
Their tones were loud when they spoke, they were trying to speak over the sound of the baby crying in the living room, Devante. Papa had a bottle of rum in his hand, as he usually did in the months after mom left, he didn't look as broken as I remember him though, he looked more put together, like the father I remember from my childhood. The one who would push me on the swing and buy ice cream for us, even though he knew we were all lactose intolerant. He would eat all our ice cream for us, and then crack a few jokes about how we couldn't digest dairy, I miss him.
"I'm not going to argue with you on this. I'm going out" papa looked around him, grabbed his coat and headed for the door. Each time he had left this past week, he came back a complete mess, he swore at us, ordered us around, called us names, spit in our faces, it was a nightmare. "and don't you come back in here tracking mud with your shoes. I already cleaned this house." Diamante shouted to him before he left, he nodded, even though he knew he was going to track mud in again, and he left.
The room seemed to brighten up when he left, it seemed less heavy and less dark, almost like a dark cloud had been lifted off us. "I can see you hiding by the staircase Dom!" Diamante said, fixing the cushions in the spot where papa had been sitting. "Goodmorning" I said, shyly, afraid to remind them that it was my birthday. They've been so stressed about mama lately that it feels rude to bring myself up. "Did you sleep well?" Diamante responded, I didn't know what to say. On the one hand, I was excited for my birthday so that kept me up, but I'm also worried about mama, is she ok? Why did she up and leave like that? Does she loves us still? There were words left unsaid. She didn't tell me she loved me before she left. She didn't kiss my forehead as she always did. She didn't come back and tuck me into bed and sing soft kitty to me, she just left.
"I'm stressed about it too" she added, not waiting for me to respond. Diamante knew we were all worried, just as I knew she was doing her best, but sometimes I don't need 'her best' I just need someone to remember my damn birthday. "it's my birthday" I finally said, after a while of tripping on my own words and trying to decide whether or not to say something. Her expression changed from a sad worried one to a remorseful sorry look, "I'm so sorry, happy birthday!" it didn't mean much now, nothing did. So I just spent the rest of the day in my room, listening to Diamante sing while changing Devante's diapers, and feeding him.
"Dominique!" Diamante finally called at sunset, she knew I loved sunsets, that's one constant in my life, every day without fail, the sun will set, even on the days when it is covered by fog. I walked down to the sitting room to find her standing with a cupcake and a small candle, it wasn't much, and it wasn't what we normally did for my birthday, but it was enough, it was her best. "thank you" I said, my eyes began to tear up, tears of sadness. This was my first birthday without my mother, I felt abandoned. Before we got the chance to sing, or to even light the baby pink candle, papa walked in. His belt and trousers were crooked, his short untucked, his tie was worn backwards, and he looked the most drunk I'd ever seen him.
"Ah yes, happy birthday yon ti kras" he said when he walked in, his Haitian accent extremely heavy on those last few words.
I wake myself up from this bad dream, out of fear of what I knew would come next. This is why I don't like celebrating my birthday, because 5 years ago, after mama had been missing for a week, papa put his hands on me.
I keep having flashbacks from that day, not like I've ever really forgotten it, I don't think I ever will.
But today's my birthday, and while Fayola understands why I don't like doing big celebrations anymore, Toby and Tony clearly don't.
"Happy birthday love" Fayola says when I walk downstairs, welcoming me with the smell of cinnamon rolls, just what I need. "thank you" I say back shyly, careful to chew my cinnamon rolls thoroughly so I don't choke. "You have to talk about it eventually you know?" she says, I swear this girl can read me like a book. "it's like every year on your birthday you have a dream about that day and you're in a bad mood the entire day, it's not good for you." she's right, it's not good that I keep bottling all this up. But what more can I do? Cry about it?