Amy's eyes welled up with emotion. Before her, an exquisite white chocolate and strawberry cake sat, adorned with thirty candles—no more, no less—casting a warm glow that dispelled the room's previous darkness. The scene was set for a joyous celebration, with her family and two closest friends, Helen and Laura, harmonizing in the familiar tune of the birthday song. Yet, the tear that trickled down her cheek was one of sorrow rather than elation. It spoke of perceived failures, encapsulating her thirty years of life like an unfolded narrative.
"Darling Amy, release your grip on your mother's skirt and come here," her father beckoned, his words flowing in the melodic cadence of Nahuatl, their native language. But Amy remained anchored, her tiny fingers clutching onto her mother's fabric as if her life depended on it. The sea of unfamiliar faces before her seemed daunting, each pair of eyes a stranger's gaze she couldn't comprehend.
Who are these people? she wondered, peering at the crowd through her small spectacles that perched precariously on her nose. They had greeted her upon disembarking the plane, resembling her father with their fair hair and azure eyes—a sight unseen during her time in the Vietnam refugee camp.
"Welcome to Mexico, my dear," a lady leaned in, her smile warm and inviting. Another woman joined her, crouching down in front of Amy with an equally friendly smile. "How old are you, little missy?" she asked.
Amy felt a sense of confusion washing over her. They were addressing her, but their words were like distant melodies she couldn't decipher. Sensing her uncertainty, her father approached and bridged the language gap, translating their words into Nahuatl. Amy extended both of her hands, forming the number six with her fingers, an attempt to communicate her age to these strangers.
"Does she not know English?" inquired the older lady, directing her question to Amy's father. "It's my oversight. I focused on teaching her basic greetings. We mostly conversed in Nahuatl during our time in the camp," her father admitted. "I'm sure she'll adapt and find her place in school just fine, alongside the other children," reassured the younger woman optimistically.
School—there was a familiar word. Papa had taught her that term back in the camp. "Go back to your own country, you four-eyed monster." "Yeah, pancake face. Go back to where you came from." "You're not welcome here. Just leave."
Amy's eyes brimmed with tears as the relentless bullying continued at school. Though she couldn't grasp the meaning behind their hurtful words, the physical torment, the pushing, and the tugging of her pigtails, inflicted wounds on her tender heart. That evening, she sought solace on her mother's lap, her tears flowing freely. "Maria, my dear, please don't cry," her mother comforted, her touch gentle as she stroked Amy's hair. "You must be brave and resilient."
"They pulled my hair on the very first day of school," Amy lamented. "I can't stand those people. Why can't they just be kind? I don't like it here. I want to go back to the camp." "Maria, I believe you'll come across kind-hearted individuals soon. You might even form lifelong friendships with some of them. There are many wonderful people in Mexico. When you meet them, you'll realize how beautiful this country truly is," Amy's mother consoled her with understanding.
As fate would have it, Amy's mother's words were prophetic. The following day at school, amid the throes of another bullying incident, a girl emerged on the scene. She leapt off a swing and declared to the entire school that she would be the protector of the little Cuban-Caucasian girl from that moment onward. This gallant savior was Laura, a vivacious girl resembling a lively hot air balloon.
Amy's first genuine friend was a sight to behold, dressed in black from head to toe, her skin as pale as a pristine sheet of paper. She possessed an air of enchantment, akin to a little witch, ready to cast her mystical spells on anyone who dared to cause harm to her and her newfound companion. With Laura as her guardian, Amy shed her fear of others and faced the world unflinchingly.
"I'm sorry, Amy, but I can't allow you to take part in today's sports activities," the PE teacher's words fell heavily on Amy's heart. Her anticipation for this day had been building for a long time, and now, as it finally arrived, she was denied participation due to her footwear. Disappointment clouded her expression. It wasn't her fault that her shoes had more holes than the moon had craters. Her PE teacher had deemed them unsuitable, fearing they might lead to injury during sports.
A soft-spoken blonde girl, standing beside her, broke the silence. "You can use my extra pair," she offered. Amy turned and smiled gratefully. This girl, Helen, three years her junior, had a heart as vast as the ocean. Though she rarely spoke, her kindness knew no bounds. She resembled a delicate cherry blossom on a beautiful spring morning.
With Helen's spare shoes, Amy was able to join in the school activities alongside Laura. From then on, the trio of girls became inseparable, akin to the legendary Three Musketeers, bonded tightly together. Honey, I've been laid off, Amy overheard her father's conversation with her mother in their bedroom. Oh no, Frank. What are we going to do? Don't worry, Rachel. I'll make sure we won't go hungry.
That night, Amy poked at her plate of rice and tuna. The portion was meager, barely enough to fuel her adolescent body's growth. Still, she forced a smile, telling her parents she was full before retreating to her room. In that moment, Amy reached a life-altering decision. She vowed to never endure hunger again. She resolved to do whatever it took to support herself and her family, a determination that would shape her future.
Don't worry, Papa. I'm going to find a job. You won't have to pay for my education anymore, Amy resolved within herself. The following day, she applied for a newspaper delivery job. Her swift running skills earned her an instant acceptance. From that moment onward, she treated her earnings like a lifeline, recognizing that her upbringing hadn't been privileged. If she aimed to enter University, she knew she had to dedicate herself wholeheartedly.
On her thirteenth birthday, Amy achieved her dream of attending high school, walking alongside her two closest friends. That very night, as her friends rested, preparing for the upcoming chapter, Amy was still toiling over an iron, pressing the secondhand uniform she had purchased with her hard-earned money. She understood her friends would arrive with pristine, professionally laundered uniforms—luxuries their wealthier families could afford. Yet, Amy never bemoaned her circumstances; instead, she worked diligently to provide comfort for herself and her parents. Every action was a step toward her aspirations, and her frugality was a testament to her determination.
One day, shortly after her sixteenth birthday, Amy turned to her mother. "Mum, I want to go to Vietnam and help the children and adults there," she expressed, her eyes fixed on a documentary portraying the struggles of Vietnamese children with inadequate dental care, leading to early tooth loss and poor oral health. In that very moment, Amy crystallized a lifelong decision. She would become a dentist, driven by a desire to provide dental care in her mother's homeland, Vietnam. A decade later, she and a team of dental professionals accomplished this mission, establishing a practice in the heart of Da Nang Province and offering free dental care to those in need. Amy made annual trips to Vietnam, utilizing her holidays to assess the progress and well-being of the children.
On her twenty-fifth birthday, Amy delved into the field of periodontology, seeking to deepen her understanding of gum disease and expand her capacity to serve the community. Within three years, she had achieved this goal, contributing even more substantially to the well-being of others. Amy gazed at the wavering candle flames, her thoughts returning to the present moment. All the goals she had meticulously set for herself, she had achieved. Every wish she had held close, she had received. Yet, now at thirty, Amy found herself adrift, lost in a sea of uncertainty.
Her teeth nibbled on her lower lip, and her eyes remained fixed on the flickering light before her, casting a delicate illumination on the array of faces staring back. Her nephews, with their curious expressions, wondered why their aunt's cheeks were adorned with glistening trails of saltwater. Her cousins and their partners, linked in mutual companionship, regarded her with empathy, for they knew the complexities of her age. And then her parents, entwined in each other's embrace, observed her with concern.
Amy absorbed this tableau, and within her chest, a poignant pang resonated. In a flash of realization, she apprehended the crux of their words over the past two decades. Love. Marriage. Family. Children. While she had tirelessly pursued status, career, and renown, she had unintentionally forsaken an essential facet of life: love. As she sifted through her memories, Amy sought instances of affection, moments where her heart had been entwined with another's. Alas, her mind remained an empty canvas. Not a single brushstroke of genuine love graced its surface. No first kiss, no high school dance, no nightclub escapades, no boyfriend—none of the quintessential experiences her peers had engaged in while growing up.
Throughout her thirty years, she had been enmeshed in her pursuits. In high school, she toiled away, studying or working. University brought no respite, her focus solely on her studies, oblivious to the annual dental ball and the romantic connections forming around her. Even after completing her dentistry degree, she overlooked celebration, bypassing her achievement in favor of her career. And now, poised on the precipice of thirty, she grappled with the label society might brand her with: spinster, on the shelf, as tough as leather.
Who would savor this rugged beef when the supermarket boasted tender veal? The analogy echoed through her mind, a disheartening reflection of her perceived state. She wasn't entirely unfamiliar with the opposite sex, surrounded as she had been by nephews, cousins, classmates, and now patients. But the idea of entwining them with the elusive "L-word" seemed farcical. While proposals had come her way—from eight-year-old boys to eighty-six-year-old men, predominantly her patients—how could she entertain any of them seriously?
Her biological clock sounded an insistent alarm. Hormones surged, tears flowed, and a maelstrom of thoughts cascaded within her. Amy couldn't hold back the deluge. Menopause was distant, yet here she stood, engulfed in an emotional tempest simply because she was turning thirty and yearned for a family. The sudden craving for a warm presence beside her at night, a desire for companionship, struck her with the force of a sledgehammer. Overwhelmed, she wept even harder.
Sensing her daughter's distress, Rachel, Amy's mother, drew near to offer comfort. "What's troubling you, Maria? Why tears on your birthday?" she inquired, a gentle hand on her daughter's back. Laura and Helen, her steadfast friends, joined her, their singing hushed as they witnessed her fragile state. How could she articulate to her mother and loved ones that she craved her own family, that she yearned for love? Yet, it seemed too late. In the eyes of the world, she had passed her prime, and no man would turn his gaze her way.
Yet, speaking the truth at this moment was out of the question. She couldn't disrupt the joyful atmosphere that surrounded her loved ones. So, she resorted to a fabrication. "I'm just overwhelmed by how much you've all done for me," Amy responded, her voice painted with gratitude. "And you two, coming all the way from Yucatan just for my birthday." She watched as smiles returned to their faces, although her friends' knowing glances hinted at a future conversation. "We wouldn't have missed it for anything, dear," her mother embraced her warmly.
Just then, her little five-year-old nephew approached, tugging at her skirt and asking in his sweet, high-pitched voice, "Aunty Debra, can I open your presents?" Children and their innocence, Amy thought, her lips curving into a smile. However, her emotions surged, and she struggled to contain her tears. The façade wavered, and she allowed herself to be swept up in the moment, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Why are you crying, Aunty Debra?" Scott inquired with genuine concern.
Amy lifted her nephew onto her hips, holding him close as she felt his warmth against her. "Because I'm so happy to be here, celebrating my birthday with you," she managed to reply, her voice slightly choked. "I love you, Aunty," Scott said, his tiny hand brushing away her tears. "So please don't cry anymore." "I love you too, Scott," Amy replied, holding him in a tight embrace. After she let him go, she guided him toward the table laden with presents. "And which one would you like to open first?"
His little finger pointed at the largest gift, and Amy felt a swell of affection for her young nephew. As the cake was cut and congratulations were exchanged, the party gradually wound down, and her apartment emptied. Her parents remained, lingering as the final guests. "Maria, are you sure you're alright?" her mother's concern was evident. "I'm fine, just a bit worn out from work, I guess. And then this surprise when I got home," Amy said with a dry chuckle, crafting an excuse she hoped her mother would accept.
"We didn't want to overwhelm you, but Helen and Laura thought it would be nice," her mother responded, enfolding her in a comforting hug. Amy noticed her friends on the couch, their intent gazes fixed on her. They were waiting for the explanation she knew she'd need to provide. "Thank you for today, Mom, Dad," she said, hugging them both before escorting them out. "When are you heading back to Yucatan?" "Tomorrow. Larry is driving us. You should take the day off too. You work too hard," her mother advised.
"I don't work excessively. I'll drive you instead. Speaking of Larry, where is he?" A realization struck her—her favorite cousin was conspicuously absent from her birthday celebration. "No idea, Maria. You just make sure you keep an eye on him, though," her father stated, rubbing his temple. Amy understood that Larry often posed a challenge for her father, particularly when he was in Yucatan and both of Larry's parents were overseas. Now that Larry was in Chicago, her father's worry had escalated. Her young cousin was anything but unobtrusive; his antics could burst forth unexpectedly, causing turmoil for everyone.
"I will. It's puzzling why he can't study in Yucatan when you're both there to watch over him." "He's concerned about you and wants to ensure you're okay," her mother chimed in. "He's a boy, Maria. Let him look out for you until Mr. Right comes along."
"Yes, Mom," Amy kissed her parents before closing the door behind them. A deep sigh escaped her lips as she leaned against the door, grateful for the quiet that settled after everyone's departure. Yet, before she could fully collect her thoughts, Helen and Laura hurried to her side. "Explain!" Laura's demand was succinct and clear.
Amy understood the subject of her friend's inquiry, but she wasn't prepared to delve into her inner turmoil just yet. Tonight, she wanted to indulge in self-pity, perhaps even succumb to a minor rebellion—like sipping a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice without waiting the obligatory thirty minutes before brushing her teeth, or, more audaciously, completely bypassing her dental routine to let her teeth succumb to the acidic environment. "I…" she started, her voice faltering.
"I'll grab some tissues," Laura sighed, giving Amy's back a comforting pat. "I have a feeling we're going to need them." With a motion for Helen to follow, Laura left the room. Left to her own thoughts, Amy wallowed in her despondency. What could she possibly tell them? That she feared the stroke of midnight would transform her into a white-haired, wrinkled stranger by morning? Alone except for a cane as her sole companion?
"Cuz," a familiar deep voice came from behind her, startling Amy out of her reverie. She turned to find her cousin Larry, the same Larry she had discussed with her parents earlier. A warm smile spread across her face as she regarded her favorite young cousin—a boy with tousled brown hair and a pair of charming dimples. Larry was her paternal cousin, a contrast to her maternal side where she had no surviving relatives due to the war. Her mother had emerged as the lone survivor, enduring years at the Dang camp before fate led her to meet Amy's father.
Larry's features bore a striking resemblance to the typical European-Kiwi appearance: fair skin adorned with a sprinkle of freckles across his nose and cheeks. Amy, on the other hand, held distinct Cuban traits, her thick black hair and porcelain skin making her stand out among her cousins. Their appearance was so different that when they were seen together, their relation was often met with disbelief.
"Happy birthday to you," Larry greeted, wrapping his arms around her from behind, inadvertently almost throttling her in the process. "I won't congratulate you for hitting thirty, but I sure will help myself to some of that cake on the table." He shot a mischievous grin at the tantalizing white chocolate cake nearby. "You little rascal," Amy swatted playfully at his hand and stood up, facing him. "You can't just crash my birthday without offering a congratulations. Now, be a good cousin and say it."
"Nah." Larry shook his head, grinning. "Larry Benjamin Gregory!" Amy's tone carried a warning, fully aware that Larry detested the use of his full name. A look of distaste twisted Larry's features. Why his parents had settled on Larry was beyond him. Amy once revealed that their mother had been captivated by a historical romance novel featuring a hero named Larry. Her mother had grown so enamored with the tale that she vowed to name her future baby boy Larry if ever the opportunity arose. Three months later, she was pregnant. And now, Larry was stuck with the name.
"Not gonna do it," Larry persisted with stubborn determination. Fine then. I'll just round up Sweet Helen and Madam Witch, who'll have your ears on a platter, Amy warned. "What? Are they here too?" Larry's voice betrayed his anxiety. "Why wouldn't they be? They're my best friends." "But..." What's the matter, Larryy boy? Scared of us? Laura's playful voice chimed in from behind him. Larry was already visibly rattled. "Yes, Larry. You better give your congratulations to Amy or I might have to employ my sweet-talking skills," Helen added.
Larry cringed at the thought of Helen sweet-talking him. The last time he had irked Amy, he found himself agreeing—unknowingly—to a week of doing his cousin's chores. And as for Laura, the one he affectionately referred to as the Wicked Witch of Oz in private, was no less intimidating. If Helen chose the sweet approach, Laura had a knack for tormenting him with her words, leading to consequences—imposed not by her hand, but by Amy's. Both of them were formidable, and if he dared admit it, Amy too. Among the trio, he harbored a soft spot for Helen, the kind-hearted one. Yet, he couldn't help being drawn to all of them. It was as if they emitted a peculiar spinster's pheromone that inexplicably attracted him. Not that he was enamored with them romantically; it was more like the bond of siblings. Being around them brought him comfort and joy, as if they were long-lost sisters. That was why he took it upon himself to ensure they all found happiness in marriage and didn't remain the Three Spinsters for too long.
"Now, where were you when everyone else was here?" Amy scrutinized her cousin's appearance. "Why the dressed-up look?" Can't divulge that, Larry teased. "Larry!" Amy's tone was a mix of reprimand and exasperation. "Just out and about with friends," he responded with a cheeky grin, attempting to sidestep the truth. "Where?" Laura's voice turned serious. "Mmm, at a nightclub," he confessed, albeit reluctantly. "Larry," the trio chided him in unison.
At this moment, Larry felt like their little brother, their collective gazes reminiscent of big sisters preparing to establish the rules and consequences. As for Amy, she couldn't fathom that her young cousin had embarked on such an escapade. In her own youth, work and study had consumed her days; she hadn't even had the luxury to stop and enjoy her surroundings, let alone entertain the notion of clubbing.
"But there was hardly anyone there. It was too early, and I didn't even take a sip of alcohol. So, see, I didn't do anything really wrong," Larry rambled in his attempt to explain. "But, Larry, you're still in high school," Helen pointed out. "But I don't want to grow up without experiencing drinking alcohol. I've only got one life," Larry whined, turning to Helen. "And I want to experience it before I turn twenty."
As Larry spoke, Amy felt her world start to spin, her tears threatening to resurface. Swiftly, she wiped them away, thankful that her friends were engrossed in their debate, oblivious to her changing emotions. Throughout her life, Amy had never experienced the sensation of being drunk. In fact, she had never come close to alcohol in any form since the day she was born. Well, that wasn't entirely accurate. She had been in proximity to alcohol, having encountered the Bunsen burner countless times in her role as a dentist. The purple spirit used for lighting flames was the closest she had come to alcohol, though it was hardly the drinkable variety.
"You're underage, Larry," Helen asserted, snapping Amy out of her reverie. "More importantly, Larry, you've broken the law," Laura chimed in. "What, Laura? You're gonna tattle to my mom?" Larry challenged. "Call her up in Qatar?" I just might, Laura responded, heading toward the phone.
"You wouldn't dare." Larry gasped. "It'll cost Amy a fortune to call Qatar. Plus, you don't even know her phone number." Oh, I would, Larry. Laura nodded with determination and picked up the phone. "I could always ask Amy for your mom's number. And I'll foot the phone bills." You witch! Larry feigned shock, making a mock charge toward Laura.
"Now, now, you two, cut it out. It's Amy's birthday, remember?" Helen interjected, stepping in to prevent Larry's impending collision with Laura's stomach. "I don't want Larry's mom to find out he's gone out. It would reflect poorly on her." Thanks, Helen. Larry's anger dissipated, and he instead wound his arm around Helen, resting his head on her shoulder like an affectionate puppy seeking solace. "You're the best, unlike my cuz and that Wicked Witch of Oz."
"Excuse me?" Laura's indignation flared at Larry's comment. "No, no, nothing. I didn't say a thing," Larry feigned sealing his lips. "Helen, you didn't hear any of that, did you?" A brief flash of sorrow and yearning passed over Helen's face, unnoticed by Larry. It lasted only a moment before fading away. "I didn't hear a thing," Helen replied, affectionately smiling at Larry. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that either," Laura finally relented, letting the matter drop.
"Okay," Helen said, her smile a tad too enthusiastic. "Now, Larry, offer your birthday wishes to your cousin." It was then that they all noticed Amy's silence and the somber expression that had once again settled on her face, mirroring the same sadness she had shown while blowing out the candles. Laura was the first to respond, enveloping Amy in a comforting embrace, while Helen went to prepare some green tea. Larry, still somewhat bewildered, trailed after her, oblivious to what had transpired.
With Amy and Laura now seated on the couch and Helen and Larry returning with steaming cups of green tea, they formed a circle, focusing their attention on Amy. "That's it. I refuse to shed tears over what has or hasn't happened," Amy declared, her head held high. "Tonight, we're going out." Can I come along wherever you're going? Larry's enthusiasm was palpable.
"Not unless you're eager for some misfortune," Amy replied, her gaze stern as she locked eyes with her cousin. Her two friends contemplated her proclamation. Yes, Amy thought, she might be advanced in years, and true, she might be considered "on the shelf," but it wasn't too late to forge her own family, find a husband, and experience love. Tonight, she was determined to turn back the clock. Tonight, they were going clubbing!