The sun had just begun to rise over the ocean, casting a soft glow through the window as Nero sat at the piano, quietly playing the melody that had been stuck in his head for days. His fingers moved slowly over the keys, the notes soft and wistful, perfectly matching his mood. Tomorrow was his birthday—his 11th—but for some reason, he couldn't shake the heavy feeling in his chest.
It had been months since Nero had started living at Charlie's beach house, and while he had grown used to the laid-back energy of the place, there was still an emptiness he couldn't fill. His dad hadn't been around much. Phone calls were brief and rushed, with promises of catching up "soon," but soon never came. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months. Now, Nero wasn't even sure if his dad remembered his birthday was coming up.
A soft sigh escaped Nero as he stopped playing, letting his hands rest in his lap. He thought about calling his dad, trying to remind him without directly saying it, but what if he didn't care? What if it didn't matter?
Later that morning, Nero picked up the phone and dialed his dad's number, rehearsing how he would casually bring up his birthday without making it obvious. The phone rang, and hope flickered in Nero's chest.
"Hey, Nero. What's up?" His dad's voice was rushed, distracted as usual.
Nero swallowed hard, keeping his tone light. "Just wanted to talk for a bit. You know… my birthday's tomorrow."
"Oh, right, right. Happy early birthday, bud. Listen, work's been crazy, but we'll do something soon. I promise."
Nero's heart sank. "Yeah, but I was hoping maybe we could do something tomorrow? Together?"
There was a long sigh on the other end of the line. "I wish I could, but I'm swamped. I'll send you something, okay? We'll celebrate later."
Nero felt the familiar ache in his chest. "Okay. Sure."
"Good. We'll talk later, alright?"
The line went dead. Nero lowered the phone, staring at the screen. His dad had forgotten, he knew it. Even if he had said, "Happy early birthday," it was just an afterthought. The disappointment settled deep in his chest.
He wandered into the living room, plopping down on the couch with a heavy sigh. Charlie, who was half-dozing in front of the TV with his guitar, glanced up when he heard the sigh.
"What's up, kid? You look like someone stole your ice cream," Charlie said, picking up on Nero's mood instantly.
Nero shrugged, not meeting Charlie's eyes. "It's nothing."
Charlie raised an eyebrow, setting his guitar down. "Doesn't look like nothing."
Nero hesitated for a moment, but then it all spilled out. "My dad forgot about my birthday. I mean, he remembered technically, but it doesn't matter. He's too busy."
Charlie was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, that sucks."
Nero smiled faintly. It was such a simple statement, but it was exactly what he needed to hear.
Without missing a beat, Charlie grinned and stood up. "Well, too bad for him, because you're about to have the best birthday ever. We're throwing you a party."
Nero blinked. "A party?"
"Yeah, a party," Charlie said, as if it were obvious. "Berta's already on board."
"Since when?" Nero asked, his disbelief starting to turn into curiosity.
"Since I told her," Charlie smirked. "She'll complain the whole time, but trust me, she loves this stuff. We'll get food, cake, music—everything."
The thought of a party made Nero's chest feel a little lighter. It wouldn't be the same as celebrating with his dad, but the idea of not spending his birthday alone started to lift his spirits.
Nero woke up feeling the familiar weight of disappointment still lingering from yesterday's conversation with his dad. He expected another quiet, uneventful day, but when he wandered into the living room, he was met with a completely different sight.
Balloons. Streamers. A huge "Happy Birthday" banner hung above the kitchen. Berta was grumbling as she set out plates of food, and Charlie was fiddling with a stereo, trying to get some music going. And standing proudly with a lopsided cake in her hands was Rose, beaming with excitement.
"Surprise!" Charlie shouted, throwing his hands in the air.
Nero froze, his eyes wide as he took it all in. He hadn't expected this. Not at all.
"We figured if your dad's too busy, we'd celebrate the right way," Charlie grinned, clearly pleased with himself.
Rose stepped forward, holding the cake toward Nero. "I made this myself! Isn't it wonderful?"
Nero couldn't help but smile, the weight in his chest starting to ease. "It's… great."
Berta waved him over to the table. "Come on, kid, before this one"—she pointed at Rose—"decides to put candles on it and make you sing a duet."
Nero laughed and made his way to the table. The warmth of the scene started to fill him, and the disappointment about his dad began to fade into the background.
Charlie, of course, couldn't resist setting up his famous margarita station (one for him, and non-alcoholic versions for everyone else), and Berta grumbled every time he asked her to do something. But Nero saw the softness in her eyes when she wasn't being watched.
Rose buzzed around the house, tidying and adjusting decorations with an enthusiasm that only she could bring. "Everything has to be perfect," she kept insisting, rearranging the napkins for the third time.
Nero sat back and took it all in. He hadn't had a real birthday party in years, not since his mom had passed. It had always just been him and his dad after that, and his dad was never good at organizing things like this. But now, here he was—surrounded by Charlie, Berta, and even Rose, who had somehow turned a potentially chaotic party into something that felt just right.
Charlie picked up his guitar and began strumming, eventually launching into an impromptu birthday song that included a few jokes about his terrible margaritas and Berta's "infamous" birthday cake (which Rose had made, much to Berta's annoyance).
Everyone laughed, even Berta, who gave Charlie a playful swat with a dish towel. The house was filled with laughter, music, and warmth—a kind of chaotic love that Nero hadn't felt in a long time.
He realized, in that moment, that he wasn't alone. Even if his dad had forgotten, even if things weren't perfect, he had a family here—an odd, quirky family that made him feel like he belonged.
After the party wound down and Rose had left (but not before making Charlie promise she could help with the next event), Nero found himself sitting on the patio, staring out at the ocean. The waves were calm, the sound soothing as they rolled in and out.
Charlie wandered outside, his guitar still in hand, and sat next to Nero. "Not a bad birthday, huh?"
Nero smiled. "Yeah. It was really great. Thanks for doing all this."
Charlie shrugged, playing a few soft chords. "Hey, it was mostly Berta. I just provided the charm."
Nero laughed softly, knowing that wasn't true. "I didn't think anyone would care."
Charlie stopped playing for a moment, looking at him. "Of course we care, kid. You're part of this weird little family now. Your dad might be wrapped up in his own stuff, but don't think for a second you don't matter."
Nero swallowed, his emotions bubbling up. "I just wish he'd—" He trailed off, not wanting to admit how much it hurt that his dad wasn't there.
Charlie nodded, as if he understood without Nero needing to finish. "I get it. But don't forget—you've got people here who care. It's okay to be mad at your dad, but don't let that make you think you're alone in this."
For the first time in a long time, Nero believed him. He had Charlie, Berta, even Rose in her own strange way. It didn't erase the pain, but it made it easier to carry.
Charlie began strumming again, the soft melody filling the night air. Nero closed his eyes and let the music wash over him. Tomorrow would bring its own challenges, but tonight? Tonight, he felt seen.