Chapter Fifty-Five: The Birthday
The twins turned seven on a rainy Tuesday in October.
Lina had been planning the party for months, not because seven was a particularly important age, but because she wanted to. Because every birthday felt like a miracle. Because every year that passed with her children healthy and happy was a year she had almost lost.
The theme was outer space, just like it had been for their fourth birthday. Lily had insisted on it, claiming that space was "timeless," a word she had learned from Leo. Leo had agreed, but only if there were "accurate depictions of celestial bodies," which meant Lina had to spend three hours on the internet making sure the decorations were scientifically correct.
The penthouse had been transformed. Black tablecloths stood in for the night sky. Glow-in-the-dark stars covered the walls and ceiling. A cardboard rocket ship, which Ethan had spent two weekends repairing from the last space-themed party, dominated the living room. The cake was shaped like a moon and covered in silver sprinkles, just like before, because Lily had declared it "traditional."
Lina stood in the kitchen, frosting the last of the cupcakes, and allowed herself a moment of pure, uncomplicated happiness.
She thought about the woman she had been when the twins turned four. Still healing. Still learning. Still afraid of the future. She was not that woman anymore. She was someone new. Someone stronger. Someone who had survived.
"Mama! Mama! The aliens are here!"
Lily's voice came from the living room, high and excited, exactly the same as it had been three years ago. Lina wiped her hands on her apron and went to see.
The guests had arrived.
Fifteen seven-year-olds, plus their parents, plus the nannies and grandparents and assorted relatives that seemed to multiply whenever there was free food. The penthouse, which usually felt spacious, was suddenly very small.
Lina spotted the "aliens" immediately—a set of three-eyed monster masks that had somehow survived three years in the toy box. Four of the children had already put them on and were chasing each other around the rocket ship, shrieking with delight.
Leo stood in the middle of the chaos, holding Ellie the elephant, watching the other children with an expression of mild disapproval, exactly as he had done three years ago.
"You're not playing?" Lina asked, kneeling beside him.
Leo shook his head. "They're being loud."
"It's a party. Parties are supposed to be loud."
"I don't like loud."
Lina looked at her son—her serious, thoughtful, beautiful son—and felt a rush of love so intense it almost knocked her over. He was seven now. Seven. She could still remember holding him in the hospital, his tiny fingers wrapped around hers, his eyes barely open. She could still remember the terror and the joy and the overwhelming weight of loving someone so much it hurt.
"What do you like?" she asked, just like she had done three years ago.
Leo considered the question. "Quiet. And Ellie. And pancakes. And you."
"You like me?"
"You're my mama."
The way he said it—so simple, so certain, so unchanged from when he was four—made Lina's eyes sting with tears.
"I like you too," she said. "More than anything."
Leo nodded, as if this was only to be expected. Then he tucked Ellie under his arm and walked over to the window, where the rain was streaking down the glass, and stood there in peaceful silence.
Lina watched him for a moment, her heart so full she thought it might burst.
Then Lily grabbed her hand and dragged her toward the rocket ship, and the party swallowed her whole.
---
The cake was a success, just like it had been three years ago.
The moon-shaped confection had been Lina's idea, but the execution had been all Ethan. He had stayed up until two in the morning, carefully piping silver frosting into craters, his tongue poking out in concentration. Lina had found him asleep at the kitchen table, his face pressed against a half-finished star, exactly like he had done for the fourth birthday.
She had taken another picture.
She was going to frame it next to the old one.
The twins blew out their candles together, their cheeks puffed out, their eyes squeezed shut. Lily wished for a pony, just like she had done three years ago. Leo wished for "more pancakes," just like he had done three years ago. Neither of them got what they wished for, but neither of them seemed to mind.
Lina watched them and thought about how some things never changed.
And how some things changed everything.
---
Maya arrived halfway through the party, carrying a gift wrapped in silver paper.
She was seven now too, though her birthday had been three months ago. She had grown taller over the past year, her braids longer, her eyes brighter. But she was still quiet. Still thoughtful. Still the same girl who had sat in the back of the classroom on her first day of first grade, afraid to speak.
Lily ran to her immediately, dragging her into the chaos. Leo followed more slowly, his book still in his hand, but his face softer than usual.
"You came," Lily said.
"I said I would," Maya replied.
"I know. But I was still afraid you wouldn't."
Maya smiled. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."
Lina watched them—her daughter, her son, the girl who had become like a third child to her—and felt her heart ache with gratitude.
She had not chosen this family. Not all of it. Some of it had chosen her.
---
After the guests had gone home and the twins were asleep, Lina sat on the couch with Ethan.
The penthouse was quiet. The rain had stopped. The stars on the walls glowed softly in the darkness.
"How do you feel?" Ethan asked.
"Old," Lina said. "They're seven. Seven. I remember when they were born like it was yesterday. I remember being so afraid. I remember thinking I wasn't ready."
Ethan put his arm around her. "You were ready. You've always been ready."
"I don't feel ready."
"That's parenthood. It's never feeling ready and doing it anyway."
Lina leaned into him.
"I love them so much," she said. "Sometimes it scares me. How much I love them."
Ethan kissed her forehead.
"That's parenthood too," he said. "It's loving someone so much that their happiness matters more than your own."
Lina closed her eyes.
She thought about the twins' first birthday. Their second. Their third. Their fourth, when she was still learning to remember. Their fifth. Their sixth. And now their seventh.
She thought about all the birthdays yet to come. The double digits. The teenagers. The adults. The moments when her children would leave home and build lives of their own.
She was not ready.
But she was learning to live with the missing.
---
The Next Morning
Lina found Leo in his room, sitting on his bed, holding Ellie the elephant.
"Are you okay, baby?" she asked, sitting beside him.
Leo nodded. "I was thinking about the party."
"What about it?"
"About being seven. About getting older."
Lina waited.
Leo was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "I don't want to grow up."
Lina's heart ached. "Why not?"
"Because growing up means leaving. And I don't want to leave you."
Lina pulled him into her arms.
"Growing up doesn't mean leaving," she said. "It means becoming. It means changing. It means finding your own path. But I will always be here. No matter how old you are. No matter how far you go. I will always be here."
Leo hugged her back.
"I love you, Mama," he whispered.
Lina's eyes filled with tears.
"I love you too, baby. More than anything."
They sat in the darkness, holding each other, while the city woke up outside the window.
And Lina thought about all the years ahead. The challenges. The joys. The moments she would hold her children and the moments she would have to let them go.
She was not ready.
But she was learning.
And learning, she was beginning to understand, was the most important part of love.
---
End of Chapter Fifty-Five