The hostess frowned as I entered the restaurant.
"Uhm, hello sir! How can I help you?"
I cleared my throat. "The party should be under the name 'Smythe'," I said. "S-M-Y-T-H-E."
She did some typing on her iPad. "Let's see . . . yes, I have a reservation under that name, but I have to inform you, sir, that we have a dress-code policy."
She gestured to a nearby sign on the wall: JACKETS REQUIRED.
I looked down at myself -- wrinkled white button-up, cheap jeans.
All I'm missing is my green work apron, I thought.
"Do you have any jackets available?"
She shook her head. "I'm sorry, but they're all being used at the moment."
I sighed. I guess I'll just have to call Jason and tell him happy birthday.
"I understand," I said, feeling relieved. "Have a good night."
As I turned around, preparing to leave, I saw something that caught me completely off-guard:
A handsome, young man was entering the restaurant, dressed in a sharp black suit. His hair was parted smoothly to the side, and in his hand was . . . a jacket on a hanger?
What? I thought in confusion.
At the sight of me, the young man's eyes widened in surprise, and a smile spread across his face. "Briley!" he exclaimed, heading over to me. Before I could stop him, he embraced me in a hug.
I reluctantly returned the gesture, patting him awkwardly on the back.
"It's good to see you," he said, finally pulling away.
"Good to see you too, Jason . . ."
I looked down at the jacket he was holding.
"Oh, right!" he said, lifting the hanger. "This is for you."
"How'd you know I'd need one?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Intuition."
"Fair enough." I accepted the jacket from him.
My brother glanced at my outfit. "Just got off work?"
"Yep."
"Cool," he said before turning towards the hostess. "Is it alright if he wears this?"
"Oh, uhm . . ." she stammered, taken aback. "Yes, I suppose that's fine."
"Thanks, I appreciate it," he smiled, causing her to blush slightly.
Jason returned his attention to me. "Hey, before we head to the table, mind if I ask you something first?"
"Sure, go ahead," I said while slipping the jacket on.
He looked around, somewhat nervously, as if he were afraid of being overheard. "Briley," he said, stepping closer and lowering his voice. "You know mom and dad are here, right?"
I frowned. "What about them?"
"It's just . . ." He struggled to look me in the eye. "Look, I know you don't get along with them but try to play nice, okay? Please?"
My eyes narrowed. "It's not me you need to worry about."
"Yeah, I know," he sighed. "Just . . . please don't add fuel to the fire."
I could tell he was anxious, so I told him, "I'll mind my manners."
He smiled, grateful. "Thanks, man, I appreciate it." He patted me on the shoulder. "Come on, let's get this party started."
I followed him into the main area of the restaurant.
We looked around the room, searching for our family.
Amidst the crowd, someone raised their arm and waved at us. "Over here, guys!"
It took me a moment to recognize her -- our sister, Sarah.
Sitting at the table with her were our parents, Mr. and Mrs. Smythe.
I closed my eyes and sighed internally, bracing myself for what was definitely going to be a long evening.
Let's get this over with, I thought.
"Hey, y'all!" Sarah exclaimed as we approached, getting up from her seat.
"Hey, Sarah," Jason said, giving her a hug.
"It's good to see you, sis," I smiled as we hugged, too. "How's med school treating you?"
"Oh," she said, letting go of me. "It has its highs and lows, just like everything else."
"Hmph," I heard my mother cough.
I turned to face my parents.
"It's good to see you both as well." The lie flowed smoothly from my lips.
My mother checked her wristwatch. "You're late."
Even though Jason and I arrived at the same time, the attack was only targeted at me.
My father jumped in, too. "We agreed to meet at 6:30. It's nearly seven o'clock."
I wanted to leave right then and there, but Jason's eyes pleaded with me to keep my cool. So, instead of fighting fire with fire, I attempted to defuse the situation:
"Let's see . . ." I said, looking at the seating arrangements. "Where should I sit?"
"Jason's sitting at the head of the table," my father declared sternly.
"You can sit here," Sarah said, gesturing to the empty seat beside her.
"Thanks." I sat down.
Jason took his seat, and although he hid it well, I could tell all this attention was making him uncomfortable. We all just sat there for a moment, wondering who was going to speak first, but thankfully, the waitress arrived to take our drink orders.
"Hello, my name is Rachel," the woman said politely, gesturing to her silver name-tag. "I will be your server this evening." She turned toward our mother. "Do you know what you'd like to drink, ma'am?"
"Let's see," she said, peering down at the wine menu with intense scrutiny. "I would like to try a glass of your Pinot Noir. Oh, and also --" she waved her hand towards Jason -- "today is my son's 21st birthday."
My brother smiled thinly, feigning appreciation.
Rachel didn't seem to notice, though. "Oh!" she cried jubilantly. "Happy birthday! May I assume you'll be getting something special to celebrate?"
"I'll just have some water," he said softly. 'With lemon, please."
"Oh," Rachel said, momentarily surprised, but she bounced back quickly. "Absolutely," she nodded, scribbling on her notepad. "And for you?" she asked my sister.
"I'll have a Diet Coke, please."
"Okay . . ." Rachel jotted it down.
As our father ordered, I turned to Sarah and made a joke by saying, "You know, I'm surprised an aspiring doctor would want to drink soda."
She laughed quietly. "You only live once."
Jason said amusedly, "Isn't that the whole point of being healthy?"
I grinned at him. "Alright, Water Boy."
"With lemon," Sarah added. "Can't forget the lemon."
It was now my turn to order. "I'll have an Arnold Palmer with sweet tea, please."
"Alright . . ." Rachel looked up from her writing and smiled at us. "I'll have all of that out shortly."
"Thank you," our mother said curtly.
As soon as Rachel left, she turned to my brother and said, "So, Jason, tell us about school."
He was caught off-guard. "Oh, uhm, okay . . ."
The conversation revolved around Jason's education up until it was time to order entrees. Then, after that, the discussion turned towards Sarah getting her medical degree. I just sat there quietly, sipping my Arnold Palmer and occasionally munching on my Caesar salad.
Even though I wasn't contributing much to the conversation, I was pretty content with just hearing how well my siblings were doing.
Despite being the eldest, my life was the most unimpressive of all the Smythe children. Jason and Sarah were young go-getters while I had been classified as the family failure.
But I held no bitterness towards them -- if anything, I found their success admirable.
Around dessert time, Sarah turned the conversation towards me. "So, Briley," she said curiously. "How's your novel coming along?"
Oh yeah, I was a writer -- or trying to be one, at least. I had been working on the same story for ten years, and there was still no end in sight.
The novel I was working on was called The Perils ofProphecy.
It was a fantasy epic that took place in an imaginary world filled sword fights, magic, and of course, dragons. It was a simple tale of a young commoner becoming a hero in his world.
"To tell the truth . . ." I looked down at a stain on the tablecloth. "I've been struggling lately, mostly with the ending."
I just want to do it right . . .
"I'll be your first customer."
Sarah's words made me look up.
"No, I'll be the first!" Jason retorted.
"Make sure to give us the sibling discount," she added. "One hundred percent off seems reasonable."
"Yeah," Jason agreed. "And sign it with your autograph, too."
Our mother snickered. "His autograph?"
I stared at her coolly.
There was fear in my brother's eyes as he begged me not to react. I simply leaned back in my chair, ignoring her attempt to get a rise out of me. When she saw that I was unfazed, her expression tightened with anger.
She went with a new approach. "How's your job at the gas station going?" The venom in her voice was obvious.
"It pays the bills," I shrugged indifferently.
It was a true statement but barely -- I had to work a pretty intense schedule just so I could afford my crummy, cheap-ass apartment. And while I wasn't exactly living a life of luxury, at least I was free from these insufferable fools.
Before our mother could think of any more berating questions, Sarah deftly changed topics by asking Jason how his roommates were doing.
"They're doing alright. Charlie is still working in computer science, and John is thinking about joining the Army."
"Very impressive," Mother nodded, pretending to care.
"Did you do anything fun with them for your birthday?" our father asked.
"Yeah, Charlie and his family treated me to pizza, and John gave me a Chick-Fil-A gift card."
"Oh," Mother said. "How . . . thoughtful of him."
Jason frowned. "It's not like he could afford anything too expensive, you know. We're all living on a budget."
"Yes," she spoke fiercely, lifting up her wine glass. "Which makes nights such as these truly special, don't you agree?"
"Why, of course, dear," Father nodded while the three of us siblings glanced at each other, embarrassed. "And since we're on the topic of presents," he continued, "I suppose now would be a good time to give you our gifts, Jason."
Jason's frown disappeared. "You got me gifts?"
Mother scoffed playfully. "What kind of parents do you think we are?"
Are you sure you want us to answer that? I thought to myself.
Father reached down underneath the table and pulled out a black square box. He handed it to our mother, who passed it to Jason. "Go on," they said eagerly. "Open it!"
Gingerly, he flipped over the top half of the box on its hinge. I watched as his eyes widened from shock.
Must be something nice.
For my 21st birthday, they had given me a fifty-dollar VISA gift card. From the look on Jason's face, it must have been something a tad nicer than that.
Sarah and I watched as he revealed a set of car keys. The two of us squinted to read the logo.
"Wait." Sarah's jaw dropped. "Are those . . ?"
"Keys to a Corvette?" Mother finished. "They sure are. A dark grey one, in fact."
She reached over and placed a loving hand on Jason's shoulder. "It's in the valet lot right now. Happy birthday, son."
Sarah grew slightly pissed. "I didn't get anything like that for my birthday," she fumed. She was twenty-two.
Our parents exchanged knowing smiles, and then Father bent down underneath the table again. He resurfaced holding an identical box. "We haven't forgotten about you, sweetie."
All of her anger vanished. "REALLY?!"
"Yours is red, since that's your favorite color," Mother chimed in, gleefully. "It's back home in the garage."
"Are you serious?!" Her emotional cry made people at nearby tables glance over. "Oh, thank you!" She leapt up from her seat and ran over to hug them.
I wasn't surprised by her reaction.
"Hang on . . ." Jason frowned, suddenly realizing something. "Did you get one for Briley, too?"
The cheerful atmosphere evaporated instantly. Mother and Father looked at each other, wondering how to respond.
"Uhm . . ." Father's voice faltered slightly. "Well, you see, Jason, these cars -- well, they're quite expensive, and --"
Sarah stood still, frowning at the box in her hands. "That didn't stop you from buying two of them . . ."
"Listen," Mother said to them in a tone she usually reserved for me. "We could afford two of them -- not three. We wanted to celebrate Jason for pursuing his law degree, and we thought you deserved something nice too, Sarah, for all your hard work in med school."
She turned her glare towards me. "As for you, Briley . . . well, you haven't quite done anything worthy of reward."
"Are you serious?!" Sarah snapped, causing a scene in the middle of the restaurant. "How can you be such a bitch, mom?!"
"Watch your mouth!" Father barked. "If you're so ungrateful, we can always take it back!"
I rose from my seat. "Please excuse me."
"Briley . . ." Jason whispered, distraught.
I smiled solemnly at him and Sarah. "I'm sorry, but I think it would be for the best if I leave now." I waved my hand in farewell. "Good luck in school, guys. See you around."
And with that, I left.
***
"Ahh," I sighed, my breath visible in the December air.
I stood there on the sidewalk for a moment, basking in the city noise -- the conversations of passersby, the distant sound of sirens, the wind cutting against my skin.
What should I do now? I wondered.
Since I wasn't in any hurry to return home, I simply turned left and began walking, blending in with the crowd.
As I roamed the streets, with the last remnants of sunset being replaced with cold darkness, I encountered all sorts of . . . folks, you could say:
Homeless people were begging on street corners, clinking their money cups to no avail.
A drunk guy was puking in a storm drain, and some people were taking pictures of him, probably to post on Instagram.
There was even a couple making out in an alleyway behind a dumpster.
How romantic, I thought.
Giving them some privacy, I continued onward towards the vibrant, neon-glowing pub district. After the night I just had, part of me was tempted to stop for a drink or two, but I resisted since I had work in the morning.
I glanced at the clock on my phone -- 9:37 p.m.
"Dammit," I said aloud, deciding to head home.
Home . . . The word rang hollow in my mind.
Paint-chipped walls and a roach infestation -- the definition of paradise.
Is this really what my life is?
I started thinking about my writing.
Why? I've been writing the same damn book for over a decade, so why isn't it done yet?
I closed my eyes and curled my right hand into a fist.
Damn . . . what am I supposed to do?
Someone bumped into me, jolting my eyes open.
They were wearing a hoodie. "Sorry," they muttered, continuing on their way.
I was so deep in thought that it took a moment for me to realize I had been stabbed.
What the . . ? I looked down and saw blood staining my white shirt.
I swayed around in confusion, my vision blurring. Who . . ?
I collapsed onto the concrete.
Seriously? I thought while people screamed and called for help. I didn't even . . . finish my story . . . I probably should have been freaking out more at the fact I was about to die, but for some reason, I just didn't feel like stressing about it.
On the bright side, I smiled softly up at the starless sky, at least I don't have to go to work tomorrow.