Because You're Different ✔

11. Bottles

June

Sam wasn't a downer. On the whole, he was a cheerful guy, with the occasional off moment from which I could easily pull him out if I made a crappy joke. When his fifteenth birthday approached though, a month before mine, he grew unusually grumpy, as if he didn't want to get a year older. I asked Nathan what the deal was, but he had no idea. My mom thought it might be hormonal; Sam's voice had been changing, and he had grown at least several inches since I met him.

Whatever it was, I vowed myself to find him such a great birthday present he'd immediately snap out of it. The trouble was Sam never really left me alone with Nathan, which made the planning and brainstorming a lot more complicated. So, we got up a little earlier, or I got back out of bed after Sam had fallen asleep, or Nathan would tell Sam to stay behind when he drove me home.

Home had become a troublesome word. For almost fifteen years, it'd meant New York, the smell of my auntie's perfume and abuela's cooking, Valentina and me sometimes falling asleep together in her bed, and my cousins and me being dropped off at school on my mom's way to work. But I hadn't been met with my auntie's perfume in forever, let alone abuela's cooking, I hadn't even hugged Valentina in six months, and mom was so tired every morning she barely talked to me.

Something was going on. Dad was home less and less, and sometimes I could hear mom crying. I think she missed our family. Mom and dad were always working, day after night after day. I didn't get why we moved here in the first place. It wasn't like my dad's income seemed to have improved. We still lived in a house that was slowly falling apart. Although —

I wasn't, not really. I now stayed over at Sam's so often it was like I was visiting when I actually went home. Every time I realized this, I felt guilty. Mom and dad were doing the best they could; they couldn't help it that for some unfair reason Nathan and Sam were born into this family that could decide to remodel their kitchen while they were tying their shoelaces in the morning and do it again after a year had passed. It still amazed me when Sam would try to convince me they weren't even rich because they had two houses and couldn't afford another one. Yeah, nice try, sweetie.

At first, I made a point of returning home to my mom and dad to show them they were good enough for me. Only, when I did, I was met by an empty house. In the evenings, when they came back from work, they could barely ask me how my day was and hug me once before they fell asleep in front of the TV. Sometimes, dad would be so late I couldn't even stay awake to greet him. Maybe we should go back to New York. Dad's job might have been harder there, and paying less, but at least, they'd been happy there. I didn't think they were happy here. I was a horrible daughter because I didn't like the idea of going back.

"I'm having a party."

"A party? When?"

"Friday."

"Friday?! But that's your birthday!"

"Oh, so you do know."

"Of course I know. We've been preparing for it for weeks!" Silence. "Oh well, I guess it doesn't matter. We can work around it. What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

"No. It's nothing, I mean."

"You look pale. Are you feeling alright, Sam?"

"No... No, I just... I don't know."

"You're horrified at the fact that you invited Jennifer and Hayley to a non-existent party?"

"I — yeah, that's it, I guess."

"They're just people, Sam. And yeah, Jennifer isn't the sweetest person I know, but Hayley is always nice. It should be fine, it's only a couple of hours."