I awoke with a start as something hit the floor and broke in another room. I heard an oh-so-familiar French curse word simultaneously. Quickly glancing at the clock, I saw it was ten in the morning on a beautiful Saturday as the sun shone straight through my curtains.
I slowly untangled myself from the wrath of blankets on my bed and sat up to twist myself so my previously warm feet hit the cool hardwood flooring. I groaned after a moment because I realized why Micah would be breaking things, not on purpose, but because he is terrible in the kitchen. I now assumed he was trying to do something nice for me, but nothing Micah ever does in the kitchen will ever turn out nicely. Even on October 22 - my least favorite day of the year.
Without another thought, I threw my feet into my old, brown moccasins that were falling apart and too stretched to barely stay on my feet before heading into the bathroom attached to my room. I did my business, brushed my teeth and bedhead before washing my face. Once my ritual was complete, I headed to the kitchen. It turns out Micah was attempting to make me breakfast, hence the broken glassware.
"Micah, the stove!" my voice croaked as a bright orange flame grew on his hash browns, or what used to be hash browns. He grabbed a pot lid from the counter, turned off the gas, and threw the lid on top of the fire to extinguish it.
After it was safely out, I took a moment to survey the damage that Micah's cooking experience may have done. For the most part, it was just dirtier than how I had left it last night. I looked to Micah and a burst of giggles gushed right through me and out into the air around us. He was covered in egg splatter, pancake batter, and some flour by the looks of it. There was also a grease stain on his shirt. It took him a moment to realize what I was laughing at, but when he did, he joined in.
"Get out of my kitchen; I appreciate everything you are trying to do. But seriously, out!" I pointed in the direction of his bedroom, down the hall from my own. He put down his towel and dutifully listened to my command. "Now, go shower and change while I make breakfast, but you will clean this mess." He nodded and some of the batter dropped to the floor. It was moments like these that I was glad to have hardwood.
I surveyed the kitchen once more as I headed towards the stove. The kitchen was complete with stainless steel appliances, an island, and plenty of cabinets to fill an entire house, let alone an apartment. The walls were the same white as they were as the day we moved in a little less than three years ago. The cabinets were a dark mahogany with a complimentary brown marble speckled countertop. It was the nicest part of our apartment without a doubt, which is why I loved the place so much.
Seeing Micah's mess only reminds me of how much I am the cook in this apartment. If it weren't for me, he would eat out every night and it would not be good for his hockey-player diet that the team attempts to keep him on.
Micah plays for the Sewickley Slashers in the North American Hockey League. It's only called North American because there are teams from both Canada and the United States, but nowhere else. There are 30 teams in this league altogether from Los Angeles and Vancouver on the West to Washington DC and Ottawa in the East. But Sewickley is a northwest borough of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
Sewickley is the biggest borough surrounding Pittsburgh and while the city isn't far, Sewickley has everything anyone could ever need to survive. We have a Post Office, mall, grocery store, movie theatre, zoo, and even a small community college. If we don't have something here, we can easily take the train or drive into the city, but it usually isn't necessary.
Once I heard the running water, I fixed his stiff pancake batter and then cooked them carefully avoiding the burner that caught fire. The water cut off a few minutes later and I turned off the burner with ten flapjacks in total. I set the plate full on the table before reaching for the syrup in the cabinet. Unfortunately, Micah put it up a single shelf too high for me to reach. Just as I was about to turn to grab a chair to stand on, I felt two strong hands grip my hips and hoist me up to gather the syrup bottle. I giggled as Micah set me back down. It was almost like I was fifteen again.
"Thank you, tall and strong, sir," I bowed at his thoughtfulness.
"It's the least I can do for your birthday. You turn twenty one today, happy birthday!" he smiled and looked at me for some kind of reaction. I just gave him a shrug and moved towards the table as birthdays were not really important to me. They were to my sisters because it meant they were getting older, but for me, it was just another day. It is my least favorite day because everyone wants to make a big deal out of it and it isn't.
"Thanks, I guess. You know birthdays really are not that important to me. It is just another day," I moved away from his burning brown eyes, the ones that I always thought to be more beautiful than my own. Mine were a dull gray color that did nothing to stand out amongst my dark hair, a shade lighter than Micah's which was almost the same color as our cabinets.
"I know you don't care, but I thought you would be excited for your twenty first birthday. You are now legal to drink in the US!" he looked defeated although his face held a smile. I smiled quickly in his direction as I grabbed my flapjacks off of the community plate and onto my own before taking my seat and pouring the syrup over top.
"I am kind of excited, I guess. But it also means that I get to be annoyed by my sisters' presence." He swore lightly under his breath, again in French.
"How did you know that they were coming?" he asked in a confused voice.
"They come every year, it is not hard to connect the dots and figure out that it relates to my birthday."
"They are going to be pissed; they were dead set on surprising you. I do not know why they bother now; you usually hate spending any time with them."
"Well, we do not all get what we want. I would not have to celebrate at all if that was the case. But it isn't, so I deal with the life I was dealt. It is unfortunate, but it is what I have to do."
"True enough, can I give you your present now before they come and pounce?" I nodded and he got up, headed down the hall he had earlier towards his bedroom, and came back holding a box. Meanwhile, I had gotten up to rinse our plates and put them in the dishwasher. "Do not be mad, but I spent money on it," he smiled sheepishly as I turned back towards him. I almost groaned at the idea of spending money on a birthday present for me. I moved from the dishwasher back to the table.
"I hate when you do that, Micah Leroy Stevens." He handed me the box anyways as I sat and I unwrapped it carefully. Once the box was unwrapped, I had to take off the lid to find the real gift that lie inside. Once the cover was off, I was staring at a photo album. The cover photo was of Micah and me with both sets of our siblings.
