Squishing my eyes closed, I barely peek and gasp when all the pins are knocked down.
“Oh, my God,” I scream, and turn around to find Spencer running toward me.
He opens his arms and I jump into them as he spins me.
“That was amazing,” he says, setting me down.
We high five before sitting down to let Harlow take her turn.
When the game ends, Spencer and I winning—and we perform an epic winning dance just to rub it in their faces further—the four of us pile in my tiny car to head back to my house where Meredith and Spencer met us and where cake now waits for us. I didn’t want to have my cake at the bowling alley since my parents weren’t going there with us.
I pull my car into the driveway and Spencer tumbles out of the front passenger seat, stretching his legs.
“I’m sorry,” I apologize with a laugh as I get out. “I know it’s a small car.”
“It’s a clown car,” he declares, wagging a finger at me.
I shrug. “Yeah, you’re right,” I concede.
It is small, but I love it.
I lead the way inside and kick off my shoes.
“Mom? Dad? We’re back,” I call out.
“In here,” my mom answers back from the area of the kitchen.
I smile when I spot them both in the kitchen, my dad’s arms around her. My giant chocolate cake with chocolate icing sits on the island, HAPPY 18th BIRTHDAY WILLA in cursive letters on top with yellow and pink flowers. Candles are already stuck in it, waiting to be lit.
My dad releases my mom and she grabs the lighter. “I assume you’re ready for cake?”
I’d only eyed the cake all morning. There was a teeny tiny dent in the icing where I snuck a taste. I couldn’t help myself—and it was just as yummy as I’d hoped.
Harlow slides onto a stool; Meredith and Spencer following suit.
My mom lights the candles and then Dad turns off the lights, plunging the room into darkness, the only light the flickering candle flames.
“Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you. Happy birthday, dear Willa. Happy birthday to yooou.”
“Make a wish,” my mom whispers.
I close my eyes, make a wish, and blow out the candles.
It’s my first birthday in four years where I haven’t wished for a kidney.
Instead, this time, I wish for a change. Maybe some option other than transplant that would give people a better life. I read once about a bionic kidney that’s being made. There are too many people on dialysis, having their lives ruled by something unnatural. And sadly, if people aren’t in your shoes, they don’t care. They might think they do but they can’t, because it’s easy to ignore how bad it is.
The lights flick back on and my mom starts cutting the cake, handing me the first corner piece because she knows I’m an icing fiend.
My friends, sister, and I take our plates outside onto the small deck to sit on the steps and eat.
“Killer view,” Spencer declares.
“Where do you live?” I ask him.
“My mom is a single mom so we live in a condo. It has a decent, though distant view, of the ocean. It’s not the same thing as walking out your back door and having it right there.”
“Definitely not,” I agree.