We had blown up balloons for her the night before and had let them float to the kitchen ceiling, so that she was surrounded by silver and hot pink balloons and their strings. It had seemed like a better idea the night before than it did now. I kept finding myself with balloon strings smacking me in the face.
Poppy was making a game out of running through the balloons, sending them scattering. Brandon had gone to take a quick shower before taking Willow to the gym.
I knew it was only nine in the morning, but I was still annoyed that Willow hadn’t gotten a call from her mother yet. It was her thirteenth birthday. That was special. Especially given the difficult year Willow had experienced. She didn’t know it yet but I had arranged for my ex who was a huge hip hop star to make her a video birthday greeting.
My thirteenth birthday had been filled with friends. I had a bowling party. Which made me laugh in retrospect, but it had been bowling with a dance party vibe going on. Strobe lights, pounding hip hop music, pizza, enough free-flowing soft drinks to caffeinate the whole Great Lakes region. My girlfriends had spent the night after the bowling and we had stayed up until five in the morning in our finished basement talking about boys and doing each other’s makeup. There might have even been an incident with body glitter ruining the carpet that my father still complained about to this day.
Willow wasn’t having the same kind of birthday and I was just sick about it, wanting her to enjoy herself.
“Have you ever popped a balloon on purpose?” Willow asked. “I love doing that.”
“If you want to pop one, go for it.” I would let her do whatever she wanted, frankly. “It does make a satisfying sound, doesn’t it?”
Looking mischievous, she tugged on a string and brought a balloon down to chest level. She squeezed it. “How should I do this?”
“Bite it,” Poppy said.
“That sounds painful,” I said.
“Should I sit on it?” Then she put it under her armpit. “Wait. How about this?” She tried to slam her arm against her side, but the balloon just shot out, still intact. She laughed.
“Push it together.” Poppy demonstrated.
Willow did, with her eyes closed. We all jumped when the balloon finally gave and popped. She laughed. “Pops, your turn.”
Poppy pulled a balloon down and went with her original theory. She tried to bite it. It just slid and made a squeaking sound.
“If that pops your lip is going to hurt,” I told her.
“I don’t care.” She chewed at it again.
“You’re weird,” Willow told her.
“So are you.”
“Everyone is weird,” I said.
The balloon suddenly popped and Poppy started laughing. “Ow.” She held her lip and her nose.
“Your turn, Dakota,” Willow said. “Maybe you can kick it or something.”
“Oh, I have something.” I grabbed a balloon. “This is a party trick of mine.”
Brandon came into the kitchen. “A party trick? Are you going to tie a cherry stem with your tongue?”
He looked like he wouldn’t mind seeing that. “No. This is better.” I was wearing shorts and a T-shirt. I would have preferred a little stretchier fabric than denim but it would have to do.
Then I gripped the balloon in both hands to hold it steady and did the splits. I timed it so I landed on the balloon at the moment when I reached the floor. The balloon popped from the weight of my body. Only I misjudged slightly and basically popped it with my vagina instead of my thigh.
The girls were laughing as I rolled onto the floor, in stinging agony.
“Ow. I’m with Poppy. Ow, ow, ow.” I was laughing so hard I could barely breathe. “That used to go smoother at parties when I was younger.”
Brandon was eyeing me. “Maybe it went drunker at parties.”
“That’s possible.” I sat up and rubbed at my inner thighs. “I think I broke something.”
Brandon held his hand out for me. “Do you need ice?” He looked amused.