In the door, Alistair and I watch my parents walking down to their car. “Thanks again,” I call out to them. I’m glad they were here tonight.
“Happy birthday,” my mother says for the thousandth time this evening, blowing me a kiss. “You two have a good night.”
I watch their car until it disappears at the end of my street. The sky is pink and orange at the horizon, and there’s a semblance of spring in the air. We’ve survived another Montreal winter. Alistair walks back in and I shut the front door.
We’re alone again. Sheryl and Peaches left just after cake. Tomorrow is a school day, and Sheryl has to be on set. She’s been cast for a recurring role in a television series called The Prophet, and if the network likes the pilot and picks it up, she might be working a steady gig and making int
