Chapter 11: Eighteen

On the day I turned eighteen I opened the front door and found forty people yelling "Surprise!" and a man in a rainbow wig.

Mom stood at the center of them in a party hat, holding her phone up to film my face.

Colin had not spoken to me since the night he slammed the piano lid, and I did not see him anywhere in the crowd.

"We hired a clown!" Mom said.

I looked at the clown.

He was about fifty, with a red nose, enormous shoes and a bag of balloons, and he gave me a small wave.

"So you wouldn't have to be one," Mom said. "Just for tonight. You're a guest."

Something went soft and sore under my ribs.

It was the first time in my life she had thought of that on her own.

"Thank you," I said, and I meant it.

The clown stepped up and bowed, and I was properly interested, because I had never watched a professional.

He made a balloon dog and handed it to me.

It had five legs.

"It's a badger," the clown said proudly.

"It's a very good badger," I said, and I looked around for a place to put it.

His second trick was a string of silk scarves out of his sleeve.

The scarves came out one at a time.

Then they stopped, and a blue one hung from his cuff while he tugged at it with a tight smile, and the rest of the room waited politely.

"It's stuck in my jacket," he said.

"I can see that," I said.

Dad's operations manager, who had come with a wrapped box, started laughing into his sleeve.

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