Chapter twelve – Bearable Birthday

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-Eight days later: August 27, 1987-

It's been just over a week and a half since Michael started staying at my house now, and gradually, he's starting to improve in general. Obviously, he still bears the heavy weight that his family and friends are gone, but he's been somewhat happy these past few days, only crying when he reminisces the old times and memories.

At this moment in time, it's actually night time. We had dinner about two hours ago, so now we're just sitting on the sofa watching TV. It almost seems normal; as if we've known each other forever. I certainly feel as if we have; we've been living together for over a week and a half now – almost two weeks.

It would be a lie to say I'm paying attention to what's happening on the television screen right now; my mind is full of thoughts about life, and everything that's happened. Michael seems pretty engrossed in the programme, though. Well, if it keeps his mind off real life for a short while, I don't mind how engrossed he becomes.

My mind keeps going to the same place it's been going back to for the past week – Clover. It's been over a week since we first met her, but Michael has recently been asking me if we can go back over to father's house so he can see her again. Something is telling me he has feelings for her – which I'm totally fine with – I just don't want him to forget me.

Also coming to mind, is Michael's parents. The police have not been in contact since they told Michael his parents were murdered, so I'm wondering when there'll be any developments on the whole issue.

Of course, I don't believe for a single second that Michael killed his family, but I'm surprised the police haven't marked him as a suspect at least. Maybe it's because they saw how devastated he was by their deaths, so they just didn't want to even broach the subject of it possibly being him.

My thoughts are shattered when a sudden laugh – from Michael – fills the room. It takes me back by surprise, so I lift my arm and place my hand on my chest, exhaling deeply. After his laughter subsides, he looks at me, chuckling softly because he made me jump.

"Sorry," he apologises, "I didn't mean to make you jump there."

He points at the TV screen, and I notice he has one of those programmes with funny home videos on. You know, the kind where people fall, or have some kind of accident, and they show it on TV for others' entertainment. He seems to have been watching a lot of those lately; perhaps to cheer him up.

"You seem to like those programmes, don't you?" I question, almost rhetorically.

He lets out a small laugh, "Yeah ... the mom tricked the kid into cutting her birthday cake open, and it exploded in her face. Poor girl!" he explains, amused.

"Right, right," I smile. Then, a thought comes to my head, so I furrow my eyebrows and speak out, "When is your birthday, Michael?"

He clears his throat, tilting his head down, and his curls droop down over his face a little, "Well ... August 29."

My eyes widen in surprise, "But Michael, that's only a couple days from now! Why didn't you tell me?" A frown forms on my face, "Why?"

He shakes his head, trying to seem casual; as if he doesn't care about his birthday, "It'll be the first birthday I have without my family."

"Oh ... " I trail off a little, "But me and you could do something to signify it, if you like?"

He shrugs, "I can't think of anything we could possibly do to celebrate it, to be honest. We're in the middle of nowhere, here." He shifts his gaze to the TV, and tries to get back into the programme, "Look ... that dude just fell off a motorcycle. Heh."

I can tell he's lost his happy spirit a little, having spoken about his birthday. It's got me thinking, though; I want to do something – even if it's something small – to cheer him up a bit on his birthday. It could be something as simple as a cake ... or I could do something else to make him happy. I'll need to do a little thinking.

* * *

It's now Michael's birthday; it's only 7:30am. He's still asleep though, so I have a little time to think more about how today is going to pan out. I've decided that we're going to have a cake – I know he has a sweet tooth, so chocolate will be the kind I go for – and we're going to go and see my father again ... as well as Clover, like he's been going on about for the past few days.

I think it's about time to wake Michael up. I've already made breakfast for him to have when we're downstairs, and today, it's pancakes with syrup. He told me that pancakes and syrup – as well as strawberry yoghurt – are his favourite things to eat at breakfast. I also got him the yoghurt, too, so it should be perfect for him. I just want him to feel happier for once ... especially because it's his birthday.

Yesterday, I managed to go grocery shopping, without feeling worried that Michael would pull a stunt such as suicide whilst I was gone. It only took me an hour, but Michael and I both know that that's more than enough time to do something like that. I trusted Michael, anyway, and I was right to, because he was completely fine when I returned.

My feet take silent, slow steps up the stairs, leading to the room Michael is sleeping in. I don't want to wake him with a loud creak; I want to wake him up humanely. It's his birthday after all ... his twenty-ninth birthday. Arriving at his bedroom, I open the door as carefully as possible, before slipping into the room.

Seeing Michael sleep is ... somehow, cute to me. Like, after all the pain and suffering he's been subjected to, it's nice seeing him so peaceful like this. Once I've reached his bed, I wake him up by lightly touching my fingers upon his shoulder and shaking his body gently.

"Michael ... wakey wakey; it's morning ... " I ease him out of his deep sleep softly.

He groans quietly, squeezing his eyes even more tightly shut than they already were, before opening them groggily, "What time is it?" he asks sleepily.

"About seven-thirty," I answer, "Anyway ... happy birthday, Michael."

His sleepiness seems to fade in an instant, "Birthday? Oh, Citria! You didn't, did you?" he questions.

"Didn't what?" I cock an eyebrow, puzzled at his inquiry.

He sits himself up, using his hands to prop his body up, "You, like ... didn't do anything crazy for me, did you?" he reiterates curiously, "I mean, 'cause I don't want to cause any trouble; it's not even a big or special number, so—"

"That's not the point, Michael." My hand lightly grazes over his, making him shudder again, "You seem to forget that you're my best friend, so I'm going to make an effort for your birthday, 'cause I'm the only one that can, now ... "

At this thought, his eyes glaze over with a thin layer of tears, "I-I didn't think of it that way. But ... that still doesn't mean to say you have to make much of an effort for me. I'm just one person, after all."

"But ... after father, you're my favourite person that's still alive." My tone grows serious, but I try to remain inviting and polite, "So ... can I not make an effort for one of my favourite people?" I give him my best pout, which causes him to smile bashfully.

"Well ... okay. Thank you." He finally gives in, "So, what have you got planned for us, today, huh?"

"Well, Mr Jackson," I call him by his surname for a change, "I've made breakfast, then we'll be going to visit Clover and father, which you've been going on about for days now, and then tonight I'll be cooking lasagna ... that's if, you'll help me with that?"

He nods, "Of course I'll help you; it's the least I owe you, Miss Espinosa," he calls me by my surname in return, "Man, I still can't get over your name. It's so ... beautiful, I guess."

His comment causes me to giggle a little, and I feel my cheeks warm up slightly, "Thanks. Well ... my parents gave me that name, so ... yeah." I take my bottom lip into my mouth, wondering what to say or do next, but Michael speaks again.

"Your mom's name was Tiannah, wasn't it? Something like that," he asks, slowly sliding himself off of the bed, "Right?"

"Yes, Tiannah," I respond, standing up from the bed myself, "Tiannah Esther Valentina-Espinosa."

"She kept her surname double-barrel?" Michael quizzes, "Valentina-Espinosa?"

"Yeah ... but I didn't want to keep the Valentina part in my name, so I decided to just keep my father's surname, Espinosa. Makes my name drag on a little less," I joke.

"And ... wait. Did you say your mother's middle name was Esther?"

"Yeah." We begin walking towards the bathroom, but Michael enters it without me – obviously, "Why do you ask?"

Before he closes the bathroom door to get ready, he answers, "Because that was my mother's middle name, too. Funny, that." He gives a small smile, before shutting the door completely.

Since he's in the bathroom, I might as well head downstairs and check on breakfast ... not that it needs to be checked up on; it's only pancakes and yoghurt. Nonetheless, I arrive downstairs and come to the conclusion that breakfast is okay, so I sit down at the table, waiting for Michael's arrival downstairs.

Around twenty minutes later, that happens, as I hear his footsteps coming down the stairs. He enters the kitchen, and upon seeing the pancakes and yoghurt, his eyes light up, "You got my favourite?" he gasps.

A chuckle can't help but escape from my lips, "Yeah ... you're okay with that, Michael?" I stand up, pulling out a chair for him to sit down, which he takes willingly.

"Yes ... thank you so much. Honestly ... you're making this birthday bearable." His tone becomes sincere, but keeps its happiness still, which makes me feel like I've actually achieved my goal of making him happy. After I've placed two pancakes on his plate, he starts eating quickly, obviously having a large appetite, "Thank you, Cit. Really."

I give a warm smile, "Don't mention it. Anyway, eat up; we're going to see father and Clover after this, remember?

He laughs softly, taking another forkful of pancakes into his mouth, "Yes, Madam!" he replies, his mouth full.

"Did your mother never tell you to ... well, not talk whilst your mouth's full?" I tease.

To this, he blushes a little, which I must admit I find cute, "Sorry." He swallows the mouthful, "I realise how rude that was of me." He takes his bottom lip into his mouth, before gently touching the tip of his nose with his fingers. He's been doing that a lot lately.

"Why do you touch your nose so often?" I question with a small snicker, "I mean ... you do it a lot!"

His lips form an "O" shape, and his eyes avert upwards, as he thinks how to answer my question. Once he has an answer, he inhales deeply, "Well ... I guess it's just a habit. I know I do it a lot, but I can't seem to stop it. I've noticed that I do it a lot when I'm nervous or something ... "

I nod in understanding, "Aw, right. I don't mind how often you do it; I was just wondering why you did. Anyway ... eat, child!" I tease, "C'mon, I want to see that plate empty, Mr Jackson!"

He lets out a childlike giggle, and just that simple little laugh fills my heart with such joy. It's the most content giggle I've ever heard from him, which just proves that – even if just for now – he's happy with life. That makes me feel so much pleasure, because all I want is for him to be happy.

He continues with his breakfast, and within five minutes, it's completely gone. He takes a pot of the strawberry yoghurt, dipping his spoon in and withdrawing it from the pot a second later. He places the spoon in his mouth, removing all signs of yoghurt from it.

"Man ... it's been forever since I've had this for breakfast," he tells me, "Because ... mom only did this for us, like, once a month. Normally it was just toast or cereal, so I'm used to that now, but ... this is perfect, Citria."

A closed-mouth smile forms on my face, "I'm glad about that, Michael. Anyway, eat up; this is like the third time I'll have told you now," I joke.

* * *

We've just arrived at father's house. Michael's standing behind me; right before we started walking here, he grew a little nervous about coming because it's been almost two weeks since he's seen anyone but me. I've been reassuring him that it'll be okay, but he's still doubting slightly.

I unlock the front door to dad's house, before stepping inside and letting Michael in, too. I'm not sure whether father is still asleep or not, so I'll have to be quiet. We enter the living room, soon finding that dad is actually awake.

"Hey, dad," I greet softly, a smile forming on my face to make him feel comfortable.

"Hello Citria, darling," he responds, "H-How are you?" He pats the arm of the chair he's sitting in, inviting me to sit down next to him. I take the invitation, kissing his forehead once I'm sat down.

"I'm good dad ... you?"

"Yeah, I suppose I'm okay. Clover's been looking after me." His voice then becomes a whisper, "Hasn't stopped talking about that Michael, though."

A small feeling of sadness fills my heart, but I laugh it off, "Yeah, well ... I think they like one another," I whisper. My voice then increases volume, "And anyway ... it's Michael's birthday today."

Upon hearing his name, Michael averts his eyes towards me and father, grinning nervously. There he goes again – touching his nose gently with his fingers. He really does do it when he gets nervous.

"Oh," father nods, "Happy birthday, Michael."

Michael licks his lip timidly, "Thank you sir."

Just after, Clover enters the room, and once she sees Michael, a huge grin forms on her face, "Hey, guys!" She greets us both, but I can tell she only really cares about Michael, "How you doing, Michael?"

Michael swallows, his shyness suddenly vanishing, "Oh, I'm not too bad ... yourself?" he returns.

"I'm great now that we have visitors!" she beams, taking his hand, "I love seeing you two!"

Michael laughs lightly, "But you only saw us once before, Clover."

"I know!" she smiles, "But still ... that's enough for me to know, Michael. Anyway ... I have more pictures to show you. I found some of me when I was a teenager. Cringy, right? Ah, well!" She goes on and on, never seeming to stop talking, until she's dragged Michael over to the sofa and brought her purse out.

She brings out some photos, immediately starting to show them to Michael, who is quite-clearly fascinated by them. He laughs with her, makes comments and listens to her own views on each one, whilst I'm sat with father. I shouldn't complain; I was the one who planned this, meaning I knew it was bound to happen.

It's just, when I see Michael and Clover so happy together, it makes me feel like they really will start something together. Don't get me wrong, I don't mind about them starting something, like I've said previously; it's the worry that I'll be forgotten, and end up being a third wheel in their relationship.

"Oh! That one was taken on my fourteenth birthday ... after I fell into the swimming pool at my old house," Clover explains.

Ah, yes. Her mother, my Aunt Pertunia, was crazily rich. She could afford almost everything her little heart desired – a swimming pool, a large house ... everything – but once she had all she needed, she gave most of the money to charity, only leaving a few thousand for Clover in her will. Of course, based on Clover's age at the time Pertunia died, she couldn't have that money right away ... so maybe now, she's got it, and is using it well. I don't know.

"Oh ... aww! Look at that liddle nose you got there!" Michael coos, "Ha-ha! Nawh, look at that! Liddle Clover right there!" he laughs.

He certainly shows a different side when he's with Clover. This is the kind of side I would like to see when he's with me. Granted, we have our times of shared laughter, but not on the level he does with Clover. With her, he seems higher and happier than ever.

I shouldn't blame him for that, though; if he's happy, that makes me happy too.

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I know, the ending was abrupt again. Anyway ... Michael's birthday will continue in the next chapter. Hope you enjoyed this chapter!