Nine

Nine was a big number. At least it was for Malu. She had bragged about that big number to her classmates for weeks. She was the first one to reach it. They were all still stuck at eight, and they would never catch her, no matter what they said.

Malu spent the day telling everyone she could that she was nine now. It was big news, after all. But by lunch, talking so much was tiring her out, and her classmates were beginning to ignore her, and Malu was getting upset. Ms. Lexi led her out of the cafeteria and back to a familiar room lit with warm, dim lights and filled to the brim with a variety of seating and so, so many toys. Malu chose a soft, squishy seat on the floor, and Ms. Lexi handed her a tactile cube and waited for the tears to stop falling. Her teacher sent her home with a Birthday Girl! sticker stuck proudly to her chest and a Very Important Paper with lots of big numbers to give to her parents.

Malu was jittery on the bus ride home, excited to show it off to her parents. She had already shown Mr. Bailey, her bus driver, who gave her three big claps, not too many and not too little, and a soft chuckle. “The special girl’s special day! Doing anything to celebrate?” Malu shrugged. It all depended on her parents.

She knew her father would probably be home first. Her mother never came straight home from work. She always had some appointment or errand she had to run, which always brought her home with arms full of plastic or paper bags. Those bags used to make Malu excited, but they almost never contained things for her. But Malu loved seeing her mother each evening, regardless. She wondered if maybe one of those bags would finally be for her, something for her birthday. She was nine years old today, after all. Nine was a big number.

At her stop, the bus driver smiled warmly at her as he opened the door. “Happy birthday, darlin’, I expect to hear all about your celebrations tomorrow.” Malu nodded and grinned before hopping giddily down the bus steps. She skipped up to her apartment door and grasped at the key attached to the string around her neck. Malu struggled with the lock for a moment before unlocking the door and letting herself inside. Dutifully, she relocked the door and hung up her key on the peg next to it.

Humming to herself, Malu slid her backpack off and laid it on the floor next to the kitchen table. She would deal with her homework in a bit. Her priority was finding something to eat, something worthy of being a birthday snack. But something that wouldn’t mess up her routine was equally important. Eventually, she sat at the table, animal crackers dumped onto a paper plate in front of her as she grabbed with crumby fingers at her homework folder. Her dad would be home soon, and he would be able to check her work.

After a few hours, Malu heard three quick knocks on the door and then a fourth, softer one before a key turned in the lock. Her dad was home. She ran to the door, planted both feet, and spread her arms wide, ready to complete Dad’s coming-home ritual with her hug. The door opened, revealing her father with a cake in one hand and a party hat in the other.

“Happy, happy birthday, my dearest one!” he cried, reaching over her to set down the cake on the counter and then bending to her level and enveloping her in a hug. He had left for work before she had woken up, so after work was always his first time seeing her each weekday. Malu tried her best to hug Dad back, but she couldn’t quite wrap her arms completely around him.

When he released his daughter, he presented the party hat to her, setting it atop her head and snapping the string playfully against her chin. “Mom not home yet?” he asked, like he asked every day, as if expecting the answer to be different.

“Nope,” Malu said and shrugged, her mind on something else entirely. She turned around to stare at the cake on the counter. It was round and white with purple lettering swooping over the top of the cake. “Can I have a piece now?”

“Uh uh uh. Not so fast,” Dad replied, pulling a box of candles out of his pocket and setting it beside the cake. “We’ll have it after dinner, and you can blow out your candles and make a wish then.” Malu pouted, but on the inside, she was jumping for joy. Her friends always talked about their birthday cakes, but it had been a few years since Malu had gotten one of her own. Normally, she just got to choose her birthday dinner.

Later, as Dad was looking over Malu’s homework, she heard the lock turn again, and she sat upright in her chair. “Mom’s home!” Dad bit back a look of something that Malu might have labeled as annoyance, if she had been paying attention, as he watched her bound over to the door.

Mom stepped inside, no bags in sight today. At first, Malu thought maybe her parents wouldn’t get mad at each other today, but then she saw new nail polish glittering on her mother’s fingers. A bad sign, just as bad as the bags. Dad saw it too, but it was Malu’s birthday. He wouldn’t say anything today.

Malu and her parents made it through most of dinner without trouble. Dad had even gotten out the matches to light Malu’s birthday candles. As he did so, Mom fluttered her fingers in front of Malu.

“Look Lulu, I got my nails done for your birthday today. Purple just for you.” She poked Malu’s cheek with one of them before kissing her forehead.

“Maybe you could have gotten a present for Malu instead with that money,” Dad said quietly, pushing the cake in front of Malu. Mom glared at him.

“Is there something you want to say to me, Matthew?” she asked.

“No. Not right now, not today.” But there was frustration simmering between her parents; Malu could feel it as she looked between them.

Mom glanced at her daughter. “Malu, your dad and I are going to go talk in the living room for just a second, okay? I think there’s something he wants to tell me in private.” Malu nodded. Her mother jerked her head to the living room door, and Dad kissed the top of Malu’s head before following her.

Malu waited in her seat for a few minutes, but she wanted to hear what her parents were saying. She crept over to the doorway separating the living room from the kitchen and knelt down to listen. Her parents were speaking in hushed tones, each quickly firing back at the other.

As Malu knelt, she felt her knees starting to bruise on the cold, hardwood floor of the kitchen. Her parents’ whispers had long since turned to shouting, as if they had forgotten she was in the next room over. For how long had they been going on like this? Minutes? Hours? Time felt so long to Malu. It was if another whole year had passed, and she was already ten now, even bigger than nine. But she kept her vigil, ear pressed against the kitchen door, listening to her parents’ argument. No, conversation. Her father insisted it was a conversation when they shooed her out of the living room. But conversations didn’t normally get that loud, did they? Not unless her nearly deaf grandpa Emmett was involved.

“Maybe if you stopped being so goddamn selfish!” her father was saying. “Spending so much money, our money so recklessly on your little pampering trips instead of extra help for Malu, or getting her into a good program!”

Malu’s mother stayed silent for a moment, and when she first spoke, Malu had to strain to hear. “I go on my ‘little pampering trips’ so I can stay sane living in this house. You think I asked for this? I love Malu, I do, but do you understand how exhausting it is to be at her school’s beck and call all day at work, just waiting for the next moment when they don’t know how to handle one of her outbursts? No, you don’t, because you only care for Malu when it’s convenient for you! Because where are you for these outbursts, Matthew? At least I know I’m leaving work to go see Malu. But we both know you haven’t gone back to work since your proposal got dumped!”

Malu’s brow furrowed. Because of course her dad went to work, where else would he go during the day while she was at school?

“Luisa, we are not talking about that right now. And for the record, I’m looking for something new. But no, we’re talking about how you’re late coming home on your daughter’s birthday, and you spent the time you could have been with your daughter by yourself with money we don’t have!” Dad sounded funny when he spoke. Something was wrong, and Malu was starting to twitch. She sat on her hands to stop the movement.

“Because it’s the only time I get to myself! And don’t try to get yourself off the hook for this, Matthew. We both know you’re as much part of the problem!”

Malu winced at the pitch of her mother’s voice. The problem. Was the problem Malu? Malu didn’t quite understand money yet, but she knew Mom and Dad spent a lot of nights when she was supposed to be in bed talking about it. When they did, her name was often mentioned. They talked a lot about her school and if they could continue to ‘afford’ it. But Malu didn’t know that word; she just knew she liked her new school. It didn’t make her cry and curl into a dark corner nearly as much as the old one.

Her eyes drifted to the cake on the counter, the wax from the nine candles almost completely melted into the cake, the flames beginning to sputter out. It must have been a lot of money. And it was for her. Maybe if she got rid of it, her parents wouldn’t think she was difficult or that they had to spend a lot of money on her. Malu tiptoed over to the table, making sure to avoid the squeaky floorboards. She slowly pushed a chair over to the counter and quietly climbed onto the seat. She blew out the remainder of the candles before sliding her small hands carefully underneath the cake board. She teetered on the chair as she struggled to lift the cake. Eventually, she had the cake balanced on her hands and brought it close to her chest as she climbed back down to the floor. Once again, she pressed an ear to the door between the kitchen and the living room. The volume of her parents’ voices had died down again, bitter whispers flinging themselves at each other.

Malu slid slowly across the floor, not daring to lift her feet off the ground, scared any sound would bring her parents back in. When she made it to the door, she shifted the cake in her hands to unlock the door, but it wobbled, leaning back against her. The white and purple icing smushed against her shirt, and Malu wrinkled her nose in annoyance. But she pushed on, gripping the cake board tightly with one hand, turning the lock slowly with the other. The door unlocked with a low click. The sound made Malu pause, listening for movement in the living room. Nothing. Malu pulled the door toward her and crept out.

The trip to the garbage bins was easy now that she was out of her parents’ earshot. The cake had already dirtied her shirt, and Malu dashed to finish her mission without a care. But upon reaching the garbage bins, she encountered another problem. She was too short to lift the top up to throw away the cake. Malu stared at the bin for a moment, thinking. Finally, she lifted the cake carefully above her head and inched it onto the top of the garbage bin. Leaving it like that would have to do. Once it was stably on top of the lid, Malu turned and began to run back toward her front door. Right before she reached it though, Malu realized she never made a wish when she blew out the candles in the kitchen. She ran back to the cake, sitting precariously on the trash can lid and squeezed her eyes shut. Please make my parents not shout on my tenth birthday.