Solo

Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday to you,

Happy birthday dear Jessa,

Happy birthday to you.

Elsie Doakes led the traditional song, her voice cracking as she stumbled over the third line, much more used to having to rush through three names instead of just the one. Keep it together, she thought to herself. Jessa doesn’t need you to bring things down today.

To get her mind off of morbid thoughts, Elsie bustled to the far end of the table as Jessa blew out her seven candles, but she couldn’t help but think We should have had three small cakes instead of this lonely large one—no, stop. This is Jessa’s day.

Twelve seven- and eight-year-olds clapped as all seven candles snuffed out in one breath, and Elsie pasted on a smile and said in as cheerful a voice as she could, “All right. Now, who wants chocolate cake?”

A chorus of “Mes” came from around the table at varying decibel levels, and Elsie smiled at the sound of happy children.

Truly, these children had been very patient, sitting through the opening of the birthday gifts; each child had been very thoughtful—or perhaps their parents had given their children ideas—in what sorts of things to make or buy for Jessa on this first birthday on her own. It wasn’t that there were more gifts, or even just “better” ones than Jessa had received before, but this year, everyone had seemed to really think about what might help Jessa get through this day—and the rest of her life—without her sisters. More than one child—or family—had given Jessa pictures of themselves with one or the other of the triplets, or all three.

“And ice cream?” she asked, fighting not to let what she was thinking about show on her face.

The “Mes” this time were drowned out in a hail of cheers.

Careful to keep the handle in her own grip while also helping the birthday girls—no, girl—to make the first cut, Elsie pushed the knife blade through the chocolate cream-cheese icing and into the spongy chocolate cake. “Now, how big of a slice do you want?” she asked her daughter.

Jessa moved her hand to a place around the cake’s perimeter that was much larger than her usual quarter-inch sliver.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to finish it?” Elsie asked.

“No, Mama,” the girl replied. “That’s how much I’ll eat for Nan and Bel.”

Elsie couldn’t prevent the tears from forming in her eyes. Nancy and Isabel, Jessa’s sisters, had been in a car crash with their father just three months before on the way home from school. Jessa had been home from school with the flu that day, and Elsie had taken off of work to care for her.

She gave Jessa a hug and said, “Do you think they’d want an extra scoop of ice cream too?”

Blue eyes wide, Jessa looked her mother in the eye and nodded solemnly. “And you should have some for Daddy too. Strawberry ice cream was his favorite.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Elsie said, and then realized that the room had gone quiet. The entire party, children and parents, were staring at the tableau, the parents smiling with sympathy and the children looking impatient but seeming to somehow sense the gravity of the moment.

“Well, then,” Elsie murmured, a bit flustered. She quickly dished up the first chocolatey slice onto a paper plate, picked up the ice cream scoop from the bowl of water she’d put it in before bringing out the cake, and plopped it on the table in front of Jessa.

The party resumed, children gabbling happily to each other and the grownups, as Elsie served the rest of the cake and ice cream.