After a little persuasion, Nick had granted us permission to have alcohol: a few bottles of vodka and plenty of beer. When it came to birthdays in the City, they apparently pulled out all the stops.
“It’s important, Grady,” Nick had told me when I went to his office to talk to him about the drinks. “We don’t have much else going for us, do we?”
Sadly, that was true.
When it was time for birthday shots, I took the baby, sat back with her in my arms, and enjoyed the show. Ell, Stone, and Mia nearly drained an entire bottle of vodka by themselves. Me, I just sipped a beer. I was never a big fan of Budweiser, but right then, surrounded by my friends and family in a heated place with lots of light, I was pretty much in heaven.
Many, if not all, the citizens of the City dropped in and made an appearance. They rarely missed parties. The modest-sized entertainment room pushed its capacity, and the party eventually spilled into the hallway. The Beatles were replaced by a playlist of pop songs from the 2000s. Nick and a man named George, a former Marine with a chest that’d put any barrel to shame, cleared the tables and chairs and made a tiny dance floor. People were hesitant to dance at first, but then an Usher song came on and Stone crutched his way to the middle of the floor and started, as Debbie called it, grooving.
“Oh, please, make it stop!” I joked, covering both mine and Monica’s eyes.
“This is my jam, a-hole, Grady! Lighten up!”
His antics broke the ice more than alcohol ever could, and a lot more people started grooving too. Ayden Peck, a large African-American guy, and a woman named Zoe Quintrell, both part of the Scavs, were bumping hips and hopping; Lee, the skinny Kermit-sounding fella who gave us the tour of our barracks, was raising the roof; and Nina and her timid sister, the head doctor Sharon Hart, were doing the Sprinkler. I watched as Debbie grabbed Ell’s hands and together the two of them spun around a few times, faces red, smiles large, Chewy nipping at their ankles, his tail a blur.
The few children in the City, none older than fourteen, were huddled in the far corner. A little blonde girl ran by me with a red balloon sticking to her head via static electricity, yelling “Mommy, Mommy! Look what Pete showed me!” The girl’s mother, a woman in her thirties named Fatima, laughed and flashed a thumbs-up across the room at Pete, a boy of about thirteen.
Nick appeared on my left. He was looking out at all the goofiness like a proud father. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”
I nodded. “It is.”
There were a few people missing among the crowd. Then again, I hadn’t expected them to show up: John Berretti, Gas Mask (Ray), and Tinted Visor (Larry). On the subject of said trio, Nick told me I should bury the hatchet and chalk Berretti’s rude behavior up to him having a bad day.
I found that idea laughable. I didn’t tell him that, but when I told Ell and Stone about it, I was honest: “Yeah, I’d like to bury the hatchet…I’d like to bury it right in his—”
Ell had cut me off, but I’m sure you get the idea.
The music continued playing, and the dance floor became more and more crowded while the supply of alcoholic beverages dwindled. Chewy zigzagged between Ell and Mia’s legs, moving the way he did before Bob Ballard had kicked him around. He grew tired after a few minutes and settled beneath my chair and was soon snoozing softly. I’ll tell ya, I wish I had the ability to sleep at a moment’s notice, the way Chewy and the baby could.
Speaking of the baby, she had only woke once, and that was only because a little boy had popped a balloon nearby. The sound brought the party to a grinding halt. Really, if the music was playing on an old turntable, you would’ve heard the needle scratch. Once everyone realized little Alex was the cause of the noise, the party continued on, but Monica didn’t go back to sleep. Mia rocked her a bit, saying, “We should probably put her down for the night. Give her a bottle and get her away from all this.”
“I can do it,” I said.
“What? Grady, no, it’s good. I’ll do it—”
“Hey, just enjoy your party, Mia.”
A smile lit up her face. “You sure?”
“One-thousand percent. Besides, I think I’ve listened to as much Lil Jon as I can stomach tonight.”
“Thanks, Grady.”
She passed Monica back to me. I looked down at her, and an explosion of love swelled in my heart. Although Monica and I shared no DNA, I would always consider her family. I mean, I had helped bring her into this world. That type of thing creates an unbreakable bond.
So, Monica, Chewy, and I retired to the barracks. I took my shoes off, warmed up some formula, sat on the bed with the baby in my arms and with Chewy lying next to me, and watched Monica down the bottle. She passed out shortly after. “Milk-drunk” is what Ell called it. I got up and walked her around until I was sure she was in a deep sleep. Then, when her little eyelids started twitching, I put her in the bassinet for the night. It had a mobile attached to it that spun and played soft music. I flicked the switch, and out came “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.”
I yawned, and believe it or not, I, too, slept like a baby that night.
You had to pull your own weight if you stayed in the City. It was one of the requirements for living there. I understood and agreed with that. Nothing is free. Nick’s logic was that people needed something of the old world to hold onto. Something to
