“What’s that for?”
“You tell me.”
Maisie closed her book and sat up. She clasped her hands together and placed them under her chin. “It’s Mom’s birthday today.”
“Yes it is.” Sara’s birthday. Send flowers. The message that appeared on his lock screen that morning.
“She’s not here, though. To celebrate.” Her voice dripped with defeat.
Patrick knelt in front of his niece and ushered Grant around. He held the cake between them. Maisie’s eyes grew wet and a single candle flame danced in each of her dark pupils. For a flickering moment, he saw Sara in Maisie, plain as day. And then the light shifted and he saw himself, even though he knew it wasn’t him, but rather his brother, Greg.
“Sure she is. Don’t you think? And either way, we’re here to celebrate for her. So it’s up to us to make her a wish.”
“What kind of wish?” Grant asked, joining them on his knees.
“Whatever kind you want. Let’s all make one.”
Maisie considered the cake, her demeanor softening as she took in each perfect detail, the color, the flowers, the buttercream swirls. Patrick could tell she was already wondering if the cake was vanilla, her mother’s favorite; he couldn’t wait to show her that it was. “I’ll go.” Maisie propped herself up on one knee and clutched her T-shirt at the neckline. “I wish that you’re not alone, because it can be scary alone and I don’t want you to be scared.”
“That’s a beautiful wish.” Maisie glowed in his validation. “Now blow out one candle to make that wish come true.”
Maisie blew gently, skillfully; all three candles flickered, but only one went out. Smoke trailed upward before dissipating in the air, like the wish had transformed into a secret only the three of them knew.
“Grant?”
Grant squished his face as he thought.
“Don’t make that face, you’ll need Botox when you’re nine.”
Grant shook his head. “I know! I got one!”
“Let’s hear it.”
“I wish I could hear you laugh.”
Maisie objected. “That’s a wish for you! Not for her.”
“Easy, easy, easy.” Patrick scrambled to intervene. “How about, I wish you much laughter where you are?”
Grant signaled his approval, very happy with this edit. Patrick shielded the candle closest to himself with his hand, and had Grant blow out the other one.
“Your turn, GUP.”
A shiver ran though Patrick’s body and his eyes began to sting; this was but an exercise for the children that he was overseeing, another activity like the letter writing, and the videos. How was this so difficult for him? “I wish you total freedom from pain. Freedom from the body that failed you. I hope that you’re full of light, unconstrained, and that you can dance. Because I know how you loved to dance.”
He looked at the candle, the last one lit on top of the cake. He struggled to summon a breath, as if the last of the light that was Sara could be fully extinguished with one forceful expulsion of air.
“I like that wish, GUP.” Maisie rested her hand on Patrick’s knee, giving him the permission he needed.
“Me too.” Grant bounced up and down on his knees.
“Let’s blow out the last candle, the three of us,” Patrick said. “And that wish can be from us all. On the count of three?”
They agreed.
Patrick nodded, once, twice. And they blew.
The room went dark. They sat together quietly, listening for any hint that Sara had heard them.
“Can we eat thum cake?” There was sugar at the end of this endeavor, and Grant didn’t want to further delay that reward.
“Come,” Patrick motioned.
The kids followed their uncle into the kitchen, where Patrick set the cake on the counter. But instead of pulling out a knife, he produced a box of matches. He pulled a single candle out of the cake, struck a match, and relit the remaining two.
“Why are we blowing out candles again?” Maisie asked.
Patrick pointed at the stools and snapped his fingers; they hopped up to the counter like obedient dogs. Marlene, less disciplined, nipped at his heels. “I have two more wishes, one for each of you.”
The kids looked up at him with twisted expressions, confusion mixed with whatever was just shy of delight.
“Grant. You are my funny boy. My wish for you is that your sense of humor remains intact. Life is not always funny, in fact it’s not always fun. A lot of the time it downright sucks. But your humor will guide you, it will protect you, and it will heal you. So laugh hard, laugh loud, and make others do the same.”
“Knock knock,” Grant said, accepting the mantle of this charge.
“Jesus Christ. Not now.”
“Okay.”
“Okay, who?” Maisie added with a giggle.
Patrick dropped his head to the counter with a thud. “Just blow out a candle.”
Grant leaned in and did just that.
“Maisie.” Patrick stood up straight; there was a red mark on his forehead. “You are sensitive and kind and brave, just like your mother. My wish for you is that you carry the best of her inside you and build on that with all the special ingredients that make you, distinctly, beautifully you.”
Maisie swallowed, tasked with this solemn responsibility. Patrick wondered if he should ease her burden, tell her how naturally he thought this would come. Instead he watched as she leaned forward and gently extinguished her candle as if with a delicate kiss.
“Now can we have cake?” Grant asked.
“One more thing.”
Grant’s shoulders drooped.
“For your mom.” Patrick turned on the Bose speakers that sat on the kitchen counter and waited for the Bluetooth to connect with his phone. He opened iTunes and selected a playlist called dance. “She and I would always dance on our birthdays. Just go crazy to some really good music. In celebration. And I think we should do that for her.” Patrick scrolled through the playlist until he found just the song. “Ah, here we go. America’s third-favorite Wang Chung song, ‘Let’s Go!’ It’s actually the best Wang Chung song. People prefer ‘Everybody Have Fun Tonight’ or ‘Dance Hall
