I woke up on the morning of my birthday still partially submerged in a dream state. Memories were blending in with my own stream of consciousness to create small snippets of past events and made up ones. I saw my family, my friends, and people I’ve only met a handful of times. There were images of birthday cakes, streamers, glasses of wine and sparkly dresses. As I began to become more fully awake, my bedroom came into focus.

My muscles loosened as I stretched my limbs. The sunlight from the window poured onto my sheets. Fully sober and aware of what my life had been like for the last few weeks, I found it hard to hold onto the dreams of pastel parties and dancing. Blood splattered on the marble floor, shattered glass, and the barrel of a gun replaced them.

I sat up in my bed, dread welling up inside me from my toes to the top of my head. I tried to distract myself by thinking about something else as I got ready for the day.

There was only one birthday spent with my mother that I remembered. It was the last one before she died.

It was my fourth birthday and we were celebrating by having a small party in the local park. That year I had been really into ladybugs. I had drawn countless pictures of them that decorated our fridge and my favorite stuffed animal was a cute version of the black spotted insect. Because of my obsession, my mother made the birthday party themed so. She dressed me in a red dress and a black cardigan. She pinned back my hair with a ladybug hair clip and asked that everyone in attendance would wear the same colored attire.

There was only one thing missing from the party - a real life ladybug. My mother had explained to me that it was getting cold out. The October weather wasn’t warm enough for ladybugs to be out and about. Still, when the time came for me to blow out my candles, I wished for one.

When the party was over and all the adults were cleaning up, a ladybug landed on one of my toys. I had heard the shutter of her wings wisp by my ears and squealed in surprise. She walked up and down along the sides of the doll's face, almost camouflaging on its button eyes. A massive grin spread across my face as I rushed to get one of the paper cups from the party to trap her under.

My mother watched me as I approached the ladybug with the cup. She put down the trash bag she was carrying and gently grasped my arm. She kneeled beside me, both of us staring at the insect.

“What are you doing, Mickey?” she asked.

“I’m going to make the ladybug my pet.”

She smiled. “That is no way to treat a party guest.”

“I’ll feed it and take it on walks. It’ll be happy,” I said, anxious to capture it before it decided to fly away.

“Ladybugs aren’t meant to be trapped under a cup. They can suffocate and die.” If there was anything I remembered about my mother, it was that she was always honest. She never told a lie just to shut me up or make me stop crying.

“But isn’t it dangerous for the ladybug to live outside? A bird could eat it,” I pointed out. I was proud of my thinking and was sure I had won the argument.

“That is true but a life trapped under a cup is worse. The ladybug has to learn to survive on its own. It would be selfish to trap her.”

Pouting, I handed the cup over to my mother.

“Just enjoy the time you have with her now,” she said and then planted a kiss on the top of my head. For the rest of the time I was at the park, I sat across from the ladybug. I asked her for her name, told her mine, chatted and chatted like we were friends. Then, she flew away.

After brushing my teeth, I checked my phone which had been charging on my bedside table.

Darren had sent me a happy birthday text at midnight. It was a whole paragraph filled with sweet sentiments and inside jokes. I shot back a thank you, pleased that he was thinking about me.

I shrugged on an acceptable outfit for the morning and checked back on my phone to find another happy birthday text, this one from Vincent. He wished me a happy birthday and said he’d see me later.

Downstairs, my uncle was already cooking as expected. He took my birthday feast very seriously. He liked to make sure that all of my favorite dishes were prepared to the best of his ability. He was seasoning some meat when he saw me. He lifted up his hands covered in sazon and hurried over to the sink to rinse them so he could give me a hug.

“Happy birthday,” he said. When he finally got his hands clean, he came over and wrapped his arms around me. His hands still smelled strongly of seasoning. “I have a question for you. Does your work friend have any dietary restrictions or food allergies?”

“Uh, I don’t know. I can ask.” Pulling out my phone, I texted Vincent.

My uncle’s preparing dinner and wants to know if you have any dietary restrictions or food allergies.

I am lactose intolerant . . . but that has never stopped me before, Vincent replied.

Giggling, I looked back up from my phone. “He said no.”

Since I was taking the day off from work, I found there was little to do besides ruminate on the case and everything I didn’t know. In a desperate search for a distraction, I found myself scrolling through my phone and somehow scrolling through my phone had turned into texting Vincent.

It was weird. After he answered my question about dinner, I had rewarded his successful attempt at being light hearted with a playful reply. Soon, somehow, we were talking about who he was for Halloween as a child and why I hated cottage cheese with a passion. Since I was on my phone anyway, I was replying back fast and so was Vincent. I guessed that he had to have taken the day off from work as well, aside from attending my birthday party. I spent the next several hours smiling at every notification and checking for new messages every few minutes. Maybe he was more comfortable speaking through text than in person but it felt like he was being a lot less serious than usual and since I wasn’t staring at his face, it was easy for me to forget that it was a detective I was exchanging banter with.
                   
Around six o’clock. I put my phone down indefinitely and sat in the living room with my family and Darren. My aunt bought party hats as a joke but Nancy and Julio were wearing them ironically as they whispered about my pile of presents. Darren came back from the kitchen with a can of soda for both of us. He sat  on the recliner with a sparkle in his eyes.

“You are going to lose your mind at the gift I got you,” he said to me. “Sorry everybody else but I knocked it right out of the park.”

“Yeah, yeah but I got her the best gift of all! Birthday punches!” Julio exclaimed, crossing the room and jumping onto the empty space beside me on the couch. He held up his fist like he was preparing for a boxing match but when he actually began punching me, they were nothing more than taps on my arm. “One! Two! Three! Four!”

I flicked him on the forehead.“Knock it off!”

“Fifteen! Sixteen! My goodness this is going on forever.” He sighed dramatically, wiping imaginary sweat off his brow. “How old are you turning again? Thirty five? And still living with your relatives?”

I scowled at him. “Twenty-five, you butthead.”

The doorbell rang. We were still expecting Vincent and Kimberly and I was pleased to see that both of them were at the door. Vincent wore a brown turtleneck and dark jeans. He raised his eyebrows at me when the door opened, a habit that I was beginning to suspect was a tic of his. Next to Vincent’s attire, Kimberly seemed like she was ready for a birthday photoshoot. Her skirt was made of a shiny material that reminded me of plastic, splattered with bright colors like pink, orange, green and yellow. Her top was more neutral, a simple black that called all the more attention to the skirt.

“Look who I found,” Kimberly said, chipper as ever. She gestured to Vincent who raised his eyebrows again and then waved. When she saw my stare lingering on her skirt, she added, “Don’t worry, I’m going to change out of this. This was for a work thing.”

She jiggled one of two bags she had in her hand. One of them held her change of clothing and the other had Happy Birthday written on it in a glittery font. Vincent held a small box in his arms and I automatically felt bad he thought he had to get me something. I stepped aside and welcomed them in. Kimberly shouted hello’s to everyone and hurried up stairs to change in the bathroom before dinner got started.

Vincent followed me into the living room after I hung his jacket up. He held his palms together as I introduced him to everyone.

“This is my coworker Vincent,” I said. The moment my family's eyes landed on him, I felt a little queasy. It was real all of sudden. My family was still threatened by the same people that killed Adonis, the same people who crashed the wedding with guns. I was part of a lie that was meant to save them and tonight I would be lying to them more than ever simply because of Vincent’s presence. There was no possible way they could but I worried they’d see right through our charade. They’d look at Vincent and know who he was instantly. Our cover story would fall apart and so would the integrity of the investigation.

Vincent waved again and bowed his head at my aunt and uncle. “It’s nice to meet you all.”

Nancy narrowed her eyes on Vincent. She knew he was coming and expressed distaste at the thought of him being here. She insisted this was a family thing and how she already didn’t like that Kimberly was joining in. I had ignored her. It was my birthday after all.

My uncle gestured to the many seats available in the living space. “Take a seat. I’m Mickey’s uncle. You can call me by my name Fernando.”

I could tell by the look on Vincent’s face that he would not be calling my uncle by his first name. He had mentioned something earlier in our texting conversation about how family was addressed in his household. It was very formal which gave some explanation to his nature.

My aunt smiled. It was not one of her polite ones, empty of any genuine sentiment. This one was real. She eyed his outfit approvingly. “I’m her aunt, Cecelia. I hope you came hungry because everyone will need to have thirds and fourths to get rid of all that food.”

Again, Vincent looked reluctant. This time I knew exactly why. He glanced at me and we shared a smile, both of us thinking back to one of the texts we shared. 

His mother was very particular in how she expected her kids to behave when they went over to other people’s houses. She insisted that when served food he should eat everything on his plate but never take seconds. The one time he did take seconds at a friend's house after long hours of playing outside, she talked his ear off about it, claiming that his friend's mother would think she didn’t feed him enough at home. We would have to grade him on the curve. In this house, turning down seconds was seen as the impolite thing to do.

Dinner was great as always. Tìo made empanadillas, papa rellenas, pernil, y arroz con gandules. Each dish was tastier than I could have possibly hoped for. The only way I was able to put away as much food as I did was because there was so much chatting at the table, it gave my stomach time to digest what it could before I shoveled more food into my mouth.

Julio had claimed the seat on my left so I was forced to endure him elbowing me in the side as he constantly asked for people to pass him the plates of food since he finished what he had in mere minutes.

As he passed the plate of empanadillas to Julio, Darren looked at Vincent from his place to my right.

“So why does this author need two editors?” he asked.

My grasp on my fork tightened.

I thought I had told Darren why before. Why did he have to ask Vincent? It wasn’t like the answer could be that interesting. Out of all the questions, why that one? It made me paranoid that he was suspicions about Vincent. Maybe he could see straight through our charade.

I scanned Darren’s expression. He was smiling but it was tight. He was showing off his teeth like they were fangs.

“The book is very lengthy with lots of subplots and complexities. It’s also a long awaited addition to a series so the publishing house doesn’t want to drop the ball on this one with all the buzz surrounding it,” Vincent answered, coolly. It was so convincing he had to have rehearsed the answer beforehand.

Darren sat up in his seat, elbows on the table. “Doesn’t that make it kind of easy to undermine each other’s work?”

“No. Mickey is good at her job. I find she is often picking up my slack, noticing things I wouldn't have.” I blushed at the compliment though it’s basis wasn’t even in reality. Vincent was so good at his job he was inadvertently making me play along. But then, Vincent looked at me through his eyelashes, lingering a beat and then turning away. Without needing to have said anything, I understood. The compliment was genuine. He was referencing our work on the case. He really thought I was contributing more than him?

My aunt wagged her fork at me. “Well, look at you.”

Darren placed his arm around the back of my chair. It was quiet and subtle but I heard as well as felt his breath on the side of my neck. He scoffed.

The table asked Vincent a few more questions about himself to be polite and then commenced to discuss previous parties we have celebrated in this house. Kimberly claimed the rights to describe every birthday she was invited to, telling the story of when we drove to a special bakery to get a famously delicious cupcake only to find that some soccer mom had ordered the whole store worth of them. We had to pay double their value to buy two of them from her.

I hadn’t expected to be able to but I was delighted by the normalcy of the night. I even momentarily forgot that there was an undercover cop at the table trying to find out if any of us were guilty.