"The Perfect Mother by Aimee Moloy, Love and Ruin by Paula McLain, I've got my eyes on you by Mary Higgins Clark, The Crooked Staircase by Dean Koontz," I exclaimed, reading out the names on my new books. "Aren't they the New York Times' current bestsellers? Oh my God! "

"I think so," my mother commented, "Some are classics too. Little Women, The Christmas Carol, Sense and Sensibility. Who gave you these? You must have read these books more than fifty times!"

"It's okay Mom. They're a present," I said, excitedly unwrapping the gifts which were mostly books.

"Vampire Academy by Richelle Mead, the Morganville series by Rachel Caine... Oh! The last book of the Twilight series. I had so wanted to buy that," I chirped excitedly.

My mother smiled, "There are so many books. That is really thoughtful of your friends."

"I know! " I rolled my eyes. " They know what a bookworm I am. I doubt any of them would have picked up one among these for themselves. They don't like books. They are always busy with Facebook, Twitter and whatnot."

"You have accounts too," it was my mother's turn to roll her eyes.

"Only on Instagram," I reminded her, putting down the book I was flipping, careful not to let the edge of the new pages touch my skin, as it could open up my blisters very easily.

A paper cut was the last thing I wanted on my birthday.

"So, what's next?" I scooted closer to my mother, who was holding a pair of Nike shoes, in the most outrageous shade of neon orange I've ever seen.

"I need to do some work, lining these shoes with cotton," she said.

I couldn't just slip on a pair of shoes like anyone else. The soles of most shoes would peel off the skin on the bottom of my feet.

I had no toenails, which meant there was a good chance they'd get bruised or worse - infected.
It hadn't made things easy when I was younger being so different.

Only the once I made the mistake of wearing open-toed shoes to school. The disgusted looks from my classmates had been enough. They had stared down at my plucked-chicken skin, with the nail-less toes and bruised feet until I'd wanted to run home and curl up in shame. I never wore them again.

Then there were the dreary game sessions and mealtimes... I was only half aware of my mother busy sorting out the room; folding my birthday wrapping paper, putting away books - but in my head I was six and back in the school canteen, watching my friends doing exactly what I longed to do... eat.

I could remember quite clearly asking my mother why I was so different.

She always had the same answer, "Because you're special."

"All done," my mother said turning with a pleased smile.

I pushed away the memories and the salt tears that threatened to spill. Crying was never good; trying to wipe my cheeks and leave the skin intact wasn't so easy.

The room was once again neat and tidy. She had sorted everything while I'd been daydreaming - again.

"I'm sorry for being a lazy bum," I said.

"It's your birthday, so I think I can let you off," she teased. The easy smile disappeared. Now she looked serious. "I do have a confession to make."

"Really...?" she had me intrigued.

"Your father and I haven't bought a present for you," she announced.

"That's a Capital offence, Mom..." I began to laugh, like I cared about a present. "You and Dad are the best gifts ever."

"I'm serious Phoebe...Tell me what you'd like from dad and me?" her smile lit up her whole face.

"I don't want anyth..."

I stopped midway, because there was something I dearly wanted, and I had been making up my mind to tell them as soon as possible.

The thing had been in my mind for quite a while now. I just lacked the guts to tell her.

Edited by lindajonesAuthor

A/N What gift do you think a girl like Phoebe could ask? Answer friends.

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