The next day, the energy in the Etienne house was different. Not better, but different.

Unlike she had expected to, Chevelle woke up late that morning—sometime between 10am and 11am, but since her phone was dead, she couldn't be sure.

Usually when someone spent a birthday at home with the family, they were woken up early with singing and dancing in celebration of another journey around the sun. And although this had been tradition in the Etienne household for the last 10 years, Chevelle hadn't expected much this year. This was her first birthday post-hospitalization, and she didn't know if her family would feel like dancing in celebration of her life when she'd just tried to take it. When she woke up, sans the singing and dancing, she had her answer.

At first, Chevelle hoped that maybe nobody had come to her room because they didn't want to wake her up early, but even she knew that was wishful thinking. Nobody in her family had ever been that considerate. Her mother had once woken her up at 5:45am just to tell her that the house needed to be swept. And when Chevelle told her mother to let her sleep, that the dust wasn't going anywhere, Nadègine had asked Chevelle how she expected to ever find a husband if she couldn't even keep her house clean. Chevelle was 14 at the time.

When Chevelle came downstairs, she could immediately tell that her father had spoken to her mother about their conversation last night. She could tell from the way her mother's eyes lingered as she looked at her daughter. There was both hostility and pity in her stare, like she felt sorry for Chevelle, but at the same time, also felt a bitterness toward her—irritated that Chevelle would have the nerve to speak to her father the way she had after she was the one who put all of them in this situation to begin with. She was the one who had brought Jared into their lives in the first place, and it would bode her well to remember that.

Because it was Chevelle's birthday though, Nadègine chose not to voice her annoyance. Just this once.

"Bonne fet, Chevelle," Nadègine said, finally cracking a smile. She opened her arms wide, and although the tension in the air still remained, Chevelle hugged her, grateful that at least this morning, her mother had chosen peace.

"Thank you," Chevelle said, deciding not to ask about the lack of singing and dancing, even though she was tempted.

Nadègine pulled away, holding Chevelle firmly by the shoulders and taking a moment to look at her daughter. She leaned forward and kissed both of Chevelle's cheeks. "Wow," she said. "Twenty-four. I can't believe it."

Chevelle laughed. "I know," she agreed. "It doesn't feel real."

But then again, she thought, birthdays weren't real. They didn't signify anything more than each passing day did, and yet, over time, humans had convinced themselves that there was something sacred about birthdays.

Chevelle was convinced that that was part of the reason why people hated their birthdays so much. Everyone had been led to believe that there was something special about that day, and then when they woke up on their birthdays and felt no different from usual, they grew disappointed.

"Where is everyone?" Chevelle asked, looking around the empty house.

"Your father and Josephe went to pick out a cake for you," her mother said, smiling excitedly.

"Ooh, I hope it's chocolate."

"But of course," Nadègine said. "Everyone knows that's all you like."

With a chuckle, Chevelle said, "And what of Farah?"

Nadègine could hear the silent 'and Jared' that Chevelle had chosen not to speak, and she sighed. "Farah is at the gym," she said. "With Jared."

"Oh."

Chevelle couldn't lie and say that she wasn't a little bit hurt to hear that Farah was out enjoying herself at the gym on Chevelle's birthday. Farah was usually the biggest stickler for tradition between the five of them. She was the one who always led the singing and dancing brigade. The one who had woken Chevelle up with birthday eggs and plantain every year since she was eleven.

But things were different now. Chevelle had to keep reminding herself of that; her relationship with Farah would never again be what it had been, and she needed to accept that. She needed to let go.

"Here." Nadègine pushed forward a steaming hot bowl of eggs and plantain, smiling up at Chevelle. "Bon appeti," she said.

And when Chevelle laid eyes on the deep crimson bowl with her favorite food in it, she was unable to stop the tears from brimming in her eyes. She wasn't sure exactly why she was crying—there was no one reason; it was just everything. The fact that this past year had been so hard, and yet she'd still made it here, to her birthday. The fact that even though her mother gave her hell most of the time, she still did little things like this—like remembering a tradition even after everyone else had forgotten. She still took the time to do the things nobody else wanted to do for Chevelle anymore. It reminded Chevelle that behind her mother's loud voice, she was still always watching, always taking note.

It was the fact that even though things seemed hopeless most of the time—even though Chevelle often felt like she was drowning—there were moments like this that she could still live for. Moments when her head broke through the water and she was able to breathe. Small, fleeting moments of joy in which the gratitude still overflowed and gave Chevelle enough life to keep her going just a little bit longer.

Although Chevelle had always convinced herself that she was a Daddy's Girl—that she connected with her father much better than her mother—there was something about her mother's dedication that kept her going. Her mother had always been that pillar in her life. The backbone. A beam of support that provided what nobody else was ever willing to. What nobody else could. Chevelle may have had more laughs with her father over the years, but it was her mother who always held her together.

When Wilson died, Chevelle had almost died with him, and it had been her mother that helped her get up each day. Nobody else had been willing to lean into their discomfort for her. To get their hands dirty and do the hard work it took to help someone heal.

Everyone liked to think that it took moving the sky and burning everything to the ground to help someone move past trauma, but it didn't. It took little things. Little things that made a person's life just a little easier—a little more manageable—so that it wasn't so overwhelming to keep living. It had been Chevelle's mother that was willing to do those little things for her.

It had been her mother that cut up fruits for her each morning and cooked her favorite foods each night so that she had no excuse not to eat. It had been her mother that ran the bath for her in the evenings and brought her outside in the afternoons for their walks. Nadègine had called them their silent walks; they didn't speak as they strolled through the neighborhood, but they didn't need to. It was the simple fact that somebody cared enough about Chevelle to stay with her, even in silence.

Nadègine had seen how daunting these small tasks had become for Chevelle—tasks like eating, bathing, getting fresh air. She could see her daughter being crushed under the weight of her pain, and so she made the decision, day after day, to do everything she could to make life a little bit easier for Chevelle. And it was this that eventually helped Chevelle out of her rut.

It took a while for Chevelle to find her voice again after Wilson's passing. There were no words to describe the specific violence she was experiencing, and so she just didn't speak. Nobody had known what to do. Not her siblings and certainly not her father. For months, they quietly distanced themselves from Chevelle and the heaviness that surrounded her, not knowing what to say or how to say it, and so instead just saying nothing. With her mother though, there was none of the discomfort, only the care. And without it, Chevelle honestly didn't know if she would still be here today.

For years after Wilson died, Chevelle used to cry just thinking about how her mother had stopped her entire life to tend to her without a single complaint. Nadègine had never made Chevelle feel like a burden for feeling what she felt, and when Chevelle was finally ready to talk again, it was Nadègine who held her. Who crawled into bed with Chevelle and held her as she cried. Nadègine told Chevelle of how she had also lost people she loved in her life, and how she'd needed someone to be there, to help with the little things as she dealt with her grief. How she wanted to make sure Chevelle had that, so that she could move through her pain properly. So that she wouldn't remain stuck in it the way so many people do.

And as Chevelle took a bite of her mother's eggs and plantain, she found herself tearing up again, both because she was reminiscing the past, and because she was rethinking her present. When she tasted the food, she realized how much better than Farah's her mother's eggs and plantain was. And of course, they were better; Farah couldn't compete with her literal mother—the one whom her own food was trying to emulate. And Chevelle couldn't believe she'd let herself forget this. That change wasn't a death sentence, but rather, a chance to realize new opportunities. That she didn't need to live life shrouded in dread, but rather, she could live it from moment to moment, always looking for the joy. Always looking for where the sun hits the water—the direction in which she could swim to break through the barrier and take another breath.

When Josephe and Antony returned to the house, they entered in song.

Antony held Chevelle's cake above his head as he and Josephe sang happy birthday to Chevelle and danced their way inside. Nadègine joined them as they approached her and Chevelle in the kitchen. Antony set the cake down in front of Chevelle and she saw that the candles were already lit, sparking everywhere as her family surrounded her. She was smiling so wide that she thought her face might split in two, and when it was time for her to make her wish, Chevelle wished for more moments like this. More moments of pure joy and celebration.

As Chevelle cut the cake, Josephe put on some music and the four of them listened to Magnum Band as they sat around the kitchen table talking and eating their chocolate cake. Now that they were no longer singing and dancing—now that they had time to stop and think—to remember—some of the tension returned, but still, they were happy. That is, until Farah and Jared returned.

When Farah entered the house and saw everyone hanging out together, smiling and eating cake without her, she frowned. And when Chevelle looked up and caught Farah's eye, she could see the surprise in her sister's face. That Farah hadn't expected Chevelle to have a good time with or without her. Farah must've thought that by breaking tradition, it would be lost, but she had been mistaken.

She had been mistaken to assume that just because she was the loudest—the most animated of them—that she was the glue holding everyone together. That each of them didn't play a very important and specific role in keeping the family together. Where Farah had decided not to do her part, everyone else had jumped in to do a little bit more. Despite their conflicts with Chevelle, they had all still come together to make sure she had a good birthday. Or at least a good morning. And although none of them would ever say it aloud, it was easier to make that happen with Farah out of the house.

Because of the situation with Jared, whenever Farah and Chevelle were both around, it felt like people had to pick sides. Like it could either be Farah or Chevelle, but never both. And when faced with the choice, all of her family members had chosen Farah time and again, without fail, so Chevelle didn't expect her birthday to be any different.

Farah smiled, still looking at Chevelle as she reached back and took Jared's hand in hers. "Bonne fet," she said, pulling Jared into the kitchen and around the table with her as she leaned down to place a quick kiss on Chevelle's cheek. She looked to the half-eaten cake on the kitchen table. "Wow, if we'd have come five minutes later, I'm sure you all would have finished that cake without us," she said.

Nadègine rolled her eyes. "Of course not," she said, pointing to the cupboard. "Get a plate, bebe mwen. You too, Jared."

Jared thanked Nadègine, but before he followed Farah to get a plate, he turned to Chevelle with a smile, and although she didn't look at him, she could feel his gaze hot on her. "Hey," he said. "Happy birthday."

Chevelle steeled her jaw, taking another bite of the cake in her plate. It was her birthday today, and so rather than entertaining his usual nonsense, Chevelle decided it would be best to ignore him completely. To not even acknowledge his presence. Out of sight, out of mind.

The only problem was that as soon as she snubbed Jared, everyone grew quiet, turning to look at Chevelle as they waited for her to respond. The tension that had all but disappeared that morning was now thick and heavy in the air around them. Chevelle could barely breathe as she stared down at the cake in her plate, waiting for the people around her to get the hint. After a few seconds, Jared awkwardly stepped away, deciding not to repeat himself since it was clear Chevelle had heard him. He knew her well enough to know that if she'd chosen to ignore him, nobody could get her to speak to him. Not even her parents.

Mind you, he knew that he could probably wear her down if he tried hard enough, but did he want to do that in front of her family? In front of Farah? Definitely not.

"Uh, what restaurant did you say you made reservations at, Papa?" Farah asked, a desperate attempt to diffuse some of the tension in the room. For Jared's benefit, not Chevelle's.

"Le Château Moelleux," Antony said.

"Is that the restaurant we went to for my graduation?" Josephe asked, and their father nodded.

"They give out free dessert on birthdays," Nadègine said. "It's perfect."

Farah scoffed. "To think we need even more dessert after eating this entire cake," she said as she cut both herself and Jared a slice.

And as the conversation picked back up, Chevelle could feel herself fading into the background. Only a few minutes ago, she had been ready to take life by the reigns and adopt a new attitude, but now she felt hopeless, trapped in a room with her ex-boyfriend and no conceivable way out. She'd talked to her father and that hadn't worked, so who else could she talk to? Her mother would never defy her husband, and her siblings didn't set the tone for this house.

She wanted to leave—to pack her things and go stay with Abel like he'd first offered, but she knew that she couldn't. Not only was he out celebrating his birthday with friends, but she'd already promised her family she would celebrate her birthday with them. And although it didn't feel like much of a celebration anymore, she knew that her parents wouldn't take kindly to her leaving. In their eyes, one was never to break a promise, no matter how much it hurt to keep.

And so, Chevelle ate her cake silently, and when she was done, she excused herself to her bedroom. She said that she was going to speak to her friends, but really, she was going to escape. The fact that she spoke to her friends was just auxiliary.

When Chevelle got to her room and saw the 'happy birthday, beautiful' text from Abel on her newly charged phone though, she couldn't help but smile, because in the face of it all, she had at least one thing to be grateful for: the fact that, despite the misery coming here had brought her, it had also brought her to Abel. And for now, that was enough.