Just like everything else, the cycle of seasons brought new energy to the Gatteaus while leaving the other behind. The serenity was long overdue, especially after a tumultuous autumn.
Maybe that was winter, but more than likely, it was November 1st, the twins' birthday. It was one of the rare occasions the Gatteaus celebrated with family togetherness. Neither Christmas nor Thanksgiving got half the attention that the twins received on November 1st.
With it being a Sunday, Phoebe slept until noon while Portia worked all day at the Pet Store. However, at 5 o'clock sharp, the activities were immediately underway.
“Hurry up,” said Alex, who stood at the front door of the Pet Store.
“Hold your horses, I still have to do all the closing duties.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Just wait.”
At home, Mrs. Gatteau was twisting and taping gold and purple (Phoebe and Portia’s favorite colors, respectively) crepe paper ribbon from corner to corner in the living room. She’d also enlisted Mr. Gatteau’s help. He was responsible for the chair while she placed the ribbons.
Phoebe was there, too, but refused to help. It was her birthday, after all.
Portia finished up her work and Alex drove towards the apartment.
“You don’t care if Darren comes, do you?”
“You’re asking me now?”
“It just seemed natural.”
“I don’t mind if he comes, but this is kind of a family thing.”
“And he’s family…”
Portia sighed.
“What? You don’t want him there?”
“It’s not that…I just…it’s all weird, you know?”
“You two get along great.”
“I know, but…”
Alex waved her off as he went inside to fetch Darren. Darren squeezed into the back seat behind Portia without trading a hug or kiss.
“Hey,” said Portia.
“Hey.”
After that, they rode to the Gatteau home in near silence. The only interruption came at a moment of realization.
“Damn it,” spat Darren, “I can’t believe I forgot your gift.”
Alex and Portia just laughed. Darren laughed, too.
“It was the perfect gift, too.”
“Not if it’s not in my hands…”
“I’ll give it to you when we get home.”
“I’ll let you off the hook this one last time.”
Alex chuckled as his little sister gave grief to Darren and he just took it. They headed inside and Mrs. Gatteau greeted them.
“That took entirely too long.”
“That’s one heck of a happy birthday,” said Portia.
“Happy Birthday, Portia. Now stand next to the birthday cake with your sister.”
The girls went through their usual motions, lighting candles and then blowing them out and taking turns cutting cake and serving ice cream to everyone else.
“Now, let’s open the presents,” said mother.
“Me first,” said Phoebe.
Portia sat down beside Phoebe as everyone handed them their presents. Phoebe opened the biggest present first. It was from mom and dad.
“Oooh,” said Phoebe as she opened the box. She pulled out a large gold lame handbag.
“It’s designer,” pointed out Mrs. Gatteau.
“It’s great, ma.”
“Thank you, my dear child. Now it’s your turn, Portia.”
Portia weighed the two items in her hands. She picked out Alex’s gift first. It was small, rectangular, and compact. The corners were sharp, but the paper sagged over the edges.
“I wonder what it could be,” joked Portia.
She ripped at the seam along the loose edge. A packet of pages peeked through the loose wrapping. Portia continued peeling away the paper. A green leather-bound book emerged. A Life in the Woods – By H. D. Thoreau, embossed in golden letters, appeared on the cover
“Oh, how fantastic!”
Portia rose from her seat and bear-hugged Alex. Mrs. Gatteau went over and picked up the book.
“What’s it about?”
“It’s a memoir of a man who spent two years living in a cabin.”
“Oh my god,” said Phoebe, “That’s it?”
“You don’t understand. It’s a truly magnificent book.”
“I had to read it in high school,” said Darren, “It’s got an intriguing message.”
“Alright, let’s get on to the next present.”
“My turn.”
Phoebe peeled at the small package from Alex to reveal a tiny box wrapped in black velvet. Phoebe cracked it open. It was a pair ofyellow topaz earrings.
“Are they genuine?”
“I wouldn’t think of buying you anything else. It’s your birthstone.”
“I know.”
Phoebe went to the mirror and held them up to her ear.
“I don’t know if this is my color. It is nice, though.”
‘Nice’, thought Portia, ‘he buys her genuine topaz earrings and all she can say is nice. How ungrateful.’
“My turn,” said Portia.
She picked up the bigger box, the one from her parents. It was light, probably containing clothes. Portia opened it and looked inside. It was a set of baby clothes – size 6 and 8, unmatched and unsized.
“I know they’re too big for little Alex, but I thought you could exchange them for something you think he needs.”
“Why didn’t you just get me a gift card?”
“That’s so impersonal,” scoffed Mrs. Gatteau.
“Thanks, mom. Thanks, dad.”
As she hugged her dad, he sneaked a fifty-dollar bill into her jacket pocket. She did not even notice his sleight of hand.
“Let’s get going to dinner. What do you girls want?”
“Seafood,” said Portia.
“You always want seafood,” said Phoebe.
“What do you want, Phoebe?” asked Mrs. Gatteau.
Portia scowled at her mother as Phoebe rolled the thought around in her head.
“How about steak?”
“Let’s go somewhere everyone can get what they want,” said Mrs. Gatteau, “like the 17th Street Café.”
“That’s a steakhouse,” said Portia.
“They have fish.”
Portia grumbled. Her idea mother’s idea of seafood usually included something deep-fried, stuck between two buns, and topped with tartar sauce and lettuce. Alex tugged gently on her arm.
“We’ll split into two cars,” he insisted.
They went to the restaurant, split into two smaller groups, and sat at two different tables.
“It should be our choice to tip the waiter twenthy percent, not the restaurants. Besides, what if the service is lousy?”
“Phoebe, come sit with us.”
“I’m sitting with Portia.”
“That makes no sense. We’re taking you out for your birthday and you’re not sitting with us.”
“Let’s get one table, then,” insisted Alex.
The hostess stood there while the family bickered in the middle of the restaurant. Finally, the manager came over with two of the busboys and pushed two tables together.
“Does this mean there’s a forced gratuity?” asked Mrs. Gatteau.
“No, ma’am. Our waiter will be happy to take care of you.”
“Fine, Get me a glass of cold water, will you?”
The waiter nodded.
“No ice. One slice of orange and one slice of lemon.”
“That sounds good,” added Phoebe, “I’ll take one of those, too, with two orange slices.”
At this point, Portia shriveled in her chair. Her mother and sister had a way of suddenly becoming the world’s best prima donnas at a moment’s notice, especially if she thought it made them more important in the eyes of those around them.
“Just a regular glass of water,” said Portia.
“Me, too,” said Alex, “The regular old ice water, that is.”
“”Me, three,” said Darren.
“Me, four.”
Portia pondered over the menu.
“There’s no fish,” she stated plainly.
“There has to be,” said Mrs. Gatteau.
“There isn’t.”
“Just have steak then. Your father is paying.”
Portia sank in her seat.
“While we’re thinking, I’m going to the restroom,” said Alex.
When he returned, the waiter had just started going over the specials.
“We have the Beef Wellington tonight, as well as a salmon, specially grilled fajita-style with peppers and mushrooms.”
“Grilled Salmon, that’s my favorite,” said Portia.
“See?” said Mrs. Gatteau, “I told you there’d be fish. I’ll have the Beef Wellington, while you’re writing stuff down.”
The waiter coyly winked at Alex as he collected the menus. Darren glanced at Alex.
“What was that about?”
“What?”
“Never mind,” said Darren.
Everyone (except Portia, of course), ordered their steaks. Mrs. Gatteau stared at her battered and baked tenderloin.
“What’s this?” she asked the waiter.
“It’s our special, Beef Wellington.”
“That’s not a steak.”
“He told you how it was made,” said Mr. Gatteau.
“Yes, but this isn’t steak. I came for steak.”
The waiter carted her Beef Wellington away, dumping thirty dollars worth of steak into the trash and replacing it with an 8-ounce pribe, well done.
“Do you have any ketchup?”
The waiter fished a bottle of ketchup from the back and delivered it to Mrs. Gatteau. She glopped the ketchup onto the steak and took the first bite while the waiter looked on.
“Is this to your liking?”
Mrs. Gatteau nodded. Now, everyone was happy. Afterwards, they split into two cars, with the parents in one and the children in the other.
When Alex turned onto the street where the Gatteau house sat, he saw a familiar car in a strange place. Marcus was sitting inside with the radio and heater on as the car idled softly. It’s engine rumbled in the cold, crisp air.
“What’s this about?” asked Darren.
“I don’t know,” said Alex, “but whatever it is, it can't be good.”
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