Chapter 10: The Birthday Bargain
After being bombarded by Mom's phone calls for half an hour, Auntie had no choice but to send me home. Because she was angry that Auntie had secretly taken me to the movies, Mom directly canceled my birthday party on the 28th.
Jamie hugged me at the door, promising to FaceTime me later. Auntie looked apologetic, but her eyes told me she wasn’t giving up. Still, the weight of disappointment settled on my shoulders.
Auntie was incredulous: "But it's Natalie's birthday."
She tried to reason with Mom, her voice rising with frustration. The unfairness of it all stung—why did something as simple as a birthday party have to be a battleground?
"Natalie already had cake on her actual birthday. She only got 97 in English and is still so unmotivated—she doesn't deserve a birthday."
The words hit like a slap. My birthday, my one day, revoked because I wasn't perfect. I hugged myself tight, trying not to cry in front of Auntie and Jamie.
...Auntie rolled her eyes and tried to persuade Dad: "Jeff, Natalie is the best kid I've ever seen. If it were another child, they'd have gone crazy being pushed like this. No matter how much she studies, she should at least get to celebrate her birthday."
Dad shuffled awkwardly, his hands jammed in his pockets. "Lisa, maybe we can just let her—"
Dad was about to speak, but Mom quickly pushed Auntie out the door: "Celebrate what? If she can't get into college, she won't even have enough to eat, and she still wants a birthday?"
Mom’s voice echoed in the hallway, final and cold. The door clicked shut behind Auntie, and I felt more alone than ever.
Looking at Mom's resolute eyes, I knew my Christmas break was over.
I stared at the pile of assignments on my desk. The days ahead stretched out, bleak and joyless. The holiday spirit had been snuffed out, replaced by the familiar pressure to perform.
It's fine, I can accept it. But I had already made plans with my friends for the 28th, and I didn't want to break my promise: "Mom, if I finish all the homework you assigned for winter break in the next two days, can I go to Olive Garden with Auntie for my birthday on the 28th?"
I tried to keep my voice steady, bargaining for a little happiness. My friends had already RSVP'd. I didn't want to let them down—or myself.
Mom raised her eyebrows: "There's so much homework—how could you finish it all?"
She sounded almost amused, like she was daring me to prove her wrong. The challenge ignited a stubborn spark in me.
"What if I do finish?"
I met her eyes, refusing to look away. For once, I wanted to fight for myself.
"Fine. If you finish everything, you can go."
She said it like a dare, as if she expected me to fail. But in that moment, hope returned—a small, stubborn flame.
A desperate life was clinging to this last sliver of hope. For those three days, I slept only two or three hours a night, even taking my homework with me to the bathroom.
I set alarms, chugged coffee, and kept my phone on Do Not Disturb. Every time my eyelids drooped, I pictured Olive Garden’s breadsticks and my friends’ smiling faces. I wasn’t going to let Mom win this time.
On the afternoon of the 28th, I finished all my homework.
I checked and rechecked every page, making sure nothing was missed. The sense of accomplishment was bittersweet—earned through exhaustion and sheer willpower.