Twenty-five

Take me where their eyes can't find us
River too wide, may as well just
How much do I have to say?
What more do you have to see?
What will it take to make you love me?

-- George Michael, Hard Day

Twenty-five. 25. "twennyfive". Two-five. A quarter. 1/4. Quarter-century.

"You were such a sweet little baby ... all pink and white and so good with such tiny little feet! They put me in 'the suite,' the best room in the maternity ward and it was just you and me."

I hold up my big old feet, size 9 and a half, to be precise and grin. "Not so small now, are they?"

"No," she says, "but still just as precious."

She pulls me in for a hug and a kiss. Ted scruffles my hair, looming above me, all 6 foot 4 inches of him. I can't hold him on my knee anymore.

The floor is covered with the remains of brightly colored tropical print paper. It's the largest package I've gotten on a birthday for years.

Inside is an exquisitely framed print of an old gent in a room stacked high with books. The light is warm, has that magical quality that lets it mirror the actual light in the room, so that it looks like it's the same time of day in the painting as it is in real life.

"It's called 'The Bookworm'," Dad says, "It's one of the few things that I like from Wall Street Creations."

I have no idea what Wall Street Creations is, but I love the painting and hang it in pride of place next to the dining room table.

The cats have a field day with the paper after they have left. The whole time that my family is here, all four of them cower away under the ottoman in the bedroom. They have never acted this shy before when my folks have visited. I have no idea what got into them.

I don't count the candles on the cake, I just blow them out and dig in. It's not home-made, but it's that yummy chocolate mousse variety that I like so much from the bakery at the Farmer's Market near their house.

"Maybe next year" my mother says.

I am full to bursting, from the delicious brunch at Copeland's and rich cake with champagne.

I burst into tears the moment they walk out the door.

Everything in me screams "Come back. Don't go yet."

Even as Sabs' arms close comfortingly around me, I feel completely and utterly alone.