Someday
The opening of the memoir I hope to write
With a bit of resignation, I closed the laptop.
It had been a productive day. A full chapter written out and some notes to carry forward. According to the clock on the wall, I had been working for just over two hours, and my body was reminding me it was time to smoke.
As I was slipping my shoes on, I heard a noise outside the front door. I had just moved in a month ago, and hadn’t gotten used to the sounds of the new apartment complex. It had taken forever, but the book deal I signed last year was starting to pay royalties. The advance for my first book had been generous enough for me to clear up my debt, though paid out slower than I would have hoped. I checked my bank account every morning to make sure that something hadn’t gone wrong. For the first time in a long time, I wasn’t behind when the month began.
Three muffled knocks on the door. Then three more.
I looked out the peephole. The last apartment barely had three windows, let alone a peephole. There was no one there.
Then three more muffled knocks. Low on the door.
I unlocked the deadbolt and opened it slowly.
I almost didn’t see my grandson, two and a half years old, standing outside.
“Hey there! What are you doing here?”
He handed me a gold envelope. I leaned out and checked the hallway. I didn’t see anyone with him.
“What’s this?”
“Ta ton.” His words were getting clearer, but I couldn’t make this one out.
I opened the envelope and slid out the card inside it. In big gold flourish on the front were the words You’re Invited.
Inside the card were just three words written.
“Come out front.”
The July heat was a sharp contrast from my cool, air conditioned apartment. I swooped my grandson up and stepped into the heat. I carried him out to the front of the building.
My whole family was there. Balloons. Tables. Cake. All set up in front of my apartment, all waiting for me.
“SURPRISE!” It was an uncoordinated cheer, and everyone started laughing when the realization must have spread across my face. “Happy Birthday!”
I walked into the generous mob. Hands clapped my back. People laughing in my ear. My younger kids ran up and gave hugs with gifts they had made themselves in their hands.
“My birthday isn’t until next week!”
Everyone laughed. My son gave me a strong hug. “It’s the only way we figured we could surprise you. Happy 50th, dad.”
Birthdays the last few years had been rough. For my 46th, I got COVID. 47th I got COVID again. For my 48th, my divorce was finalized. My 49th had been spent mostly alone, waiting to hear if the publisher was going to buy my book or not.
Everyone was there. I wasn’t sure who had coordinated it, but they went to great lengths to make sure the people I cared for most were well represented. Neighbors walked by and were invited to stay for food and cake.
It was the best day of my life.