Saturday sees me bright and early for once, getting ready as quickly as I can to visit Mom and Dad. Luckily, their house is just a monorail ride away, in the opposite direction from work. They haven’t moved in the 20-odd years between my birth and my brother’s.

It’s a sunny day today, barely a cloud in sight. When I get to my parents’ place, there are clothes hanging on the washing line outside, bedsheets billowing in the wind and socks swaying with the breeze. I think back on all the times spent helping them hang up the washing. Hopefully Anthony still helps out as much as I used to. 

The exterior of the house hasn’t changed much. It looks like all the other houses in the neighborhood… Same solar panels on the roof and satellite dish for internet + television access. I wonder if the soap operas they like to watch are still running… must be over thirty years at this point.

I knock on the door, but nobody answers. I turn the door handle — it’s not even locked.

“I’m coming in,” I announce, taking my shoes off and leaving them on the welcome mat. There’s a few sets of shoes already there, more than I’d expect from a three-person household. They probably forgot to put their extra pairs in, I guess.

The inside is as warm and comforting as it should be, dyed in muted, subdued hues. An electric fireplace supporting a ton of knickknacks on its mantel, a glass-topped wooden table draped with a patterned tablecloth. A beige couch covered with a set of even more patterned cloth. Strings of persimmons and chillies hang by the windows, drying in the sunlight. I can smell cooking all the way from the front door.

Something's wrong, though. It’s way too quiet in here.

“Hello?” I call out. “Hell–o? Is there anyone around?”

Where are Mom and Dad, anyway? I can’t see anyone else in this darkness, even when I squint. It’s like the darkness I used to be afraid of when I was a little kid who still believed in monsters under the bed… Well, monsters are real, but they’re not under my bed.

The light switch, the light switch, gotta turn the lights on… what if something happened to Mom and Dad… what if all I see is them lying in pools of their own blood?

Seriously, is that it? I’m a grown-ass man. I can’t be thinking like that anymore.

I flip the light switch.

“Surprise!”

A soft, high pitched voice calls out from the kitchen; before I can search for it myself, I am swiftly greeted with a warm, tight embrace.

“Mom?” I say, feeling like a kid again.

The woman who hugged me is short and slightly chubby, with graying hair finagled into a bun and laugh lines carved indelibly into her cheeks. She throws her head back in raucous laughter. “Of course it’s me, who else would it be? Don’t you recognize your own mother?”

Maybe I don’t. It’s been a while. I can’t trust my senses as much as I used to. I don’t tell her that. 

“I’m so glad you’re finally back. Too long, I say, it’s been too long!”

The smell of her shampoo hits my nose. It’s ginseng — the same scent she’s been using all these years. I feel a hitch at the back of my throat. 

We’ve both gotten older, and the passage of time has really shown itself. She hasn’t changed much, but… the more wrinkles and gray hairs I notice, the more I wish I could turn back time. A far cry from the way I used to feel when I was young — all I wanted to do was grow up quickly, and now I wish I cherished those days more.

“See, I told you he’d pick up,” my mother says, turning round. It’s at this point I see my brother and my father waiting in the doorway behind her.

My father has his arms crossed over his striped polo shirt, but the look on his jowly face and hard-set eyes betrays a small hint of happiness at my return. “Son, what took you so long?”

“Oh, you know, stuff going on at work.”

He rubs his nearly-bald head, and I notice an increased amount of wrinkles and sunspots on his face. “The job pays well, doesn’t it?”

“I mean, yeah…”

“You have to come home more, Mikhael,” my mother implores. “Look how sad it makes your little brother Anton!”

Poor little Anthony stands next to my dad, lingering in his imposing shadow. He should be about 12 or so now, if I'm doing the math right. "Yeah, you’re always at work and you never visit me…"

Now I just feel bad. "Hey, I'm sorry Anth. I'm just so busy these days, I can't always make time to see you, but I promise I'll play some games with you soon, okay?"

He nods and turns away. "Okay."

It's at this point a bunch of members of my extended family jump out from behind the couch, damn near giving me a heart attack with the sudden movement. They flock to me in droves, bombarding me with incessant questions.

One aunt, my father's younger sister, makes it to me first. "Aiyah, Mikey, you need to take better care of yourself! How long has it been since I last saw you? You must be 40 or something by now, right? Are you married yet?"

Uh, what was her name again... right, Theodora... the assistant professor sister that teaches literature analysis in a Central District university... "I, um... no, Aunt Dora, I just turned 32..."

She pinches my cheeks and pats my head. "With those eyebags and that scruffy beard, it's no wonder no women like you! Listen to me, Mikhael, you must use skincare products and shave often; a smooth face is the ladies' favorite!"

"I'm sure it is..."

The party goes on; I'm swarmed by relatives I barely know and haven't seen since my youth. They pinch me all over, asking about my weight, my height, my relationship status --- and, most of all, my job. I answer everything the best I can --- they only care about the company, anyway, so I redirect every question towards that. My younger cousins admire me because of the company, my older relatives only want to curry favor with me so the boss can take pity on them. Don't they know I'm just an accountant? Being in my good graces won't affect how the CEO sees you, damn it.

I glance at the dining table and see a huge array of dishes. Most are the usual home cooking fare I'd expect from my family, but a couple things stand out to me --- a platter of oysters and a lobster on ice sitting pretty at the center of the table.

"So, uh, what's with all the expensive seafood?"

"Oh, we just wanna treat our special boy to a nice meal," my mom says, barely able to contain her excitement. "We just had to go all out, right everyone?"

"Sure..."

The moment I sit down at the table, everyone gathers around me, hemming me inward in every direction. Someone places a white box on the table, opening it to reveal a sponge cake with strawberries and swirls of cream on top, decorated with some chocolate curls and a couple of those striped chocolate-vanilla cylinder wafers. Ha, time for cake already? I haven't even eaten the main course.

Oh, right. It’s my birthday after all. If it weren’t for the big multicolored candles reading “HAPPY 32nd MIKE”, I could have imagined this cake was for someone else. 

My mother taps on her glass of water with a spoon. “Everyone! Let’s sing for Mikey!"

Oh no, this is gonna be so embarassing... "You guys don’t have to sing, seriously. It’s no big deal."

Mom smiles. “Come on Mikhael, we don’t get to do this every day. Alright now, one, two…”

When was the last time I saw everyone like this? Not anytime recently. Before I got the job… back when I was just a broke college student… maybe. I can’t say for sure.

“Happy birthday to you,” everyone chants.

It takes everything that I have to stop myself from bursting into tears and becoming a sobbing mess. Watching them clap along makes me feel like a kid again. 

“Happy birthday to you…”

I mean, the ritual is the same every time. Blow out the candles, make a wish. Wish for whatever your heart desires, don’t tell anyone or else it won’t come true. Cut the cake, throw away the candles; eat, sleep, and forget until the next year comes.

“Happy birth-day dear Mi-khael…”

Wish for whatever your heart desires. Well, if there’s something I really want…

I’d like it if the merger went well.

“Happy birthday to you—”

The candles snuff out in a puff of smoke; for the first time in a very long time, I feel at ease.