Page 48 of Protecting the Nerd

“I’m not?”

“Of course not. It’s your birthday, so we’re gonna celebrate.”

“Erm, I don’t usually do much for my birthday.”

“This year will be different.”

I didn’t want to spoil his fun, but what were we supposed to do all day? It was a Saturday, but even then, I usually worked. That it was my birthday made little difference.

“Why don’t you go read for a bit?” Quillon suggested.

If his plan was for me to read all day, I could live with that. I’d catch up on work tomorrow. So I settled into my favorite chair with my new book and was engrossed within minutes. I understood why Quillon loved this book so much. From the very first page, I was captured by the voice of this man, the way he narrated what he had survived, and the questions about the purpose of life that had been raised for him.

The ringing of the doorbell pulled me out of the horrors of the concentration camp, and I reluctantly returned to the present. Were we expecting company? Maybe Fir was stopping by?

But the female voice didn’t belong to Fir, so I got up and walked into the hallway. What was Intan doing here? The Indonesian lady had catered a party Fir had thrown, but I hadn’t called her.

“Hello, York. Happy birthday to you, yes?” Before I knew what was happening, she hugged me and kissed my cheek.

“Thank you.” I looked at Quillon for answers.

“Intan is delivering the food for the party.”

The party? What party? Then it sank in. “You’re organizing a party?” I whispered to Quillon while Intan carried in a Crock-Pot that gave off the most tantalizing aroma.

“It’s your birthday, isn’t it? That should be celebrated.”

“But who…?”

“They’re all coming, York. Everyone.”

“Everyone?”

“Fir and Tomás, Tiago and Cas, Auden and Keaton, and Marnin drove in from Seattle.”

My throat was so tight I couldn’t swallow. “Excuse me,” I stammered, then raced up the stairs to my bedroom and closed the door behind me before absolutely losing it. For the first time, I understood what they meant by ugly crying because my little breakdown wasn’t pretty. I bawled until my eyes were puffy and my nose was runny.

The weird thing was that I wasn’t even sure why I was crying. Quillon had done something extraordinarily sweet for me, so why all the tears? How could I be this deeply, intensely sad when I also felt such joy? I couldn’t figure it out, and maybe I should stop trying. I took a few more minutes to collect myself and wash my face. The mirror told me I didn’t look too pathetic, even if anyone could see I had cried. Oh well, nothing to be done about that.

When I came back downstairs, Intan had left, and five Crock-Pots stood lined up on the counter next to a collection of glass dishes. Notes of lemongrass, turmeric, and ginger blended with the heady scents of coconut, lime, and chili peppers. The enticing smell of grilled meats drifted from skewers piled high with juicy, charred pieces. Quillon was putting some things away in the fridge. I cleared my throat, and he turned around. “Sorry, I was?—”

“No apology needed.”

“I don’t know why I…” I made a helpless gesture.

“It’s all good. Take some time to settle. Everyone will be here at four.”

By the time the first guest showed up—Fir, of course, who was eternally early for everything—the evidence of my crying fit had disappeared, thankfully. Fir would’ve made me explain what I couldn’t put into words. Instead, he gave me a warm hug and, as expected, a new brain puzzle.

The others arrived soon as well, all bearing gifts. And not the generic, well-intended-but-horribly-off-the-mark kind of presents you put in the back of a closet only to throw them out a few years later. Tiago and Cas had bought me a collection of vintage records, including a 1975 rare album of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony conducted by Carlos Kleiber. Auden and Keaton had found me a first edition of one of my favorite books, Surely You’re Joking, Mr. Feynman, and Marnin had gotten me tickets to a Star Wars marathon where they’d be playing episodes four, five, and six, but with a live orchestra. Luckily, it wasn’t until six months from now, so hopefully, this dire situation would be over by then.

“And this is from Josiah.” Fir handed me another package.

I unwrapped it as eagerly as I had the first gift of the day. A T-shirt? I unfolded it and laughed out loud as I turned it around for everyone else to see. “Without data, you’re just another person with an opinion,” Marnin read, and everyone laughed with me.

“That’s perfect for you, York,” Tiago said with a grin.

“And one from Gabe.” Fir gave me a similar package. Had to be another T-shirt. I loved that these boys had known what to get me as well.

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