Page 6 of Landon & Shay: Part One

But every year, for every birthday, he gave a toast to Mom—excluding the years when he was away.

“I wanted to raise a glass of champagne,” Dad declared, “and sparkling grape juice for the underagers. Camila, you have been a light to this family, to this world, and we are lucky to have another go-round with you. Thank you for standing for this family—for me—through thick and thin. You are my world, my breath, my air, and today we celebrate you. Cheers to another trip around the sun, and to many more to come.”

Everyone cheered and drank and laughed. These moments were my favorite ones, the memories being created over laughter and happiness.

“Oh, and of course your gift,” Dad said as he walked out of the dining room and then came back with a small box.

Mom sat up a bit. “Kurt, you didn’t have to give me anything.”

“Of course I did. Open it.”

Mom shifted in her seat a little as all eyes were on her. If there was anything she hated, it was attention on her. As she unwrapped the gift and opened it, she gasped. “Oh my gosh, Kurt. This is too much.”

“Not for you.”

Mom held up a pair of diamond earrings that shimmered and shimmered.

Mima raised an eyebrow. “Those look pretty expensive,” she muttered.

Dad shrugged. “Nothing’s too expensive for my wife.”

“Except when it is and you have a part-time janitor job and a part-time post office job,” she shot back.

“How about you worry about your own finances, Maria? Let me deal with mine,” Dad hissed her way.

And there it was, the tension that lived in the house. I swore the air grew thicker whenever the two of them fought.

“Well, thank you, honey,” Mom said, standing up and hugging Dad. “Though, they do look expensive.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve been saving up for it for some time. You deserve nice things,” he told her.

Mom looked as if her mind was spinning with things to say, but she never spoke her thoughts. Most of the time, she simply overthought them. “Well okay! Let’s all eat some cake, drink some more champagne, and keep this celebration going.”

The subject of the diamond earrings was put to rest, and I was thankful for that. It probably helped that we had guests that night, otherwise Mima and Dad’s argument would’ve escalated quickly.

Eleanor sat at the table with a book in her hand, and her eyes danced back and forth nonstop.

“I’m glad to see you’re not much of an introvert anymore, Ellie,” Mima joked, sliding her a piece of cake.

Eleanor shut the book, and her cheeks reddened. “Sorry. I just wanted to finish the chapter before eating.”

“I feel like you’re always trying to finish a chapter,” I said, nudging my cousin.

“Says the girl always trying to finish a script,” she replied.

Touché.

The only thing Eleanor and I had in common besides DNA was our love of words and stories, which was enough to make us each other’s very best friend.

Having an Eleanor in my life was like having a fresh bouquet delivered to me each day. She was smart, kind, and refreshingly sarcastic. I swore no one could make me laugh more than Eleanor.

The quiet ones always had the best under-the-breath commentary.

“Speaking of scripts,” Eleanor said, turning her body my way as she stuffed cake into her mouth. “When do I get to read the one you’re working on?”

Eleanor had read all my scripts up to this point—which were a lot of scripts—and she was, without a doubt, my biggest fan. She was also my biggest critic and she gave me feedback that made me a better storyteller.

When I had first given one to Eleanor, I’d made her promise not to talk about the scripts with anyone.

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