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“Not a single one, son. Now, hurry up and get those written before bed,” Mam instructed, turning on the microwave. “Claire’s on your bus tomorrow, so you can hand them out yourself to the girls.”
“Please God, no!”
Mam laughed. “It won’t kill you, Hugh.”
“It might.”
“You heard your mother,” Dad chimed in, covering his mouth with his hand. “She’s raising a gentleman.”
Knowing that I was beaten, I sighed in defeat and reached for the sticky note that contained the names of my sister’s stupid friends.
“Shannon Lynch, Marybeth and Cadence O’Neill, and Lizzie Young,” I read the list of names on the paper and glared. “Ugh.”
“Is that young Caoimhe’s sister?” Dad asked, leaning in to get a better look at the names. “Caoimhe Young who babysits for Sadhbh?”
“It sure is,” Mam replied. “Speaking of babysitting, I’ve taken her phone number from Sadhbh. I was thinking we could book her for a night for our gang.”
Dad’s eyes lit up. “Jesus, it’s been forever since we’ve had a date night, love.”
“Since before Mrs. Grady had her hip done,” Mam replied with a grin. “Caoimhe comes highly recommended by Sadhbh, and the O’Reillys up the road can’t speak highly enough of her.”
“Jeez, it would be fantastic if it works out,” Dad mused, scratching his chest. “With Mrs. Grady out of action, we’re lost for a sitter during the school holidays.”
“Let’s hope it does work out,” Mam replied. “She seems to be a hit with all kids, and even our Small Gibs is infatuated with her.”
“I hate it when you guys call him that,” I grumbled. “You do it all the time and it’s so annoying. He’s notSmall Gibs. He’s justGibs.”
“Sorry, son,” Dad laughed. “But Joe Gibson will always be the original Gibsie.”
“And has been since we were children,” Mam agreed with a chuckle.
“Which makes his sonSmall Gibs.”
“Whatever. I don’t care about babysitters—but Joe isJoe, and Gibs isGibs,” I huffed, turning my attention to the invitation I was beingforcedto write. “Marybeth and Cadence are Pierce’s twin sisters, so I’m only writing one invitation for them.”
“Make it a nice one,” Mam replied. “Best handwriting.”
“Don’t look so sorrowful, Hugh,” Dad laughed, ruffling my hair. “In a few years, you’ll be begging me and your mother to let you have girls over.”
“You know, Granny Biggs made your father invite me to his birthday party when we were only little.” Mam walked over and hugged Dad from behind. “And look at us now.”
“That’s right, she did,” Dad mused, pressing a kiss to my mother’s hand. “And it was the best coerced invitation I ever wrote.”
Mam beamed at him. “And we haven’t spent more than a week apart in three decades.”
“So you never know, son,” Dad teased. “One of these names could be the name you say on your wedding day.”
Shuddering, I gaped at him in horror. “Is that supposed to make me feelbetter?”
BULLIES, BIRTHDAY INVITATIONS, AND BIG BROTHERS
Lizzie
OCTOBER 28, 1994
“ARE YOU NEARLY READY?” CLAIRE CALLED OUT FROM THE OTHER SIDE OF THE BATHroom door. “We’re going to miss the bus home. It’s leaving early, remember? Teacher said twelve o’clock on the dot.”
“I’m coming,” I called back while I stepped out of my knickers and balled them up. I didn’t want to get in trouble again, and that’s what would happen if the grown-ups knew I had an accident. Worried, I looked for the bin, and once I found it, I shoved the cotton fabric to the bottom, covering it up with toilet paper.
