I don’t understand why people celebrate birthdays. Really, birthdays are just telling you that you’ve spent one more year of your life and are one more year closer to death. So, what are we celebrating? The fact that you’ve managed to live one more year? That isn’t a challenge for most people who celebrate them.

Dad insists every year that I celebrate my birthday. He knows I don’t care for it, but he tells me to celebrate it so he has an excuse to call Didi over. Mom doesn’t typically let Didi go to us. So, Dad needs a good excuse.

Today, Dad has bought me a cake with bright lemon-yellow frosting and blue, crisp sprinkles. The cake is one of the only good things about celebrating birthdays. Maybe birthdays are just an excuse to eat good cake.

Dad sets down a box of candles on the table. The doorbell rings. I go and get it.

Didi stands in front of me. She’s about three years younger and five inches shorter than I am. We don’t look anything alike; I have chestnut-brown hair and hers is golden blonde; her cheeks are full and round while mine press against my cheekbones. Mom stands next to her. She looks like Didi and nothing like me.

Mom reaches over and hugs me. She hates coming here not because of me but because of Dad. Sometimes, she visits me, but only if Dad is at work. The only time she stays while Dad is here is when she has to watch over Didi.

Didi hugs me, but quickly breaks away. Birthdays are the only time I see her in a year. On the holidays, Mom takes Didi to visit her relatives. She sometimes asks me to tag along, but I don’t want Dad to spend the holidays alone.

Dad comes out to see Didi. He adverts his eyes from Mom’s. She does the same.

He reaches over and hugs Didi, “You’ve grown so much. I haven’t seen you in such a long time.”

Didi doesn’t say anything back to him. Just when she looks like she is about to push Dad away, he releases her.

“You like cake, don’t you, Didi?” Dad says, smiling, “We have some cake.”

He doesn’t address Mom and we make our way to the too-small-to-fit-four-people dining table. When we sit down, Didi and Mom sits on one side. Dad and I sit on the other.

Dad turns to me, “How old are you now, Janette? Fourteen? Fifteen?”

“Sixteen,” I say.

“Time passes by fast,” Dad chuckles, “Sixteen candles, then.”

He plucks sixteen candles from a box and lights them all.

“Make a wish,” Dad says, “But first, let’s sing ‘Happy Birthday’.”

Mom and Dad start singing Happy Birthday quietly. At first, Didi doesn’t. Mom elbows her and she starts singing too. Their singing sounds like the autumn wind, a low whisper that blows by your ears. I close my eyes and I can almost hear the slight ruffling of leaves in the cold air.

When the wind dies down, I blow on the candles. One by one, the orange flames disappear into thin air. The three of them clap in scattered applause. Mom and Dad smile.

Dad hands out ceramic plates to everyone and I take the knife.

“How big of a slice, do you want, Didi?”

“Normal.”

Mom and Dad want the same size as Didi. When I’m done serving, there is still half a cake left. We quietly eat the cake. Didi gobbles her slice down. The rest of us sit in awkward silence as we clean up the crumbs on our plates.

“Do you want to open your gift?” Mom asks.

“Sure.”

“Didi, hand me the box over there, will you?”

Didi gives Mom a medium-sized purple cube with a white bow tied to it.

“Open it.”

I slowly untie the bow and unwrap the wrapping.

Inside, I find a pink card and another small object nesting in brown paper. I pick the paper away. It’s a toy songbird, brown and carmen-red.

“It sings,” Mom says. I find a hard spot on the bird and press it.

It chirps out the tune of the happy birthday song. It sounds light and breathy, like droplets of rain swirling through the air. The dancing sound fills the room until it fades away into silence.

I open the card. Inside, there is a picture of rabbits, two large, two small. All of them are smiling back at me.

The card reads:

To Janette:

I’m can’t believe you’re sixteen already! Time flies by. I wish you a happy seventeenth year!

-Love, Mom and Didi

I stare at the card for a few seconds after I’m done reading it before setting it down.

“Thank you,” I say.

Dad gets up and retrieves his gift for me. I open the blue-bowed small white box. A tiny necklace is tucked in cotton threads. It’s a tiny, five-pointed star with rhinestones on it. Next to it is a note:

Janette:

I’m proud of you for all these years. Here’s your gift.

-Love, Dad

When I finish reading it, Mom gets up.

“It’s time for us to go,” she says and hugs me one more time. She and Didi go out the door. I watch them leave, standing in the doorway.

They make a turn down the street, disappearing from my view. The cold air from outside blows on my face, gently tingling my nose. When they are but a tiny dot in my view, my hands are shaking. I slip the star necklace over the songbird. I press the button. Closing my eyes, I feel the breeze as the bird chirps its happy birthday song.