Molly Quell

A Birthday Party

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“My house turns 98 and so I am throwing it a party.” 

 

The invitation went on, in a cursive script, to list the pertinent details: date, time and a request to RSVP by June 11th.

 

It was the 13th of June.

 

“Your sister is having another soirée,” Anne said. She was standing in front of the kitchen island, shuffling through the mail. Her black leather laptop bag stood on the quartz countertop, next to her coffee thermos and lunch bag.

 

The house smelled of onions and umami. Mark had loaded diced vegetables and browned cubes of beef into the slow cooker that morning and now he lifted the lid to give it a stir.

 

Anne set the invitation on the countertop and moved on to sorting through the rest of the envelopes.

 

Mark picked up the invitation. The texture was rough and the edges were uneven. Knowing Izzy, she’d made the paper herself. “Shall I RSVP for us?” Mark asked.

 

“I think we have the Stradler’s christening in the morning. Is the HOA meeting that afternoon?” his wife said. Anne had made quick work of the mail, now sorted into piles of junk for recycling and bills to be paid. “I wonder why 98? Odd choice for a party.”

 

“It probably has some significance, her star sign or something.” Mark took his iPhone out of his pocket. “Yeah we do. This thing,” he waved the invitation in his hand, “is later though and nothing Izzy does ever starts on time so it’s a good excuse to keep the HOA meeting short.” 

 

“Thank god for small miracles. I’ll take care of a gift, I’ll order something from that crystal store she likes.” 

 

Mark was busy texting his sister their confirmation. “I won’t offer to bring anything,” he said without looking up. “After the disaster last time.”

 

“Who knew a pasta salad could be so problematic?” Anna said, kicking her pumps off and carrying them up the stairs.

 

Izzy’s house had originally belonged to their grandparents. Grandmother had it painted white with navy trim when it was built in 1925. Now the neoclassical-style building was lavender with violet shutters and the walkway was lined with oddly misshapen ceramic gnomes and horses, Izzy’s art. She sold it sometimes at the farmer’s market or town festival.

 

Mark was thankful his grandparents had left the bulk of their estate to Izzy, tied up in a trust that took care of property taxes and house maintenance.

 

The party was already underway when they arrived. A squat woman with badly dyed dark hair and clear blue eyes had turned a small table on the porch into a tarot card reading station, complete with a sign indicating prices.

 

Anne and Mark found Izzy in the dining room, talking to two young people who seemed to be a couple, as they were holding hands. Their gender was not immediately clear. “Hello Izzy, so sorry we're late.”

 

“You are?” Izzy was wearing a white dress with a full skirt and a red and gold flower pattern. She smiled widely and gave Mark a hug. “Good to see you big brother. And Anne, glad you could make it.”

 

Izzy smelled like patchouli.

 

“Anne and Mark, these are my friends Barley and True. This is my brother Mark and his wife, Anne.” 

 

Mark held out his hand. “Nice to meet you both.” The two were both thin, with short hair and angular features. They could have been related but Anne suspected incest was a taboo probably too far even for this crowd. Anne shook their hands as well. She had to switch the package from one hand to the other to do so.

 

“Barley and...Sue?” she asked.

 

“True,” the pair said at the same time, shaking Anne’s hand in turn.

 

“Lovely name,” Anne replied, smiling brightly.

 

“We picked you up a little something,” Mark said, taking the wrapped box from his wife. “Well, a little something for the house I mean.” The crystal store owner knew Izzy and picked out something she said she knew Izzy would love. Anne was mildly irritated with the price tag but chose not to make a fuss.

 

“Oh, how thoughtful,” Izzy took the package from Mark and shook it, closing her eyes and listening. “This has a good energy,” she said after a few seconds. She set it down on a table behind her where some other packages had accumulated.

 

“It’s just about knowing where to shop,” Anne answered, still managing a smile. “So Izzy, Mark and I were wondering. Why 98? Is that a special number?”

 

“Why not 98? Sometimes the universe just speaks out and tells you this is an important milestone and you should commemorate it.”

 

“Yes, I have that with 27,” Barley/True said, nodding.

 

After a long pause, Anne broke the silence, “Well, I’m parched. Would anyone like a drink?”

 

“There’s homemade kombucha in the kitchen and Barley bought some hemp water,” Izzy said, her mismatched earrings jingling as she turned her head.

 

“Homemade,” Barley, presumably, added.

 

“Excellent, sounds delicious,” Mark said. “I’ll join you.”

 

The kitchen was chaotic. The counters were covered in pots and pans. Some food had been laid out on a tray but it wasn’t clear if that was still a work in progress or already half consumed.

 

“Hemp water?” Mark asked.

 

“I’ll stick to tap water,” Anne said.

 

He found two glasses in a cabinet and filled them both from the faucet.

 

In the front room, they found Claire and David, looking equally out of place. “Oh, thank god,” Claire said as she stood up from her perch on a sofa next to her husband. David and Mark were cousins and both served on the Rotary board.

 

The women gave hugs and the men handshakes hello. “It’s an interesting crowd,” David said.

 

“It always is,” Claire answered, taking a sip of something that looked like white wine.

 

“Where’d you get that?” Anne asked, nodding at the glass.

 

“I brought it,” Claire lowered her voice and looked around, as though the couple sitting in the hammock hanging across the other side of the room might care about her stash of booze.

 

“The last time we were at one of Izzy’s things the only booze was homemade,” David added.

 

“One of her friends from art school makes it, I think,” Mark said.

 

“In the bathtub, probably,” Claire said.

 

“It’s not as though they are using it for its intended purpose,” Anne said, suppressing a smile. Claire giggled.

 

“Anne,” Mark’s tone had a slight edge.

 

“Does anyone know why she’s celebrating the 98th birthday of the house?” David asked, moving the conversation to safer ground.

 

“We asked her when we arrived but she only said she felt as though it was a good number for a party, ” Claire said, taking a substantial sip of her wine.

 

Anne wanted to say it was probably because Izzy’s horoscope was on page 98 of Crystal Monthly but thought better of it.

 

“That’s what she told us as well,” Mark said.

 

It was at that moment a witch turned up with a tray of food.

 

She was tall and heavyset with long, silver-streaked black hair. She was wearing a black long-sleeved dress and equal weights of black eyeliner and silver bangles.

 

“Would you like something to eat?” the woman offered, holding the tray out towards the foursome. It was the same tray from the kitchen but it was now full with tiny filled cups of lettuce, breads with spreads and vegetables. Anne took a single baby carrot.

 

The rest were either braver or hungrier and took some of the more substantial offerings. Mark popped a piece of bread topped with diced tomatoes in his mouth, whole, and reached for something else.

 

He chewed for a long, long time before swallowing.

 

“How was it?” the witch asked.

 

“Erhm, good,” Mark replied.

 

“I made the bread myself, gluten-free,” she smiled.

 

The prospect of food encouraged a small crowd to gather and the witch seemed overwhelmed by her popularity. After a few attempts to manage the masses, she discharged herself of her duties by setting the snack tray on the coffee table and telling everyone there was more in the kitchen. The cousins and their wives moved to the side so they wouldn’t impede.

 

The couple from the hammock detangled themselves and jostled into the fray, greeting a man who had helped himself to a lettuce cup.

 

After exchanging pleasantries, the lettuce cup man asked the hammock couple if Izzy had revealed to them why she’d chosen 98 years for the party. 

 

Anne and Claire exchanged glances. They weren’t the only ones out of the loop and judging from the man’s braided beard and tie-dyed shirt, he was more of Izzy’s crowd.

 

“No idea,” the hammock man answered.

 

“Me either, but great party,” the hammock woman added.

 

Claire and David managed another half an hour, leaving Anne with the half-drunk bottle of white wine in her purse. She and Mark lasted a bit longer, in part because they could not extricate themselves from an in-depth tour of the herb and vegetable garden a friend of Izzy’s had planted at the back of the property.

 

“It was good to see you Izzy,” Anne told her sister-in-law, as she brushed cat hair off of her shirt. When Anne had gone to retrieve their bags, she found them relocated to the floor from the back of the chair where they’d been hung. A cat had taken advantage of the pile for a nap in the sun. Izzy didn’t have a cat.

 

“Yes, just wonderful to have you both here to celebrate,” Izzy said, hugging Mark.

 

“You’ll have to do it again next year,” Mark suggested.

 

“Or in two years, might be even better,” Anne added.

 

“Oh, I doubt it. Why would I?” Izzy waved her hand.

 

“The house’s centennial?” Anne asked.

 

“Does that matter? Seems like a meaningless distinction, don’t you think?” Izzy replied, her head tilted slightly, confused by the question.

 

Anne and Mark exchanged a glance.

 

“Well, we will see you soon regardless,” Mark said finally. And they left Izzy and the house behind them.