Thanks for birthing me mom

Theres a loud, tinny sort of cheering as I blow out the candles. I slump back in my oversized birthday girl shirt a friend had given me, forcing a smile up at the group gathered that only look at me through their tiny little cameras. I swallow a grimace when my mother sliced a piece of the 12 tier crepe cake my father had delivered in lieu of a gift-- though it had been the woman he had cheated on my mother who had made it. I know this in every flinch of frosting dotting her skin.

"Happy 18th Birthday!' Is the general consensus of cheers. I pose for pictures. Smile a little manically when I realize this is the last year I'll have a party of friends. I swallow the crepe cake when my mother pulls out her own phone to record for my father, wherever he is.

I think id go back 18 years and a handful of months and choke on my cord just so she didn't have to marry him.