They must have gotten my name from some place. A summer camp or someplace else. I didn’t bother to open it, introducing it directly to the trash bin. Whoever they saw in me, I didn’t care. I wasn’t talented, and now, I wasn’t as young as I was supposed to look at 15.
“Come on, Bree.” Charlotte called from the kitchen, probably setting the table. “Let’s eat!” I casually trodded into our small kitchen.
“SURPRISE!!!” There were more than two voices. Two more guests had joined us for the feast – C.J., our neighbor from two houses down, who had just turned 16, and his father, Mark, who were very close to Aunt Maura. They helped her through the rough time of her divorce with Uncle Jim.
“Wow!” I exclaimed, politely greeting our newest guests. “Thanks for coming.” We all couldn’t wait much longer, forming a line as Aunt Maura served us baked ham & pasta. And of course, it was wonderful.
I sat by C.J. at the table, Charlotte on my