The house was finally quiet again.
After what felt like an eternity of pinching, passing, and overwhelming birthday chaos, Stephen was free. The last of the guests had left, the decorations had been taken down, and all that remained of the festivities was a pile of discarded wrapping paper and a very satisfied six-year-old.
Mark had spent the entire day running around, opening presents, and reveling in the glory of his sixth birthday. Now, he sat in the living room, surrounded by his new toys, humming happily to himself.
Stephen, meanwhile, was sprawled out on the floor, exhausted. The trauma of the past few days weighed heavily on his tiny soul.
Finally. Peace. Sweet, sweet peace.
Then, he heard it.
The conversation that would shatter everything.
"So," his mother's voice drifted from the kitchen. "Stephen's birthday is coming up in two months."
Stephen's entire body stiffened. His tiny baby fingers curled into the carpet.
His father made a noise of acknowledgment. "Yeah. He'll be one."
One.
One.
Stephen's little baby brain was suddenly filled with pure, unfiltered terror.
No. Not again. Not another celebration.
Mark gasped dramatically. "Stephen's gonna have a birthday party too?!"
Stephen turned his head to glare at his brother. Whose side are you on?!
Mark beamed. "This is gonna be awesome! I get to help pick out decorations, and we can have cake, and—"
Stephen let out a low, despairing whimper.
His parents were still talking, oblivious to the existential crisis occurring just a few feet away.
Debbie continued, "We should probably keep it small. Family, a few close friends, nothing too overwhelming."
Stephen perked up slightly. Yes. Small. I can handle small.
But then his father spoke.
"Nonsense. It's his first birthday. It should be a big deal."
Stephen's soul left his body for the second time in his short existence.
Mark gasped again, eyes sparkling with excitement. "Oh man! I bet we can get even more people than my party! Maybe even get Uncle Art to come!"
Stephen rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling, contemplating the cruel, cruel nature of the universe.
There is no escape.
_ _ ♛ _ _
The following days were torture.
Everywhere he turned, the word birthday haunted him. His mother talked about invitations, his father casually mentioned cake flavors, and Mark—dear, sweet, traitorous Mark—was giddy about helping plan "the best baby birthday ever."
Stephen tried everything to express his utter rejection of the idea. He whined when they mentioned decorations. He sulked in his crib whenever Mark babbled about games. He even attempted to escape from his high chair when his mother started looking at tiny party hats.
Nothing worked.
They were relentless.
_ _ ♛ _ _
One afternoon, as Stephen lay outside basking in his last moments of peace, Mark plopped down beside him, holding a balloon from his own party.
"You're gonna love your birthday, Stevie."
Stephen gave him a look.
Mark just grinned. "You get presents. And cake. And a bunch of people telling you how cute you are."
Yeah, I've been through that last part, Mark. It was a nightmare.
"I bet you'll get even better toys than me," Mark added thoughtfully.
Stephen blinked. That… did sound appealing.
Mark continued, "And we get to play all day! It's gonna be so much fun!"
Stephen let out a long, dramatic sigh. Fun, he said. This was supposed to be fun.
Mark nudged him. "Come on, you liked my party, right?"
Stephen hesitated. The truth was… he had. A little. The chaos, the games, even some of the baby interactions—there had been moments where he had genuinely enjoyed himself.
But was it worth enduring another round of adult pinching and baby cooing?
Mark flopped onto his back, sighing dramatically. "Man, when I turn seven, I'm gonna have the biggest party ever. Maybe with a bouncy castle. Or a magician!"
Stephen stared at his brother, unimpressed. A magician? Really?
Mark turned his head toward Stephen, eyes twinkling with excitement. "You're gonna have so much fun, Stevie."
Stephen groaned. Mark, I am fighting for my life here.
_ _ ♛ _ _
That evening, as they were both getting ready for bed, Mark sat on the edge of Stephen's crib, swinging his legs back and forth.
"Hey," he said, "you wanna hear a secret?"
Stephen blinked sleepily.
Mark leaned in closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "You're my bestest little brother ever."
Stephen yawned, his baby brain too tired to resist the warm feeling that spread through him. He reached out, grabbing onto Mark's finger with his tiny hand.
Mark grinned. "See? Your birthday's gonna be awesome. I'll make sure of it."
Stephen exhaled a deep, weary sigh. Fine. But if anyone pinches me again, I'm crawling out of this house.
Mark laughed, flopping back onto his pillow. "Good night, Stevie."
Stephen closed his eyes. Maybe… maybe it wouldn't be so bad.
But he still wasn't wearing that party hat.
End of Chapter 8