Fifth Teenager
Frances was 13. Another teenager in the house. It had been a long time coming for Frances. It had seemed like he had been more like fourteen instead of twelve for the last year. And another February birthday. It was a popular month.
Valentine’s Day had also brought other surprises. While Collette had been at Target, OLeif had been busy lighting candles all over the living room and ordering Collette’s favorite pizza: cheese, cheese-stuffed crust. Back on the ranch, Dad had brought home an individually wrapped peach rose and baby’s breath for each of the girls (including Collette) and a chocolate chip cookie with pink frosting hearts.
Rose had been at work for Valentine’s Day.
“I think Twinkles felt sorry for Juliet and me,” she said. “Because he made us chocolate-covered strawberries and our own pizza.”
(Twinkles was the big chef who worked at Rose’s job.)
Friday morning, Frances had been greeted with the traditional birthday balloons, which Puck pushed around on the floor. There were also fried eggs and sausages for breakfast.
Later in the morning, Puck was watching Carrie-Bri, with rapt attention, as she created vanilla milkshakes for Frances and Linnea. Earlier, he had been walking around looking for free handouts, be they chocolate chip cookie pieces or oranges. His mouth opened like a baby bird when the food was still half-way across the room.
Meanwhile, Mom was busy preparing for Grandpa Snicketts’ 80th birthday party that Sunday afternoon. The day before, she and Collette had ordered his cake and gathered supplies, including hors ‘douvres.
“Carrie, did those mini quiches get put in the deep freeze?” Mom asked.
“Mom, I don’t want to talk about quiches. My life is spiraling into a black abyss.”
She laughed at herself.
Sometime during Puck’s nap, Collette found herself eating five Andes mints. It wasn’t until that evening that she realized she had been hungry at the time because she had completely forgotten about lunch.
Later in the afternoon, Frances was driven over to Puff ‘o Lump’s house where he and Creole were already prowling in the woods. Frances had been given a new airsoft gun for his birthday, and couldn’t be happier.
Back at home that evening, Puck walked around in his onesie, clutching the couch as he strutted his chubby baby legs, with a knit Cardinals cap pulled low over his eyes, rattling a thick piece of plastic and eating his mom whenever he passed her. When OLeif returned from a heavy day of work, he tossed Puck around before dinner, after wheeling his muddy-tired bike through the house to the kitchen, its traditional landing spot for the evening.
“So are you pretty much exhausted?” Collette asked OLeif, after the Puck had been put to bed.
“My brain is dying,” he said, and then laughed.