Afterthought

Oh just go on in,
she said,
a woman I didn't know
coming up behind me
with a spring bouquet in her arms
gathered in bountiful pink tissue paper
while I stood at the door
holding a plant I'd picked up at the greenhouse,
foil to match the one blossom
hanging onto its stem
just barely.
I'd been ringing the doorbell
that made no sound
and had knocked
but no one came to the door
even though I heard voices behind it.

She always leaves the door unlocked,
the woman told me,
the woman who was more comfortable
going into her house
than I,
who knew how,
and I was a stranger
even though we'd grown up together
and had been close once.

I tried the door handle
and the door stayed shut.
Push hard, the woman said. It sticks.
And we were suddenly in
surrounded by people the woman knew
and I didn't.

Happy birthday, I said
to her
as she made her way toward me
through the crowded
small room,
adorned with a cardboard crown and bright pink feather boa,

Thanks
she said,
let me tell you
who everyone is.
Two Elizabeths
and  a Joan
and maybe a Bob or a Tom
all close enough to kiss,
and a man and his wife
and a woman from next door
and her daughter
and others,
while I awkwardly held the plant
waiting for her to take it
but her hands were full with
a glass of wine
and a platter of long
irregularly shaped
breadsticks.

They're wrapped in bacon
she said.
I took one
and ate it quickly
and she went somewhere
away from me.

And you are,
they asked,
her sister.
Her sister!
I didn't know she had a sister!
Wait, said the woman who'd followed me in.
You're her sister?
Ha! And I was telling you how to open the door!

I made my way
to the next room
where I found a low table
filled with flowers and plants
all in foil and boxes
like they'd shown up for an audition
for best adequate gift to give
at a birthday party where
gifts were not necessary.

I moved next to the quiet kitchen
where various half drunk bottles of wine
had been opened
and left on the counter
and took one of the remaining few plastic cups
and poured myself a cup of red.

I went back in to the crowd
and peered between people
at the food table.
I waited for a space to open
and took a crinkle cut carrot
and a tortilla chip
and hoped someone would talk to me.
and hoped no one would talk to me.

I waited for her to come back to me
and say hello
and put her arm around me
and welcome me.
I thought she was just going to put things aside
and come back.
I thought we'd have a moment
since I'd come from elsewhere
and hadn't seen her for so long.
Instead, I listened to a woman
talk about how she sings tenor
in a group in town.
I listened as a man now retired
told me what he'd done for work.
I stood next to a woman who said she was surprised
she'd been invited
since she hadn't known the birthday girl for long.
(I wanted to tell her
I'd been invited by way of a green sticky note
sent to me a few days earlier,
as an attachment in an email,
but knew this woman didn't need to hear,
and I didn't want to cry.)

I think I'm gonna go
I told her
as she passed by
with a plate of small round potatoes
topped with sour cream.
We haven't had cake
she told me.
Wait for cake.
I waited for people I didn't know
to light candles
on my own sister's cake
in her home.
I watched them carry the cake to her
and listened as they sang,
and couldn't join in
since my throat squeezed shut
when I tried.

She saw me get ready to go
and thanked me for coming.
Thank you for inviting me.
I closed the door behind me,
got back into my car
and cried.