Mom hesitated. Then she turned on her heel and hurried back to Aileen's side.
She wiped the tears from Aileen's face with gentle fingers.
"Ally, what's wrong?"
"Can you tell me?"
I drifted nearby, listening to their conversation. The ache threaded through my bones again, sharp as needles.
Then Aileen's gaze suddenly shifted toward where I was.
She pressed her face into Mom's shoulder, her voice thick with tears:
"Mom, she's glaring at me! I'm so scared!"
I listened in silence as she sobbed about things I had never done.
Aileen's eyes brimmed with tears, her body trembling, the picture of a girl too timid to speak up.
"Mom, I'm a little cold... could I wear your jacket? I'm afraid she'll get angry. She doesn't let me wear her mother's clothes."
Mom turned immediately and went to the bedroom to get her jacket.
The room emptied to just the two of us.
Aileen glanced at me, slumped against the table. The corner of her mouth curled upward. She turned and picked up the cake from the table.
The next second, she hurled it to the floor. Because she and I shared the same birthday.
Then she lifted her foot and ground it down, hard.
That still wasn't enough.