Page 11 of The Birthday Girl

S hanice staggered up the steps, heels dangling from one hand, laughter still bubbling faintly from the tequila swirling in her veins. A red mini dress clung to her curves like it had been painted on, the hem riding high, flashing the glittery garter clasping her thigh.

Her breasts pressed together under the sway of Hennessy, the plunging neckline leaving little to the imagination. Her caramel-brown skin glowed with the body shimmer she’d slathered on hours earlier, though by now it clung in uneven streaks where sweat had tracked down her cleavage.

Her hair, a glossy cascade of twenty-inch bundles, was matted on one side from where she’d drunkenly leaned against the sticky bar counter too long.

Her false lashes tilted, one corner coming loose, giving her almond-shaped eyes a droopy, lopsided look.

Gloss was smeared across her full lips, catching the faint scent of Hennessy every time she exhaled too hard.

At her door, Shanice swayed on her feet, metal jingling against her palm as she jabbed the key toward the lock. It scraped the brass plate, missing the hole entirely.

"Shit," she whispered, squinting one eye shut to focus.

Her shoulder hit the doorframe, and she steadied herself by pressing her forehead against the wood so she could try again. That time, the key slid home with a satisfying click that vibrated through her fingertips. The knob turned, and the door swung inward, nearly taking her with it.

As she stumbled over the threshold, her foot connected with something solid, and the impact sent a dull throb up her ankle.

Shanice blinked down at a small box, neatly wrapped in matte black paper with a red satin bow.

Her lips parted, eyes narrowing for a heartbeat before the corner of her mouth lifted.

She swayed forward, fingers reaching for the box, the tequila-warm blood in her veins drowning out the tiny voice whispering that strangers don't leave gifts in front of apartment doors at 3 AM.

In her state, curiosity outweighed caution.

“Tyriq always spoils me. I knew he’d come back around,” she slurred, automatically assuming the gift was from him.

Her giggle bounced off the walls as she lurched across the threshold, her purse sliding from her shoulder into a corner. The door swung shut behind her from a kick that nearly toppled her sideways.

Twenty uneven steps later, her toe caught on the carpet in her bedroom.

She swayed, careful not to drop the mysterious box.

Her heels clattered against the wall as she flung them, missing the closet entirely.

The mattress caught her with a creak of springs, her dress riding up to her hips as she sprawled across rumpled sheets that still smelled faintly of yesterday's perfume.

The little package rolled from her fingers, landing on the comforter beside her hip.

Shanice spared it one lazy glance before turning her face into the pillow and instantly dozing off.

The house was silent, save for the faint tick of the kitchen clock as she drifted, slipping in and out of sleep, the box waiting inches away with its satin bow untouched.

Morning came with a pounding on the front door as blunt as a hammer to the base of her skull.

Shanice jolted upright, pillow-creased cheek sticking to her arm, mouth tacky with drool.

A cotton-dry headache pulsed behind her eyes, disorienting her until the knocking came again, rattling frames off the wall.

It wasn’t Tyriq’s lazy double tap, nor her nosy neighbor’s timid scratch.

It was a cop knock, the kind that said open up, now.

She swallowed against a wave of nausea, swinging her bare legs to the floor.

Her dress was bunched at her waist, leaving her ass bare, but tugging it down wasn’t her priority.

Instead, her bloodshot eyes fixed on the mysterious box half-hidden beneath her thigh, as if it had been waiting for her all night.

“The hell?” she mumbled, stooping to scoop up the box as the pounding shook the door again.

“Shanice!” a woman’s voice barked. “Girl, open this door!”

She blinked at the alarm clock, and her heart sank. Her oldest needed to get dressed and be dropped off at school. It was past time for her to get up.

“Shanice! Hurry up. The girl’s gonna be late!”

“Coming!” Shanice croaked, her voice cracking as she staggered to her feet.

She snatched yesterday’s wig from the nightstand and shoved it on crooked, wincing at her reflection in the hallway mirror as she stumbled toward the door.

Her mother stood outside, one hand gripping the oldest by the shoulder, the other balancing the toddler on her hip. Both kids looked half-asleep and exhausted.

“‘Bout time,” her mother huffed, nudging the older girl inside. “She’s got school. Hurry up and feed her something, and don’t forget her homework this time, Shanice. Lord knows her teacher already thinks you don’t care.”

Shanice forced a smile, stepping aside as the kids tumbled past. “I got it, Ma,” she replied sarcastically.

Her mother squinted at her, eyes scanning the wrinkled dress, the smeared makeup, and the crooked wig. “Mm-hmm,” she said, lips pursed, before turning on her heel and disappearing down the walkway.

Rolling her eyes, Shanice slammed the door hard enough to rattle the brass knocker as Kali trudged past her in yesterday's wrinkled t-shirt, dragging her overnight bag across the floor.

From the kitchen came her two-year-old son’s high-pitched whine. “Juuuuice! JUUUUICE!” His tiny fists pounded the door in rhythm with his demands, each cry rising in pitch until it scraped Shanice's hangover like sandpaper.

Her temples throbbed as she fumbled through cabinets for a cup and Fruit Loops.

“Sit down, Kali,” Shanice ordered.

Kali dropped her overnight bag and plopped into a chair, chin propped on her palm. Her dark brown eyes, too old for her six years, followed Shanice’s every sluggish move.

“You look tired,” she said matter-of-factly.

Shanice snorted. “Thanks, baby. I needed that.” She poured a handful of cereal into a bowl and shoved it across the counter. “Eat, so I can get you the hell out of here.”

Kali picked at the bowl of dried Fruit Loops, rolling one between her fingers before glancing up. “Mommy?”

“What?” Shanice snapped sharper than she meant, rubbing her temple with the heel of her hand.

Kali hesitated, her voice small. “A lady came to my school yesterday.”

Shanice froze with the milk carton she had just grabbed out of the fridge tilted in her hand. “What lady?”

“She said she was your friend.” Kali’s eyes dropped to her bowl as she stirred the cereal around with her finger. “She asked me questions about Daddy.”

She was referring to Tyriq, although he wasn’t her father.

“Did you know the woman? Have you seen her with me before?” The carton slipped from Shanice’s hand, and milk splattered across the counter before she caught it.

Kali shook her head. “No,” she replied sadly.

“Then why were you talking to her, and what the hell kind of questions did she ask you?” Shanice shrieked, demanding to know everything they talked about.

Kali flinched. “Don’t yell, Mommy. Please. I didn’t tell her nothing. I just said I didn’t know.” She finally looked up, her lower lip trembling.

Shanice’s pulse banged against her skull, heavier than the hangover ever could.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, forcing her voice to lower. “You did the right thing, baby. What goes on in our house stays in our house.”

“I know.” Kali smiled, happy that she’d gotten it right.

“But—” Shanice held up a finger. “Always remember stranger danger, and don’t ever talk to anyone I didn’t introduce to you or you’ve never seen with me. And if I don’t call your phone to say there will be someone else picking you up, you don’t get into any cars. You hear me?”

“Yes, Mommy.” Kali nodded, but her eyes were wide, spooked.

Shanice pressed her palm flat against the counter to keep from shaking. The box with the red bow sat at the far end of the table, small, neat, and waiting. Her gaze slid to it, throat closing.

Who the hell had been at her daughter’s school, and where the hell did that package come from?

After her daughter finished with her breakfast, Shanice rushed her into a clean shirt and jeans, her fingers fumbling with the buttons as the girl squirmed.

Her head was throbbing, but she plastered on a smile for Kali’s sake.

Every second she lingered, her gaze kept darting back to the little black box sitting on the dresser where she’d dropped it.

The ride to school was a blur. She barely remembered the stoplights or the sound of Kali’s chatter in the back seat. All she could think about was that box. That bow. The way it had been sitting at her doorstep, waiting for her.

By the time she kissed her daughter goodbye and watched her shuffle through the school’s front doors, Shanice’s nerves were shredded. She drove home with her stomach knotted, her son’s whining in the car seat grating against her already thin patience.

Once inside their home, she gave him a cup of juice, laid him in his bed, and prayed the cartoon lullabies on his tablet would knock him out fast. When his small body finally stilled, Shanice crept back into the living room.

The package sat where she’d left it, neat and perfect, that red bow glinting in the morning light. Her hands trembled as she untied it, the ribbon sliding away with a whisper. The lid resisted at first, then gave with a soft pop.

What she saw inside made her stomach lurch.

A severed ear, mottled and bloody, lay nestled against the white velvet lining. The glint of a diamond stud caught the light. It was Tyriq’s, the one she had chosen for his birthday last year.

Her hand flew to her mouth, smothering the scream that clawed at her throat. Tears blurred her vision, and she stumbled backward, knocking into the edge of the couch. She gagged, bile burning her throat as she doubled over the coffee table.