What should be the center of today's attention has only me as company, since I am the only other person of our party who isn't easily swayed by simple curvatious hips and beautiless, loveless adventures into the entity 'woman'. Poor William is completely ignored on this holiest birthday of his. Well, at least I remember he's here.
We both watch our siblings galavanting about with today's feature booty-call as we chatter on casually. I congratulate him on another year since his independance, and he replies in his delicate fashion that he is still, after all, ruled by the Queen of England so he never quite feels as free as America does. I laugh at him, trying to raise his spirits and his confidence, and he still responds so transparantly. I smile and ask him if I should call him a hooker.
He grips his teddy-bear and shakes his head. He never wanted to come here for his birthday, I know that. I look at the drunkards and figure they wouldn't be worrying over either of us the rest of the night. If they did, it would be England gripeing to me and insulting me. America would probably be sober enought to take his papa/brother home. (Good lord, our familly is ambiguous.)
I huff and tell Canada I'm taking him elsewhere. He obliges quietly and follows me by the hand out of the club, dodging supposedly clumsy waiters on the way who don't notice him. Once outside I lead him to my car and, as I turn the ignition, ask him where HE wants to go to celebrate. He splutters at my thoughtfulness (adoreable) and says he doesn't know. Looking out onto the road I think hard and come up with one of my brilliant solutions.
It's a long drive, but he doesn't complain the entire way or ask where we're going or (as some would) accuse me of being about to assault him in a disgusting way. When we arrive at my house, he still simply clings to... I don't remember what he named his bear. It wasn't French or English, so I really don't remember.
I announce we're going to have a proper birthday dinner, and he tweaks his ears. He says not to go to the trouble, but it's not like i'm going to change my mind now. I whip up something I used to give to him all the time as a kid, but this time the recipe includes the wine. He's old enough, I need not change the recipie anymore to be non-alchoholic. I lay two plates on my dining table on chairs opposite eachother and call Matthew from his waiting place in my living room.
He eats it with many cluttered thanks and gratitudes, and I cover his mouth with my palm. He really overdoes it sometimes. I indicate to him to just eat the food, and we sit, and we eat. We continue our light chatter from before, discussing when he was little and had this dish, and how incredibly stoned our missing members must be by now.
I finish my plate first and tell my guest I have a surprise. Shushing his questions I go and fetch a small cake, illiterated with the words 'Joyeux Anniversaire, Matthew' and a icing maple leaf (It was short notice, so I couldn't go for the grandeur).
Matthew looks to be near tears. I ask him quickly what's wrong and he shakes his head. "I don't usually get so much attention..." he muffles through his sleeve, wiping his face. He's happy. I'm the only one who really knows what he wants, after all.
"Matthew, you're not invisible to nii-san. Even if everyone else is illiterate to your language, at least I read you like a book."
(Of course, that this was in French made it infinately more beautiful to hear.)