XXII

Eleven and Henry leave the store with a black-haired, blue-eyed doll whose eyelids open and close depending on whether she's lying down or standing up.

"Seems to me you've had a lot of fun at the park, hm?" he mentions as he carries the bag containing the doll back to the car; Eleven shrugs with a feigned disinterest that neither of them believes. "Now, I just have to pick up something from a nearby place very quickly and we'll be on our way home…"

Just as he has told her, a bit later, Henry stops the car for just a few minutes and goes to knock on the door of a two-story house near the toy store. Through the vehicle window, Eleven sees he's talking to a middle-aged woman: he says something to her, and the woman replies with a smile before going back inside the house. Soon after, she emerges back, this time carrying a black bag which he accepts with a nod.

Henry places the bag in the trunk and, once he is back at her side, Eleven asks him what is inside the black plastic. However, he only replies with a distracted comment about 'house stuff' before starting the car.

Once they're back at home, Henry puts the bag in the storage room—he assures her that he will organize everything later, as he is tired right now. Eleven is about to insist on its contents with that curiosity so typical of children her age, when Henry glimpses the time on the clock.

"I imagine you're tired after so many adventures: why don't you go take a bath and then get some rest? If you fall asleep, I'll make sure to wake you up once dinner is ready."

Eleven thinks about it, and realizes he's right: her eyelids are feeling heavy now and a bath sounds really good considering her skin is still a bit sticky due to the sweat resulting from all that playing and running around.

She has no qualms about his advice.

The girl opens her eyes hours later: a quick glance through her bedroom window informs her that the sun has already gone down. She straightens up and, after yawning, changes out of her pajamas into decent clothes to go downstairs for dinner.

As soon as she opens the door to her room, she sees Henry with his fist in the air.

"Oh." He looks at her with surprise as he lowers his hand. "I was just about to knock on your door. Did you sleep well, sleepyhead?" The last part, of course, is said with a smile.

Eleven lets out a soft 'uh-huh' in response.

"Then, let's go have dinner."

As she crosses the archway that separates the living room from the dining room, the first thing Eleven notices are the bright colors—red, yellow, green, blue and pink—of the balloons hanging from the chairs in front of the table and the banners over it, crossing the room in two long rows.

Next thing she notices is the pink cake with nine little red candles scattered across its surface.

Finally, her eyes find the cardboard letters hanging on the wall: 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ELEVEN.'

Eleven turns to Henry, who watches her with his hands folded behind his back. He is not smiling; his expression is neutral, attentive. At her silence, he raises an eyebrow and asks: "Is it not to your liking?"

As she searches for the words to answer him, a feeling she knows way too well invades her: the helplessness of not being able to find the right words, the frustration of knowing she is incapable of communicating successfully.

"I… Henry… Why…?"

He answers her as if she had uttered a coherent question and not a bunch of single words: "As you may know, in my role as an orderly, I handled confidential lab files." Eleven nods at his words. "Among those files, I found your birthday."

The girl blinks: it takes her a moment to process it.

"Is it…?"

"Today, that's right. Happy ninth birthday, Eleven." Henry smiles broadly. "Unfortunately, it's just the two of us, but I hope you still enjoyed it (and will continue to do so)."

Oh. Oh, no. No, no, no, no…

She's shaking: she's just noticing it just now. Her tiny body can't cope with everything she's feeling. And it's worrying Henry: his smile has disappeared, and his hands have left their position behind his back to reach out for her.

"Eleven? Are you o…?"

Unable to speak, Eleven decides to make up for her shortcomings by throwing herself into Henry's arms and wrapping hers around his waist in a tight embrace. For a moment, the man freezes. Then, even though he doesn't return the embrace, he places a hand on her head.

"Does that mean you liked it?", he asks in a whisper.

Eleven nods vigorously, her face hidden against Henry's shirt.

"I'm glad." Is that relief she hears in his voice? "Ah, but I've forgotten the most important thing… Give me a moment…"

She reluctantly lets him go—without him at her side, her knees seem to wobble; Henry retreats to the study and returns after a few moments with a rectangular box wrapped in bright blue paper and a red bow on one end.

"Here. Happy birthday."

Eleven takes the box in her hands and rests it on the table. She throws Henry a questioning look.

"Open it," he encourages her, smiling.

Her little hands don't stop trembling the whole time she takes to tear open the wrapping.

Inside, two coloring books and a complete art set—pencils, markers, crayons, watercolors—await her.

"At the lab, you used to spend a lot of time drawing," he explains. "If I'm mistaken and this activity is not to your liking, let me know, and I'll buy you another present…"

Henry falls silent again, expectant. Eleven lets out a giggle and puts a hand to her face.

She is not used to happy tears.

Dinner is even more delicious than lunch: this time, Henry has prepared a pizza himself.

"It's a pre-cooked pizza," he says. "It's not like I cooked it from scratch."

Still, Eleven thinks it's the most exquisite dish she's ever tasted.

Once they've finished eating, Henry makes her stand in front of the cake, lights the candles and sings Happy Birthday to her. Since Eleven doesn't know the words, she just claps her hands in tune with the rhythm he sets for her.

"Make a wish before blowing out the candles!" Henry reminds her (as he has explained it to her beforehand).

Eleven does so.

A sudden flash of light blinds her; seconds later, she blinks, confused, trying to regain her normal vision. She then notices that, unbeknownst to her, Henry has gone to stand in front of her and taken a picture of her with a Polaroid camera.

"For posterity," he explains. "So you'll remember the first time you celebrated your birthday."

Eleven smiles.

And holds out her hand.

Henry doesn't understand at first.

"I want a picture… with you," she explains.

Henry doesn't even try to suppress his smile. Between the two of them, they look for a way to take a picture with the camera pointed at themselves: they succeed on the fourth or fifth attempt, after several shaky pictures and others where they appear with their eyes closed.

"Next time we'll hire a photographer," Henry sighs, a little frustrated. "This trying to take a photo of oneself is just plain ridiculous. At least one of them turned out well…"

Eleven, still smiling, just watches him manipulate the camera.

"Now we have to cut the cake," Henry tells her. "I'll go get a knife, and then you can tell me what you wished for."

But she is already shaking her head.

"You said… I mustn't tell."

"You've learned well," he concedes with an arrogant smile before retreating to the kitchen.

Eleven contemplates her birthday cake—the first of them all: it's almost a shame they have to cut it.

But it's okay, she tells herself. It's okay.

Her eyes wander over the now extinguished candles.

She closes her eyes.

And she remembers what she has wished for:

To be, once again, just as happy as I was today.