"Say what you will, but the time that we fill while we're on the earth,

should not be alone. We were meant to be known. You make me what I'm worth."

-Jon McLaughlin

ALISON MCCORD had never liked birthday parties. She hated the way everyone was focused in on her. It felt too stressful to have to smile and nod, while everyone in the room leaned in to see if you liked your present or your cake. It was too much.

Her mother had figured this out on her sixth birthday. The family generally referred to it as the Table Birthday. She'd been overwhelmed by all the people - her parents had invited her whole class - and also by the acrobats. She'd really liked gymnastics at the time and so her parents had brought out the staff of the local gym to perform stunts and teach the kids some tricks. It was all too much.

And so she had gone inside the house saying she needed to use the bathroom but had instead crawled under the dining room table and prayed everyone would leave her alone. It was her little brother who found her and she shooed him away but recognized that the three year old could not be trusted to keep his mouth shut. The next thing she knew her parents had crawled under the table with her. Her mother sat crossed-led in front of her; her father, his shoulders hunched just to her left.

"Everything ok, Noodle?" He'd asked.

"Yes, thank you for my party."

She always tried to remember to say "please" and "thank you". Her mother always did and more than anything she wanted to be just like her.

"Do you want to come out?" Her mother asked. "Julia is here."

Julia was her favorite gymnastics teacher. She had bright green eyes and a long, long braid of blond hair.

"Umm. . ." She didn't want to tell her mother no, but she also didn't want to leave the safety of the table.

"Noodle," Her father said scooting closer. "Mama got you a cake with pink frosting and yellow flowers. It's very pretty. You want to go see it?"

"Henry . . ." Her mother said.

"No, thank you." She whispered politely. She felt suddenly tired. She wanted to crawl into her bed with her bear and for everyone to go home.

"Ali, I have an idea. How about you and me and Daddy go up to your room and have your birthday cake there- just us three?" Her mom leaned close and Alison could smell the sweet scent of her perfume.

"But there's a party." Alison said softly. "It's a nice party."

Her mother raised an eyebrow at her and sat back, looking over at her father as she did.

"Well, it is a nice party and everyone is having fun." He admitted softly. "That's the nice thing about parties, Noodle. You get to do what you want to do. What about you? What do you want to do?"

"Mommy worked all week." She chewed at her lower lip. "She stayed up late making party bags."

"I did, baby, and they are all finished. Your friends can take one home. I'm done with all that work so now I can spend the party with you." She said smiling.

"So, why don't we go upstairs to your room?" Her father asked. "Okay?"

"Okay."

They crawled out from under the table together. She immediately reached for her mother's hand but her mother had lifted her up into her arms, carrying her upstairs.

They ate cake at her little art table, and then her mother had painted her fingernails -pink with purple polka dots. Her father had gone downstairs to check on the party and to make sure Stevie and the baby were alright. Their babysitter, Ellie was at the party too, to keep an eye on Jason so her mother wouldn't have to be worried.

"Do you want to open your presents?" Her mother asked, as she carefully painted the fingers of her left hand.

"I've so many toys already." She glanced around her room.

"You do." Her mother agreed.

"I was thinking about the kids at that house." She had gone with her mother to take clothes to a shelter last week. They usually did it four or five times a year.

"What house honey?"

"Where we took the old, good clothes."

"Oh! The shelter. What about it?" Her mother paused, the nail polish brush in her hand.

"We could take the presents there. There wasn't any toys."

"Alison Grace!" Her mother's voice had sounded funny. "You are such a kind and generous person!"

"But can I keep the doll and the dress you and daddy got me?"

"Of course." Her mother leaned close, kissing her forehead.

In the end, it had been the nicest birthday. She loved the little party with her mom and dad. She'd LOVED painting her Dad's fingernails a pale pink. He smiled holding them out and wiggling his fingers at her. "They are just lovely." He'd said while her mother laughed and laughed. It wasn't until, they were tucking her into bed that she'd been brave enough to whisper the truth.

"Mama, big parties are kind of scary."

"They are, aren't they?" Her mother said, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Maybe when I'm seven, they won't be scary anymore." She considered thoughtfully.

"Well, I'm a lot bigger than seven, and I still think that big parties are scary." She said. "And Daddy is way, way, way older than seven and he thinks big parties are scary too."

"You do?" She glanced up her father.

"I do. So, maybe next time we can have a party with just us."

She smiled at this, and scrunched down in her warm bed. "Thank you!"

"Happy birthday, Noodle." Her mother kissed her cheek. "I can't believe you are six!"

She never had another party after that.

Sometimes she'd have two friends over but that was it. And instead of presents, each year she would pick a charity and everyone would give money to it.

She'd expected the same to be true of her sixteenth birthday. While her new school friends threw huge elaborate parties, she was looking forward to the regular birthday traditions: birthday pancakes, her favorite dinner, a laffy string war and her family. Instead, she'd spent the whole time pleading with God to bring her mother home from Iran. She'd sat huddled with her sister and father in the big bed watching the news and waiting. She'd never been so terrified in her entire life. All she could think about was how safe she felt in her mother's arms. She snuggled down in the bed, her mother's perfume still on the pillows.

By the time they got the phone call, her birthday had come and gone. She and Stevie had wrapped their arms around their father as he'd wept. She'd never seen him cry like that - deep sobs that shook his whole body. And later, when he'd sent them to get some sleep, she hadn't gone to her room. She'd followed Stevie to her room, and had silently crawled into bed next to her sister - as if she were little and terrified from a bad dream.

It had been a few hours later, that she'd crawled out of bed and tip-toed down the hall to the bathroom. She'd stopped dead in her tracks at the sound of her father crying - stunned that he was still crying.

"But you're okay?" She heard him choke out and she realized he was talking to her mom on the phone.

Ashamed even as she did it, she moved closer to her parent's bedroom, leaning against the half-closed door listening.

"Babe, no,I can meet you . . .sweetheart? You're okay, right? They didn't . . .Elizabeth, sweetheart, you aren't hurt?"

She wished she could hear her mother's voice. She wished her mother was home and had never gone to Iran.

"Shh, ok. It's okay. Elizabeth, baby, it's okay."

She wiped a hand over her face, realizing that it was wet with tears. Her father sounded so sad.

"Okay, honey. No, just do what the doctor says. I'll be right here. You'll be home soon. Just. . ." He choked on a sob. "Hang in there, baby. You'll be home soon. I love you. It's going to be okay. Elizabeth? I love you."

She turned to go back to her sister's room, forgetting all about the bathroom and was shocked to see Stevie standing in the middle of the hallway, her face white with stress. They climbed back into Stevie's bed.

"He said, 'doctor'. Mom was hurt?" Stevie whispered.

"I guess. But she was talking to him so it can't be too bad, right?" She sighed. "It didn't sound good, did it?"

"Dad's just worried. He doesn't like it when he can't see her."

"That's true." Ali snuggled down under the covers. "I wish we could have heard her voice."

"Yeah." Stevie agreed.

"What time?"

"He said early afternoon, maybe." Stevie sighed. "I'm never gonna sleep."

"Me either." She glanced at the clock. "Jason will be up soon. What are we going to tell him?"

"Nothing."

"But Dad is crying! Jason is gonna freak out."

"Dad will pull it together." Stevie said. "What else was he saying?"

"I don't know. It sounded like he was trying to . . . She must have been crying." Alison sighed heavily. "Stevie, I think I'm going to throw up."

Stevie threw back the covers. "C'mon. Bathroom."

It was somewhat embarrassing to have her older sister lead her down the hall and into the bathroom. Stevie held her hair back as she threw up. The images they'd seen on the news mixed with the sound of her father crying overwhelmed her. She slumped beside the toilet as Stevie handed her a wet washcloth.

"Better?" Stevie asked, sitting across from her.

"No." Alison said, suddenly filled with an aching sorrow. "I want Mom!"

"Yeah," Stevie agreed.

"Is she sick?" They both looked up startled to see their father standing in the doorway. "Noodle? Are you alright?"

"I'm fine." She lied. "It's okay, Dad." She rose slowly and reaching down pulled Stevie up.

"It's okay, hon." He said wrapping an arm around her. "She'll be home by evening."

"I know." She sighed. "I just kept thinking about everything and I wish . . .I can't stop thinking about her." She shrugged her shoulders. "It's so easy for someone to hurt her. I never thought about it before. The thing is, she's a lot smaller than she seems, you know?"

"Yeah," He nodded his head. "I know exactly what you mean. C'mon. Back to bed." He led them down the hall.

But none of them had gone to bed. Instead they'd gone downstairs and Ali had busied herself cooking. She made an omelette and French toast and a quiche. Her father sat listlessly on the couch staring into space. She'd handed him a cup of coffee.

"Maybe you should go lie down." She told him.

"No. I can't sleep." He rubbed his eyes. "What time is it?"

"4:17." Stevie said looking up from where she sat at the kitchen table. "Dad, what are we going to tell Jason?"

"I . . .uh. . ." It wasn't like him to be unsure and it unnerved her. She glanced at Stevie.

"We should just say that she is coming home. And that she was in Iran and things got dangerous so she came back." She offered.

"That's good." He smiled at her. "Thank you, Noodle."

She smiled at him and sank into the other side of the couch. She glanced down realizing suddenly that she'd accidentally my sat on her mother's back-up glasses. She held them gingerly in her fingers trying to imagine them in her mother's hands. She was always looking for her glasses. She had about four pairs that she left all over the house, and yet, when she needed them she could never find them. They teased her about it all the time. She glanced at her father, who was looking at the glasses in her fingers. He took them from her, and folded them setting them reverently on the end table.

"I, uh, I was able to talk to her for a minute." He offered softly.

"Is she okay?" Stevie asked breathlessly.

"She's not hurt badly. We couldn't talk long." He swallowed twice. "She has some, uh, cuts and bruises. She has stitches on her back. So be careful."

"She's hurt?" Alison felt her eyes fill with tears.

"She's okay." He emphasized, reaching out and squeezing her arm. "She's coming home to us. She'll be okay."

He promised that she was alright, but of course, she wasn't.