UNRECOGNIZABLE

                                    

                                          
The Next Day
July 28th; 2040
Taylor Swift's Point of View
It's already chaotic enough having triplets. It's even more chaotic when they're identical, and half the time, they're screaming at each other over nothing. The worst days? Without question, their birthday. Like today.
First, they each demand their own flavor of cake. Jack wants chocolate, Andrew wants strawberry, and Asher—because of course he does—demands lemon. "Why can't we just make one cake?" I plead. "Because it's OUR birthday, Mom!" they chorus in perfect unison. Right, because I clearly don't know that.
Then there's the matter of presents. They all fight for attention, complain about the other triplets, and then steal each other's gifts, leading to a full-blown battle royale in the living room. The best part? They swap names to mess with Travis, who's still hopeless when it comes to telling them apart after 13 years. Watching him awkwardly hand a gift to the wrong kid and then realize it mid-sentence is almost funny—except I'm too exhausted to laugh.
"Maybe next year, we should just give them access to the bank account for a few hours," I mutter to Travis as we watch the chaos unfold. "Let them do whatever they want."
"Sounds like a trap," he replies, but I can tell he's considering it too.
Oh, and the plans for the day? Forget it. Jack wants to play football. Andrew wants to go to an arcade. Asher? He just wants to build a Lego city and refuses to leave the house. Coordinating a single birthday activity that satisfies all three of them feels like trying to negotiate a peace treaty between warring nations.
Sometimes I wonder why we didn't just tell them they were born on separate days. A little white lie could've saved us so much trouble. But no, we had to be honest parents.
As I set down the third set of party plates—because, yes, they each demand their own tableware theme—I look at Travis, who's trying and failing to keep Jack from stealing Andrew's new soccer ball. "How are we doing this every year?"
"We're not," he says. "Next year, we're 'out of town.'"
"Deal," I say, handing him the lighter for the 39 total candles we're about to light.
"Joy! We're singing happy birthday! Grab Elise on your way down!" I shout upstairs, trying to wrangle the chaos of the triplets' party.
"Do I have to?" Joy yells back, her voice groggy and full of attitude.
"Yes, you do!" I snap. "I don't care that you're hungover! You should have thought of that last night!"
There's a dramatic groan, followed by the distinct sound of her stomping footsteps. A moment later, she appears at the top of the stairs, her hair a mess and sunglasses perched on her head like she's ready to audition for a movie about disheveled twenty-somethings.
"I swear, this is child labor," she mutters, dragging herself down the stairs.
"It's family labor," I counter. "Now go grab Elise!"
Joy lets out another groan but heads toward Elise's room anyway and I can see Joy signing to have her join.
Elise peeks out of her room, clearly unbothered by Joy's mood. She signs, I'll come down when Joy apologizes for yelling at me this morning.
Joy glares, turning to me. "Do I really have to apologize? I'm the victim here!"
"Elise, let's go!" I sign, ignoring Joy's theatrics. "Joy, if you want me to refill your Advil stash later, you'll make it happen."
Joy rolls her eyes but turns back to Elise, signing a half-hearted Sorry. Elise smirks triumphantly and follows her downstairs.
By the time they both make it to the kitchen, the triplets are already halfway through arguing over who gets to blow out which candles. "Can we sing already?" Joy asks, slumping into a chair.