The Brooks house had been decorated with streamers and flags. The kitchen table had been moved into the living room to be filled with paper plates and plastic cups, leaving only room for the cake that was yet to arrive. Some bottles of soda stood untouched on the floor, neatly on the edge of a plastic tarp that had been placed on the carpet to prevent spills. In short, everything was ready for Tara’s birthday.

Everything but the Brooks family that is.

Zach and Sawyer were watching TV. Mister Brooks was still working in his study and Mrs Brooks was helping Tara braid a crown of flowers into her hair, finishing the medieval look she was sporting.

“Almost a proper princess,” Cheryl hummed, adding another pink rose.

“Zach,” she continued, “That classmate of yours is a lifesaver. Look how pretty your sister looks. Why don’t you ask her to make you clothes sometimes?”

“I did,” Zach called over his shoulder, keeping his eyes firmly on MTV as he didn’t want to miss a specific shot in a Pointer Sisters video, “Chelsea only makes dresses.”

“A shame, that. She’s cheaper than…”

Mrs Brooks never got to finish her sentence as Sawyer shouted in triumph, “There it is!”

“Just a bikini bottom,” Zach said, “They said it on TV.”

“I know what I saw, little bro. They had to say that on TV so they can still air the video.”

“Pubes aren’t that flat,” Zach threw back.

“Boys,” Mrs Brooks cut them off, wanting to end the discussion on pubes, “Are you sure you don’t want to come to the ren fair with your sister?”

“Do I look like a dweeb?” was Sawyer’s answer.

“Yes,” was Tara’s.

“I’ll let that slide cause it’s your birthday.”

“Zach?” Mrs interrupted the bickering

“No thanks, mom. I don’t want to babysit Tara’s friends.”

“No fun,” Tara pouted, “But a girls’ day is probably better anyway.”

“So,” Mrs Brooks said when she finished the flower crown, “One more time. Caroline, Mrs Grassle, will pick you up and bring you home. Be in time though, because…”

“We have ice cream cake and you don’t want it to melt,” the three children chorused. Only Tara added, “I get it, mom.”

“Just making sure. There’s no phones in medieval times after all.

Tara gave her mother a placating smirk, then looked out the window to see a blue station wagon park in front of the house. She lit up when she recognized her friends, Jasmine and Linda.

“Zach, Sawyer,” Mrs Brooks called her sons away from the television, “Help Mrs Grassle get...whatever that is, out of her car.”

“Do we have to?”

“Come on,” Sawyer said, getting to his feet, “The good bit is over anyway.”

Zach threw a last look at the TV, saw the next video was George Michael and came to the conclusion he had no need to see that.

They took a large, oblong package from the car and gave it a spot among the modest collection of presents from her relatives. They looked mediocre next to the beautifully wrapped presents Mrs Grassle brought in.

“No chance against your skills, huh?” Cheryl said, taking a moment to talk to the woman before she’d be off again.

“Indeed you don’t,” Caroline answered, “But I run a gift shop, don’t beat yourself up. Besides, your work is more important.”

“Tell that to the patients…Nobody’s ever tipped me for changing their bedpan.”

When Mrs Grassle saw Tara, she took a moment to wish her a happy birthday, then gestured to the table.

“We have brought our tribute to the Queen. Looks like you’re building quite the empire.”

Tara grinned and folded her arms in triumph, “Thine gracious queen accepts these humble offerings.”

“Normally we say ‘thank you’,” Mrs Brooks chided her daughter.

Mrs Grassle waved it away, then gestured to the car.

“Well, your highness. The carriage awaits.”

Tara smiled, gave the woman what she thought was a royal incline of her head, then strode out the door.

“I hope she’s not like that every day?” Caroline whispered to Cheryl, then rushed after the girl who was showing off her dress to her friends.

“Those girls too?” Zach commented when he saw the similar, if less impressive, dresses Jasmine and Linda had on, “Bicher must have made a killing.”

“Who?”

“Chelsea, mom.”

“Well, as long as Tara’s happy, Chelsea can make money hand over first for all I care.”

“Hey,” Sawyer said, “One two...Where’s Lucy?”

“Visiting her father,” Mrs Brooks replied, putting a very mild distaste to the last word, “Her mother will bring her after.”

The brothers nodded in unison, knowing better than to pursue this subject. They waved to their sister as the blue car left the cul-de-sac.

“Man,” Zach sighed when he was sure Tara wasn’t coming back, “I would’ve liked to go…”

“Sucks to be you, little bro. We’ve got a horse to collect.”

“Donkey.”

“Donkey, whatever. We have to get Bucephelus.”

“Don’t know why we both need to go. Mister Hobbs said he was easy enough to handle.

Sawyer shrugged his shoulder and dropped back down on the couch.

“Shouldn’t we get going?”

“If you want to spend five hours standing in a field, be my guest. Tara won’t be back for hours.”

Zach shrugged, then leaned over the couch, “Hey, Sawyer.”

“What.”

“Play darts with me. Winner gets to drive the pickup.”

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“You never win, but okay…”

Even though Sawyer had won the game of darts, three times, Zach was driving. Sawyer had lost the right rearview mirror when hitting a pothole on the way to the junkyard where they were to collect the pickup.

Zach imagined Bucephelus was rather happy with that turn of events as the poor animal wouldn’t have to deal with Sawyer’s driving style that would have turned the trailer to a thrill ride.

He drove the pickup into the cul-de-sac, where the music coming from the Brooks house soon drowned out the radio’s pop tunes.

“What the heck is that music?” Sawyer asked, unable to place the style or genre.

“Who knows with Tara,” Zach shrugged, then honked at a black car that stood in front of their driveway. As he waited for the town car to move aside, he checked the other cars parked around the house. One was Mrs Grassle’s, One was his grandparents and he assumed the red one was Lucy’s mom’s.

“Ha,” Sawyer said, “A chevette. Sure, Lucy, your mom’s ‘vette.”

The black car moved and he carefully parked the pickup onto the driveway, leaving the trailer half in the road.

“Do you know that car?” he asked his brother when he opened the door.

“One of dad’s business partners. I think they’re in the film industry.”

“Movies? Out here? Sure, Sawyer.”

He threw the door open, hopped out and went to find his father to tell him the grand present had arrived.

He found his father in the man’s private study, a small room that was taken over almost entirely by the large mahogany desk and the three leather chairs for his visitors. Mister Brooks himself sat in a slightly larger desk chair, tapping the space bar on the keyboard, reading one of many papers that were scattered in front of him.

“Playing video games, dad?”

“No, son. This piece of shit doesn’t work. Do you know why?”

“No idea, dad.”

“It’s probably telling you,” Mrs Brooks said from the hallway, that you should spend some time with your daughter on her birthday.”

“Thanks, Cheryl, but for some of us it’s a work day.”

“It’s after six, honey, and in case you haven’t noticed. Your son is back.”

“So? …Oh, right. The horse.”

“Donkey,” Zach whispered to himself.

“Destrier,” Mister Brooks insisted, quickly put his paperwork in order, stood up and yelled loudly to turn the music down.

“What is that music anyway?” Zach asked, accompanying his mother outside.

“A gift from one of Tara’s friends. The twenty greatest lute ballads or something.”

“Imagine the worst,” he said, gratefully turning the stereo down.

Mister Brooks had gathered everyone in a semicircle around the trailer, leaving room for himself his little princess in the middle.

“Any guesses?” he asked his daughter, placing a hand on the latch.

Tara had been staring wide-eyed at the horse trailer, her hands folded in front of her chest, only managing to nod her answer.

“Oh really?”

“Horse?” she managed to squeak out.

“Right you are, princess!” Mister Brooks informed her and tried to open the trailer with a flourish. The ramp stuck on the other side.

Zach snickered and opened the other side, then the ramp clattered to the floor.

“Princess, meet Bucephelus.”

Tara’s hands tightened and she watched in amazement, expecting a beautiful white horse straight from the storybooks, but what she got was a Sluggish donkey.

It chewed a few times, then brayed in greeting.

There were some chuckles and murmurs from the crowd, then a full blown riotous laughter when people realized what was happening.

Tara took a final look at the donkey, that was apparently hers, at her laughing guests, then she broke and furiously stormed in the house.

“Michael,” one of the neighbors called, “You know that’s not a horse, right?”

“It’s … European?” Michael tried, looking like a cornered cat.

“It’s a donkey, dad…I told you.”

Michael looked at his son, at his angry daughter, then grabbed the former by his shoulder to hiss into his ear.

“Take it back, have it shot or something…”

Zach blankly watched his father go after Tara.

“Go have some cake first, son,” Cheryl said, “I’m sure Tara will be fine in a moment.”

Zach, who was familiar enough with his father’s ability to calm his sister, shrugged and headed inside, cake sounded nice.

Mrs Brooks had been right. Twenty minutes later Tara was striding around the room again, laughing and chatting it up with her guests. Somebody had turned the lute music off, replacing it with more common pop tunes.

Zach was talking to one of his classmates that was there to pick up her sister, when his father pulled him aside.

“Don’t want to cramp your style, son,” he said, “But you’ve got no chance there anyway.”

Chelsea giggled into her drink and excused herself as not embarrass her classmate further.

“Thanks, dad,” Zach said, “What do you need?”

“I told her I hadn’t found a horse yet,” Mister Brooks, “And got this as a joke.”

“And now?”

“And now you’re going to take the donkey back to Mister Hobbs. I called him and he said he’ll find a spot for him.”

“Did you also ask him to find a horse? You know, somebody who can tell a horse from a donkey?”

“None of that, son. Come on, get going.”

Zach sighed, “Can’t Sawyer do it?”

“I have no idea where your brother disappeared to. You’re on your own.”

Zach made a face, “Does that mean I have to drive the General Pee back too?”

“Probably.”

“Great,” Zach sighed, making a note to get the car’s spare keys from Sawyer’s winter jacket.

“Zach!”

“Tara?”

“You’re leaving your sister alone on her birthday?”

“I have to bring your royal steed back, your highness.”

“Oh. Good. He smells. Hey, while you’re out, can you pick up a movie?”

“Sure.”

“And no kid’s stuff! I’m 13 now.”

“You’re not getting the Amazons one,” Zach said shortly and before she could argue, he left the living room.