Kindered

Sweet eighteen and never been kissed.

I know. Tragic, right?

Story of my bloody life.

I mean, seriously, what the hell is wrong with me?

It’s not like boys are completely uninterested. That would almost be easier to understand. They flirt. They look. Sometimes they even make me think something might actually happen. There’ll be a few lingering glances, a bit of banter, maybe even enough attention that I start wondering if this time might be different.

And then… nothing.

Absolutely fucking nothing.

It never goes anywhere.

No dates. No kisses. Not even one drunken, regrettable snog that I could pretend never happened the next morning.

Eighteen years old and these lips are still completely untouched.

And I just don’t understand why.

I don’t think I’m that bad to look at. I mean, I’m not going to stand in front of the mirror and declare myself some kind of supermodel, but I’m not hideous either.

At least, I don’t think I am.

I know I’m small. Really small, actually. But I have an excuse for that. I was born eight weeks early, so surely I get to blame at least a few missing inches on my dramatic entrance into the world.

And let’s be real, Mum’s hardly huge herself.

Dad, on the other hand?

Dad’s a fucking giant.

Well, to me anyway.

Then again, most people look like giants when you’re down here.

Anyway, hi. I’m Evie. Evie Emma Keane.

And today is my eighteenth birthday.

Which, apparently, is supposed to be a huge milestone and a life-changing moment and all that dramatic rubbish people keep saying like I’m about to suddenly transform into a completely different person overnight.

Spoiler: I’m not.

I’m still me.

Just me… who is now legally allowed to do a lot more things I’ve already been doing in my head and out loud for years.

Right now, I’m supposed to be getting ready for my party.

“Party” is a generous word, really.

It’s less of a party and more of a full-scale, slightly chaotic, definitely loud family invasion of our house. Again.

Don’t get me wrong, I love my family. I really do. They’re loud and messy and far too involved in each other’s business, but they’re mine. And I wouldn’t swap them.

But honestly?

Half of the so-called “adults” in this family act like they’re still teenagers who’ve just discovered energy drinks and bad decisions.

It’s honestly embarrassing sometimes.

Like, full-body cringe embarrassing.

Especially Uncle Nate.

And Uncle Levi.

Although, to be fair, when those two get going together, it’s like watching two overgrown schoolboys who never quite grew out of trying to outdo each other. It’s loud, it’s stupid, and it usually ends with someone doing something they’ll definitely regret in the morning.

And if my dad gets involved?

Forget it.

He’s just as bad.

Worse, actually, because he tries to pretend he’s not.

Like he’s some kind of responsible adult who definitely isn’t egging them on while laughing like a maniac.

And then there’s my great uncle Tel.

Don’t even get me started on him.

He’s the kind of man who shows up, says something completely unhinged within five minutes, and somehow manages to make everyone else look normal in comparison. Which is impressive, considering this family.

So yeah.

That’s my eighteenth birthday.

A house full of chaos, questionable role models, and people who should absolutely know better but very clearly do not.

And me?

I’m just Evie.

Standing in the middle of it all.

Still never been kissed.

Still too small for my own good.

And apparently about to find out whether turning eighteen actually changes anything… or if I’m just going to stay exactly the same girl I’ve always been.

You already know my parents, I believe.

Mum, Emma, is already downstairs, probably rearranging something that didn’t need rearranging in the first place and telling everyone to “just behave for once in your lives” while absolutely nobody listens to her.

Dad, Toby, is somewhere in the middle of it all, pretending he’s not enjoying the chaos while very clearly enjoying the chaos. He’s got that look he always gets when the house is full of people he loves and noise he pretends is stressful but actually lives for.

And then there’s Mac.

My slightly older brother.

My overbearing, infuriating, protective, impossible-to-ignore brother.

And also… one of my favourite people in the entire world.

I adore him. I really do. Even when he acts like I’m still five and made of glass and bad decisions waiting to happen. He’s always been like that though, Mac Keane-Mayweather, professional overthinker of my entire life choices.

He’ll probably be the first one to tell me my outfit is “not warm enough” or “not practical” or “not safe” or whatever other excuse he’s currently using to justify being annoying.

But he’ll also be the first one to make sure I’ve eaten, that I’m okay, that I’m not being overwhelmed by the noise of our very loud, very chaotic family.

So yeah.

I love him.

Even when I want to strangle him.

And then there’s Ava.

Ava Cole.

My other favourite person.

Technically my cousin, but not by blood. She’s Mac’s cousin, not mine, but in a family as big and tangled and ridiculous as ours, labels don’t really mean much. We all just… belong to each other in some way.

Aunty Jess and Uncle Levi never treated me any differently to Mac anyway. Not once. Not ever. I was just another kid in the chaos, another voice in the noise, another set of muddy shoes by the back door.

Ava and I grew up like sisters more than anything else. Same holidays, same family dinners, same arguments over the last slice of cake and who got the better end of the sofa.

She’s probably the only person who can look at me and immediately know when I’m spiralling without me saying a word.

Which is both comforting and slightly terrifying.

Anyway.

That’s my family.

Huge, loud, overprotective, completely unfiltered.

And I love every single one of them.

Even when they’re embarrassing me in public.

Especially when they’re embarrassing me in public, actually.

Because that’s just how we are.

So yeah.

That’s my eighteenth birthday.

A house full of chaos, questionable role models, people who should absolutely know better but very clearly do not, and at least two people who will 100% try to make me cry-laugh before the night is over.

And me?

I’m just Evie.

Standing in the middle of it all.

Still never been kissed.

Still too small for my own good.

Still wondering if anything is actually going to change today… or if I’m just going to stay exactly the same girl I’ve always been, watching everyone else live their loud, messy, ridiculous lives while I try to figure out where I fit in mine.

My whole life, I’ve been surrounded by so much love, and I’m grateful for every bit of it.

My parents and their friends all grew up together. They’ve been part of each other’s lives for as long as they can remember. They’re more than friends, they’re family. I guess they’re just like my group, only the first generation. We’re the second.

There’s me, Mac, and, of course, Ava. Then there’s Logan, who’s seventeen, and Jasper, who’s sixteen. Uncle Nate and Aunty Kim’s boys. My cousin Lily is about to turn sixteen too. She’s Uncle Chris and Aunty T’s daughter. She doesn’t always hang out with us because she’s a little younger, but she’s still pretty cool.

That just leaves Leo, Kai, Ezra, and Willow. They’re not related to us by blood, but in this family, that doesn’t really matter.

I also have some younger cousins too. Milo and Luca are twelve-year-old twins, and they’re Uncle Mike and Aunty Luce’s boys. Then there’s my beautiful little cousin princess Billie, who’s six. She’s Uncle Phil and Auntie Lizzie’s daughter, and honestly, she gets spoiled by all of us in the best way.

Mum always says Uncle Lee is a bit of a playboy and probably has loads of children dotted about somewhere, but I don’t believe her. I’ve never even seen him with a woman, so I think she’s just teasing.

My whole life, I’ve been surrounded by so much love, and I’m grateful for every bit of it, but I’ve gone a bit off track here. I was meant to be talking about me, not my messy family.

So, like I said, I’m tiny, 5 ft 1 and a half, and we count the half because I need all the help I can get. Even though I’m short and slim, I’ve got curves, and I’m grateful for that. Thanks, Mum, because that could’ve gone very differently. I’ve got my dad’s chestnut curls, and my hair is long and can be pretty unruly when it wants to be. Both my parents have green eyes, so I’ve inherited those too. Despite my darker hair, everyone says I take after my mum. Dad calls me her mini me, and I don’t hate that. In fact, we’ve been mistaken for sisters when we’re out shopping before. My mum’s hot, she’s barely aged, and her and my dad, ugh… they’re so gross. They’re so in love it’s ridiculous, always all over each other. I complain about it constantly, but deep down, I want a love like that too. Especially knowing they were only a little older than me when they fell in love.

My whole life, I’ve been surrounded by so much love, and I’m grateful for every bit of it, but sometimes I get stuck in my own head and wonder why I feel the way I do.

My mum lost her first love, Jax, Mac’s biological dad, and I know that must have shaped her in ways I can’t even fully understand. But I look at her now, and I see her with my dad, and I can’t help but believe they’re soul mates. They were always meant to find each other, like two pieces that finally clicked into place after everything else fell apart.

And I think that’s what confuses me.

Because I want that too.

I want a love that feels certain. A love that looks like it was always meant to be. So when I think about it too much, I start asking myself what’s wrong with me for wanting something so specific, so intense, so… absolute.

But maybe nothing is wrong with me at all.

Maybe I’m just scared that I won’t find it, or that I’ll miss it when it comes, or that I’ll spend my whole life comparing real love to something I’ve built up in my head from watching my parents.

I check my reflection in the mirror, turning slightly to make sure the little black dress fits just right. The one Mum and I spent hours shopping for. It’s nothing fancy, really, plain, simple, but it hugs my curves in all the right places, and I’ve got to make the most of my assets.

My hair has been perfectly styled by Aunty Luce. She’s defined my curls so they fall exactly how I like them, soft but controlled. My makeup is light, natural, just enough to make me feel like me, but better. I look good. Even if I do say so myself.

“Evie, baby, are you nearly ready? People will start to arrive any minute,” Mum calls up the stairs.

I take one last look at myself before grabbing my confidence on the way out the door.

My whole life, I’ve been surrounded by so much love, and I’m grateful for every bit of it, but sometimes I get stuck in my own head and wonder why I feel the way I do.

My party is set up outside in the garden, a huge marquee strung with lights, music already thumping softly through the speakers. It’s kind of a family tradition at this point. Big celebrations, everyone together, no excuses.

But the real party comes later.

When we hit the town.

I can barely wait.

I know what you’re thinking, first night out, clubbing, all that. But honestly, don’t you know who my parents are? Mac sorted me a fake ID when I was fifteen. Fifteen. I still don’t know whether to be impressed or concerned, but it worked. It always works.

And I’m still just as excited now as I was then. There’s nothing better than letting loose, dancing until the early hours, forgetting everything except the music and the people you’re with.

“Peanut!”

Shit. That’s Dad shouting.

I freeze for half a second.

Peanut. God, I hate that nickname. But Mum says it’s what he called me before I was even born, and apparently it just… stuck.

“Evie!” he calls again, louder this time.

Right. Time to go.

I decide I’m ready and head towards the stairs, only to barely make it two steps before I’m physically dragged back down the hallway.

Yep. Definitely Mac.

I walk into the kitchen, which is already humming with my chaotic family. I immediately clock my dad eating my mum’s face. His hands are on her in a way that should not be acceptable in shared family spaces. But no one would bat an eyelid. They’re always like this. I’m honestly surprised it’s only me and Mac here to witness it. The way my dad looks at my mum is both sweet and deeply cringe. I mean, he’s huge, but to her, he’s basically a little puppy dog.

I watch them for a moment, not in a creepy way, I guess I’m just proud of them. I mean, I know they’ve both aged well. Trust me, Mac has punched more than one person who’s called Mum a MILF, but I never hear them argue. Sure, they squabble, but it’s always over stupid things, like whether Dad can run Mum a bath or who’s paying for the Chinese. Okay, look, I admit it… my parents are cute.

I glance back at Mum and Dad again. They’re still wrapped around each other like teenagers who’ve just discovered love for the first time. Honestly, it’s impressive. And slightly nauseating.

I clear my throat, interrupting their moment. Mum pushes Dad away like he’s electrocuted her, and he chuckles at the slight blush on her cheeks.

Turning to me, his face lights up. “Peanut, fuck, Evie, you look beautiful. Just like your mum.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“Troublemaker, look at our baby all grown up,” Dad says, his eyes sheening.

Mum steps forward, cupping his cheek before giving him a quick kiss.

“Evie, your dad’s right, you look amazing. That dress is… what do they say, B?” she glances at Dad, whose eyes are already on me. “Oh yeah, chef’s kiss. You look lit.”

I roll my eyes with a giggle. “Mum, stop. Thank you both though. I love the dress and I can’t wait to party with you.”

“What are we waiting for then?” a deep voice says as Mac walks in. “Let’s get this party started.”

Despite his words, he walks straight to Mum and kisses her on the head before giving Dad a small hug.

Then he turns to me, nodding in approval. “Looks like I’m gonna be getting my knuckles busted tonight, V. You dressed like that? You look good.”

“Thanks, M,” I tell him, meaning it.

Pet names, terms of endearment, it’s just how we are. Apparently Dad has called Mum “Troublemaker” forever, even as far back as when Mac’s bio dad was alive. She calls him “B,” although neither of them have ever explained why. The few times I’ve brought it up, they just chuckled and gave each other googly eyes.

Mac is only ten months older than me, and when I was born he couldn’t say Evie, just “V,” and it stuck. “Macky” is what I call him, but he hates it, so in public it’s just “M.” It sounds weird, but if you know our family, it would all make perfect sense.

I hear uncle Nate before I see him, “Oi shag… Hey kids, whats the hold up? Tobs, ive got a pint with your name on it. Come on.”

“Twat!” Dad says before grabbing mums hand and motioning to me and Mac to go ahead.

We take a few steps across the lawn and then into the marquee, and the change is instant.

It’s perfect.

Everything is black, white, and gold.

White tablecloths and chair covers line the space, crisp and elegant, with gold ribbons and centrepieces catching the light every time I move. Black balloons float above it all, tied in clusters that frame the room like something out of a dream. A huge mixed balloon arch dominates the far end, impossible to miss, drawing my eyes straight to it.

Right in the centre is a massive board.

Happy 18th Birthday, Evie.

I stop for half a second, just taking it in.

There’s a bar off to the side, already packed with people, bar staff moving fast as they try to keep up with the constant stream of orders. Glasses clink, bottles are opened, laughter spills everywhere.

And in the corner, the DJ is already playing, the bass rolling through the floor like a heartbeat.

The soundtrack to what I really hope is going to be the best night of my life.

I scan the faces until I find the ones I’m looking for, my people. Smiling to myself, I think, now the party can really get started.

We move towards each other, and Ava reaches me first.

“Omg babe, this is slay,” she says, pulling me into a quick hug.

“Yeah, whatever,” Willow says immediately after, grinning at me. “Girl, you look hot.”

“Thank you!” I shout back just as the boys arrive.

“Looking good, baby cousin. Let’s get lit,” Logan says, instantly earning groans from everyone around us.

“Logs, I’m officially three weeks older than you,” I argue, like I do way too often.

“Yeah, but you’re tiny,” he replies with a grin that isn’t mean at all, just warm, full of love.

I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling.

I greet the rest of my group, then watch as Dad weaves Mum towards the back of the tent where the rest of my actual family are gathered.

“Bar,” Mac states, earning cheers from all of us.

The next few hours pass in a blur of drinking, dancing, Jäger bombs, and birthday wishes from more people than I can count. People who showed up for me. For my birthday. And I’m so grateful it almost hurts. My heart feels like it’s going to burst.

And as much as I’m absolutely loving the buzz of alcohol and the chaos of everyone I love around me, I’m ready to get the hell out of here and continue my birthday celebrations without the watchful eyes of my parents.

As if reading my mind, Mac catches my eye.

“You better go say goodbye to the parents. It’s time to get out of here.”

I nod immediately, already turning. My stomach flips with excitement because, let’s be real, it might be eleven o’clock, but the night is still young.