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Most kids don’t celebrate their birthdays in a murderer’s apartment. But then again, most kids aren’t the children of a pretty powerful crime family. Gavroche didn’t care. He was with his favorite people in the world and, for the first time, having a real birthday.
Courfeyrac was there, trying to stop some of his other friends from Les Amis De L’ABC from having a debate about how morally right it is to steal birthday presents for a child. Montparnasse was assuring them that he definitely bought the luxury jacket now wrapped around Gavroche, who was protesting the usage of the word “child” to describe him.
The argument fell to a stop as Éponine entered from the kitchen with a shout. “Hey! Cake time.”
She placed the cake gently on a table as everyone gathered around. In messy writing, the cake read, “Happy birthday Gavroc”.
“Sorry, we ran out of room for your name.” Azelma smiled a bit sheepishly. “We probably should have just written Gav.”
Gav beamed. “I don’t care! It’s cake! You and Ép made a cake! For me! And now I have a new nickname!” He counted the candles. “That’s a lot of candles.”
Éponine smiled softly. “Yeah Gavroc. Thirteen. One for each year plus another for luck. But they’re melting so blow ‘em out quick. And don’t forget to make a wish.”
He smiled, looked around at all his friends. Courfeyrac and Grantaire and Feuilly, like brothers to him. The rest of Les Amis, always ready to give support and comfort when he needed it. Montparnasse, who he gave hell to but loved like family. And Ép and Zel, his sisters. The people who cared about him more than anyone. His only family were the people in the room, he decided. He looked at his family and blew out the candles.