I place my empty champagne flute on the nearby coffee table and collapse onto the couch, contentedly exhausted.

I survey the scene around me.

Speckles of gold metallic confetti glitter are strewn about the room, reflecting off of the slow glow of my dimmed evening lights. The hour is well past midnight and my home is finally winding down.

Empty plates and glasses occupy every available surface in the spacious living room. Discarded gold wrapping paper litters the floor. I hear the familiar padding footsteps as Duchess, my cat, emerges from her upstairs hiding place and into the living room to join me. I hear her paw at a scrap of paper, happy to be rid of the chaos of the earlier festivities.

Today is my golden birthday, and golden it was. I smile to myself, still a little tipsy from the party, and think of how lucky I am to have such a wonderful, vibrant cohort of friends to share this day with.

I am not usually one to make a fuss over my birthday. Don't get me wrong - a dinner at a favorite restaurant, or a show downtown were always in order. But a party? Not really my thing.

However, for whatever reason, turning 31 on the 31st felt special. Mystical even. Earlier this summer I proclaimed to my friends that for this once in a life time occasion, we would have a once in a life time celebration.

As expected, my found family did not disappoint. Our weekly brunch meet ups temporarily turned into a well oiled machine of party planning. No detail was left undiscussed, or un gold-ified [as was the obvious theme].

My smile turns to solemnity as I think to myself how proud my mom would have been of me, for doing something just for me and just for the pure fun of it. From a very young age, my mother had picked up on my serious and gritty determination and had done her very best to shake it out of me.

"Catalina - your school work will still be there tomorrow, you know. Why don't you go play with your friends?"

"Catalina - I got a call from your guidance counselor today. She said you're trying to take 24 credits at once! How is that even possible? You know you'll still get into a good college regardless, right?"

"Catalina, darling, come to the cottage with us this weekend, eh? When was the last time you took a day off of work? What's the point of having all that money if you never get to spend it?"

But I remained unshakeable. My zealous devotion to living a life better than my parents had, and let's be totally honest - being a woman in tech, resulted in rapid success, and all the financial perks that came along with it. Including a Manhattan apartment large enough to host an epic birthday party.

I'm pulled out of my reflection by the observation that Duchcess has stopped swatting at the paper and is now, in fact, trying to consume it. I sigh and pull my champagne heavy body off of the couch.

I remove the offending strip from her mouth and shoo her away. She mumbles a disgruntled protest as she hautily trots off into the kitchen, no doubt looking for more inedible snacks.

"Guess I better get this over with."

Despite my body pleading desperately to leave it to tomorrow, to go to bed, it's late, so late, the habit of doing the hard work wins out. I grab a trash bag from the kitchen and billow it out before me. The sound echos through my now too-quiet apartment. Dutifully, I begin cleaning the mess in the living room.

I bend down and scoop up paper for what feels like an enternity, and then begin the task of shoving empty paper plates into the bag as well. Can cake frosting hurt cats? I'm not sure, but I'm not willing to find out.

As I grab a handfull of plates from the dining room table, something catches my eye. A peek of red in the sea of gold.

I brush aside golden plates, and napkins, and confetti to reveal a scarlet envelope. Puzzled, I flip it over and see that it is addressed to no one. A birthday card I must have missed openening. Strange.

I place the now heavy trash bag on the ground beside me and run my finger under the crease of the envelope to pry it open.

Inside is a thick, folded piece of paper. I start to unfold and realize that this paper is large, extremely large. Once fully unfolded it takes up almost half of my dining room table. I spread it before me and stare down quizzically.

A map.

Hand-drawn by the look of it. A grided network of streets and avenues cover the large page completely. With a singular red dot in the middle. I realize with a pang of fear [why fear?] that that singular dot is not on a random location. It's on my address.