"Avi, if you dare make me a surprise party, I'll.... I’ll...divorce you. I'll find out that you're planning something behind my back. You make me a surprise party and I’ll leave you, right then, in front of all our friends," my mother yells at my father at her 49th birthday dinner, still a year before her 50th.

Believe me, she is not joking.

My mother is the most organized homemaker. She is meticulous and systematic to the point of knowing where and what her children and husband are doing at all times of the day. She knows the birthdays and anniversaries of all of her friends and their partners; she knows what she has in each fridge and freezer in the house and she knows if there are enough muffins for my dad’s mid-morning work snack-for the month.

Sweden, 1955, my mother Rosa Moscovitz meets Gün Toresater. At seven years old, they instantly become best friends. Both girls coming from different homes. My mother’s mother had come to seek refuge in the small town of Boras, Sweden, from a concentration camp at the end of World War II in Poland. Raising my mother alone, she felt isolated and traumatized from the horrific effects of the war. For my grandmother’s sense of comfort she forced my mother to stay close within the very small Jewish community in the little Swedish town.

Gün came from a very strict, conservative Christian home. My grandmother instantly did not like her. Mom’s rebelliousness kept the friendship close. Their friendship persevered despite the culture shock they encountered when being invited to each other’s homes.

Tonight, my mother turns the big 5-0. We are having a pleasant dinner at the Montreal Bistro. I’m nervous that my mother is suspicious of all the planning my father has been doing behind her back. Will my mother divorce my father before the big surprise?

The waiter approaches our table. “ Can I get you any drinks to start off with?”

My mother, the budget queen, answers for all of us, “No thanks, just tap water for everyone.”

“Rosa, how about a glass of wine, it’s your birthday!” My father insists.

“I don’t drink wine, why would today be any different, Avi?”

My father ignores her, “I’ll have a glass of the house wine.”

“Will that be all for now?” the waiter asks.

“I’m ready to order, are you Leehe?”

My father gives me that ‘you know what we’re waiting for’ look. We both answer, “We’re not ready.”

The first of the guests my father invited arrive to the clueless-ness of my mother.

“Look Avi, Ruthie and Howard are here!”

They come over towards our table. My father asks them to join us. “Hi guys, fancy meeting you here,” Ruthie says as truthfully as she can. I sense a bit of acting, bad acting. Could my mother sense it too? So far it appears that my mother has no idea that this is a set up.

My mother and Gün grew up side by side. Walking to school together, smoking cigarettes, trying pot and telling each other secrets about what they did with boys. They knew every little detail about the other and enjoyed each other’s company through the years. After high school, they went their separate ways. My mother moved to a Kibbutz in Israel and because of her long, strawberry hair she was discovered by a photographer who turned her into a sought-after model and actress. She eventually met and married my dad, a filmmaker, and gave birth to me three years later. Two years after I was born, we moved to Canada to seek a safer and better life. Gün stayed in the small town of Boras and married and had children. They corresponded by writing letters back and forth. Through their busy lives of raising children and community involvement, they made promises and had hope of eventually seeing each other again.

We continue looking at our menus. My mother looks antsy. She wants to order and I’m not sure how we’re going to be able to stall this any longer. Yael and Henry with Edit and Tom casually approach our table. At first, my mother’s eyes light up in surprise but then she clues in to the fact that this is a plan…a plan she had warned us not to make. Dad wasn’t respecting her wishes and he knew that.

“Nice surprise, Avi. Oh look, there’s Judy and Les, very nice, very nice. Who else do you have coming?” my mother asks with a hint of sarcasm.

“I don’t know, all our friends just keep showing up.”

My father’s plan is going according to schedule. The last to arrive are Michelle and Nicolas, the pivotal point of this surprise party. My father looks at me, making sure I am acting properly, and signals for me to stay calm for the next event.

Kissing my mother, Michelle says, “Just a minute, I need to get your present.”

My mother continues, “So are we ready to order? I’m starving.”

“Mom, at least wait for Michelle to come back, “ I rationalize.

Michelle has still not gotten back to the table. I am starting to get nervous. My mother might suspect something.

Michelle finally arrives out of breath, “Sorry, I just had to go to the bathroom.”

“Oh?” mother answers confused.

Uh oh, is all I can think.

In 1981, my mother’s mother died and Mom had to go back to Sweden for the funeral. Her hopes of seeing Gün were lost because she was in France, coming back the day after my mom left. In 1985, my mother was in Los Angeles for a wedding but she arrived a day after Gün and her family were there for a trip to Disney Land and Universal Studios. Finally in 1988 they tried their best to arrange to meet in Thailand where both their families were traveling. Again, flights were not connecting and they missed each other by days.

In the mid-nineties Gün and my mother began to email each other, which made communication more frequent. Despite the more advanced communication technology these two best friends hadn’t seen each other for 24 years.

By now I am sure that my father's whole plan is flushing its way down the toilet. We all begin to order from the menu. A flower lady with a European accent, wearing a black overcoat and carrying individually wrapped roses, approaches my mother who would never even consider buying anything impractical.

"I'd like to buy her one," yells my father from across the table.

My mother, trying hard to conceal a 'what the hell are you doing buying me flowers to show off to our friends how generous you are' look, is busy trying to maintain her fake smile. She doesn't bother looking at the flower lady’s face.

" Give her another one, " my father yells again.

My mother's expression turns furious. My father persistently orders another and then another. I pan the table and notice that all of my parents’ friends' mouths are hanging open. Tears start to come out of my eyes.

"Maybe she speaks Swedish," my father suggests as he orders the eighth flower.

My mother looks as if she is going to turn around and throw this flower lady out, when she realizes it’s Gün. The two distant best friends start screaming and crying as they hold each other for the first time in 24 years.

It is touching. I am still crying. Michelle, who had kept Gün at her house until tonight, is crying. But as I look around the room the rest of the guests still looked confused.

Judy, sitting next to me asks, "She's hugging the flower lady because she's Swedish?"

Laughing, I answer, " Didn't you know that this was her best friend Gün from Sweden?"

" How am I supposed to know? All your Dad said was come to the Montreal Bistro at 8:15 and don't tell anyone."

People around the table tell me that they had gotten similar invitations from my father, telling them to be there at 7:30, 7:45, 8:00 and not to tell anyone. So no one knew what or who to expect. Some people didn't even realize it was my mother's birthday.

That's my dad, the filmmaker, strategically planning the production, taking into consideration that my mother's group of friends like to gossip. But also entertaining all of the guests and making them feel as touched and surprised as my mother. Making the evening like a Hollywood movie, with hidden hints, details, tension, tears and a happy ending. (Usually my mother prefers foreign films but tonight was a nice exception.)