Something is different.
From the moment my eyelashes flutter open in the morning to the sound of my favorite song filling the space in my freshly painted bedroom, I know that the day is special for some reason, though it takes me a moment to remember why.
And then, after I sit up and stretch, my mind playing catch-up, it hits me—today is my birthday.
A huge smile crosses my face as I think about the fact that a day I’ve been waiting for ever since I was old enough to know what alcohol was has finally arrived. I am finally old enough to legally drink the substance I’ve been carrying to other people for the past few weeks! I am finally old enough to go out, go into any club, disco, bar, adult movie, you name it, and get in with no questions asked. Well, except for maybe the question of, “Where is your ID?”
But after a few moments of reveling in the glory of it all, another thought comes to mind.
My mom isn’t here to celebrate with me…
This is the first year I’ve ever been away from her on my birthday, and the idea of not seeing her smiling face, of not having her bake me a chocolate volcano cake, makes tears form in my eyes. My mom is terrible at baking and always makes two round cakes but doesn’t level the bottom one off so there’s a big hump, which usually causes the top one to split into four or five pieces. It’s so funny—we call it a volcano cake. But it usually tastes pretty good. Except for that time she accidentally put in salt instead of sugar…
I laugh and cry at the same time, feeling a bit sorry for myself. I know I have friends at the club I could’ve invited to celebrate with me, but it’s not the same as having my mom, and a pain in my heart reminds me of how much I miss her.
My phone rings, and I brush away my tears as I pick it up. As if she’s reading my mind from across the country, my mom is calling me. I haven’t spoken to her since I got here; it’s too painful. I did send her a couple of texts to let her know I am all right. But I answer now. I wouldn’t be here to celebrate my birthday at all without her, so I should at least say hello.
With a deep breath, I say, “Hi, Mom.”
“Meggy?” she asks, her voice a few octaves higher than usual. “Is that really you?”
I sigh and blink back tears. “Yeah, Mom. It’s me. Hi.”
“Oh, it’s so nice to hear your voice.” I can tell she’s about to cry, too. It makes me feel guilty at first, but then I think of Mitch, and anger replaces my sadness. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I tell her.
“How are you? What are you doing today? How’s your job?”
Mom asks me a million questions, and I hurry through the answers to all of them because I don’t really want to chat, not with her, not right now. I keep thinking about how we could be together if she would’ve chosen me instead of Mitch.
After about twenty minutes, I make up a lie. “I’ve gotta go, Mom. I’m having a birthday thing with some friends.”
“Oh, that’s so great!” she gushes. “Call me tomorrow and tell me all about it!”
“Sure, sure,” I say, but I have no intentions of calling her, and she probably knows that. She tells me again that my card is in the mail, and I hang up, feeling worse than I did before she called.
I’ve got to do something to shake this. After all, it’s my twenty-first birthday, goddammit!
Despite not having the kind of friends one might choose to spend their birthday with here in the city, I decide to go and have a fun day anyway. I’ve got a plan—there’s that new café down the street I’ve wanted to try. I’ll go there for a birthday lunch. Then, after that, I’ll go spend some of my well-earned tip money on a new dress. I should have time to get that done before I head to work.
With a smile on my face, I shuffle to my ocean blue bathroom to take a shower and get ready for a fun day. I deserve to celebrate me—even if no one else cares that today is an important day for Meghan Taylor.
Later that afternoon, with my belly full of a delicious croissant sandwich stuffed with yummy chicken salad, as well as a piece of chocolate cake that did not look like an explosion had taken place beneath it, I stroll down the street from the café to a little boutique I saw when I drove by earlier. It’s a trendy place, and whatever I find here is sure to be expensive, but I’ve got a wad of cash in my purse burning a hole through the leather. I may as well pick out something pretty.
The bell over the door alerts the sales associates to my entrance, and at first, when two middle-aged women with bleached blonde hair turn to look at me with dark eyes, I think perhaps I’ve just walked onto the set of that old moviePretty Woman. Will they be rude to me because I don’t fit in here? Then one of them smiles and asks how she can help me, and I realize these people are nice after all.
“What are you looking for today, dear?” she asks, coming over to me. I read her nameHillaryon the golden badge pinned on her crimson top.
“I’m looking for a dress for my birthday,” I explain. “Something…fun.” I don’t want anything too fancy because I’m planning to wear it to work tonight. It can be a little fancier than usual, a little less sexy, a little more…classy. My thoughts immediately go to Hunter. He hasn’t been around much since our trip to the paint store, but if he does come through the club tonight, I’d like for him to see how I could look on a date.
Not that I think he’s going to ask me out. He doesn’t seem interested in that, though there were times when I thought that he might be. I figure if he can go a week and not even speak to me, he must not be thinking about me at night when he falls asleep.
“Let’s take a look over here,” Hillary suggests, and I follow her to a rack of flirty dresses with short skirts that show a bit of cleavage but have sequins, rhinestones, and other embellishments that make them a bit more upscale than what I’m used to.
I look through the selection, unsure of what to try on, until my eyes fall on a bright blue number that reminds me of a stunning pair of familiar eyes. Immediately, a smile crosses my face. I know I look okay in blue, and if Hunter even begins to notice the symbolism, it’d be worth it, even if it isn’t one of my best colors.
The skirt lands about midthigh when I hold it up to me. It’s cut down just below my bra line, with peek-a-boo sleeves.