I don’t know how to react. Keeley didn’t steal my boyfriend; she didn’t even steal my date. I stole hers. And she feels bad. But I’m pissed too. Why didn’t she tell me about her date? Why didn’t she stop my date? I would have understood. Now I feel like I had a connection only to find he was interested in the hot blonde at the bar. I fight the urge to yell and curse my friend. She can’t help what she looks like.
“I guess it’s over then,” I say.
“What?” she sniffs.
“He’s yours. I don’t want to make a fuss over one date. You obviously like him a lot. And if he asked you on a second date, I don’t want to stand in the way.”
“Really?” No. Not really. I want to rip her hair out like they do in tacky girl-fight movie scenes. I never thought I’d feel this way about Keeley. I’ve never been more jealous of her or more furious with myself for being jealous. “You’re a good friend Cass. I was so worried. I didn’t even tell Alicia or Lindsey when I found out. I hope you can forgive me.”
“No problem.” But there is a problem. I’ve been feeling down on myself for a long time now. I never thought one of my closest friends could bring me lower.
I don’t talk to her for a week.
My party approaches, and I don’t feel like celebrating. I haven’t spoken to Keeley, and Alicia is making me feel terrible about it. Lindsey shrugs when she hears about the dating debacle and tells me to get over it. Paul obviously wasn’t the man for me. Alicia says that Keeley has been moping around, not getting excited about her second date, which went very well. She tells me to let Keeley be happy for once, and I realize that I’ve never known Keeley to date anyone for very long or talk about anyone in particular. Is her life a series of endless dates? How can someone so beautiful and smart not be able to find someone? If she can’t, then how the hell can I? I tell them both that I need time to digest the information. Don’t I deserve a little time?
I’m on the phone with Dad constantly as he gets the party details in order. He’s discovered it’s better that I know about the party, so he can ask my opinion about the set-up. Instead of Sandy’s place, he booked the roof space at Brit’s, a lovely outdoor area with grass and a huge wall where they show movies during the summer and early fall. There are about fifty people coming: people from work, friends, family. I specified no children except Alicia’s, but she promised to get a babysitter. I don’t think she wants to be watching her kids when she could be having fun. Her husband Brian is bringing a cake; that detail remains a mystery.
As does my enigmatic author guest. I tried to pry the information from Kelly, but the sly thing pretended she didn’t know what I was talking about. She offers me the promotion, and I’m so ecstatic I don’t badger her about the author. Maybe that’s why she shifted the focus of our meeting. Who could she possibly have joining us for my silly thirtieth birthday party?
Mom is so excited that Gideon gets to come. Apparently, he might not have made it; something with work, but he finished and will be joining us. Dad is bringing Sandy, which is fine. I talked with him about the move and how upset I was that he didn’t tell me. He apologized and reminded me that I hadn’t warmed to his girlfriend. I said she seemed like a lovely person and maybe I jumped the gun a bit. I invited her to the party, and I could feel Dad’s smile across the line.
Joel is flying from California, but Gisele can’t make it. She has about a million interviews and auditions, to quote my brother. That’s fine. I don’t know how many significant others I can handle at one party.
As the day draws closer, I get nervous. What will turning thirty be like? I should ask my mom, but then again, she doesn’t like to be reminded that I’m younger than she is.
I’m meeting Alicia and Lindsey for one last twenty-nine-year-old coffee the day before my birthday. They’ve been sending me harassing emails and cards. Alicia says I have thirty birthday cards coming in the mail, and so far, I’ve gotten about twenty.
The sun is out in full force, hardly any clouds block it. A soft breeze blows from the west, ruffling my hair, which is hanging loose, something I don’t do often. I feel my scalp relax, unconstrained by a hair band.
Alicia parked near the curb. I walk in, desperately needing an iced chai. The tiny bell jingles as I enter. They sit near the window. Keeley is with them. Shit. I hadn’t planned on seeing her. Damn those girls! Who doesn’t love a forced friendship intervention?
“Hi,” they all say when I sit down. I stare at my hands and tilt my cup back and forth.
“Hey.” We sit quietly for a few moments, and I can feel the taut energy flowing between us. This is ludicrous. Lindsey must think so too, because she clears her throat and says,
“You both need to grow up and get on with it. I’m sick and tired of the stalemate.”
“Here here,” chimes in Alicia. She raises her glass and glances at me. Why do I have to make the first move?
I sigh, and Keeley looks up, frail as a baby bird. “I heard your date with Paul went well.”
They all inhale quickly, and Alicia and Lindsey wait for Keeley to answer.
“It was wonderful, but I wish you’d called me.” Now it’s my turn to feel guilty.
“I’m sorry, Keel. I was slightly jealous.”
“Slightly?” cuts in Lindsey.
“Slightly envious of your good fortune. I liked Paul, and I guess things got kind of messed up. You have every right to date him.”
“Well now that’s settled—”
“Shut up Lindsey,” says Alicia. “These two need to clear the air.”
“I wish I didn’t like him so much,” Keeley whispers.
“Oh honey, it’s okay.” I say, realizing how much she’s hurting. I thought she was angry with me about the whole situation, but it turns out she is more worried about our relationship than hers and Paul’s. Now this is what girlfriends are for. “You can totally keep seeing him. I don’t mind. The fact that you’re so concerned for me makes me love you even more!”
“Do you mean it this time? You really don’t mind?”
“Not a bit. And to prove it, you can invite him to my party.”
Alicia and Lindsey laugh into their hands and Keeley grins.
“So, Miss Alicia,” says Lindsey, “the air clear enough for you? Can we talk about something else?”
“Sure. My boobs hurt,” she says.
“That’s what you get when you don’t use protection.” Lindsey shrugs and nods, a not-so concerned look in her eyes.
“So,” I say before they get into the joys-of-having-children argument, “do I have to go on any more dates?”
“Not a one,” sighs Keeley. “There are no more men.”
“Are you making a joke?” asks Lindsey.
“Aren’t I allowed to make a joke every once and a while?”
“Not if it makes me almost faint.”
“Ladies!” says Alicia. “We need to raise our plastic coffee cups and toast Cassie. She made it through twelve months in the dating trenches, experiencing what most normal single people experience. She came out more savvy, more gorgeous, and more confident.”
“I did?” She shoves my arm with her cup and keeps going, “She may not have found the perfect man for her, but maybe she learned what to look for.”
“New friends?” I ask and chuckle.
“Shut it, we’re trying to be nice to you,” says Lindsey.
“And so, the Great Dating Extravaganza comes to a close,” says Alicia. “You’ve got a promotion, a sunnier look on romance novels, and most importantly, us!”
“What would I do without you?” I ask sarcastically.
“For one, your vagina might have closed up for good,” says Lindsey.
“Ewwww!” cringes Keeley. She wrinkles her nose and sets down her cup. “I’ve lost my coffee appetite.”
“Lighten up youngster! At least you’re not turning thirty tomorrow.”
Really. What would I do without them?
May
My Birthday
At least the weatherman predicted clear skies for later.
I go for a morning run in my bad-weather shoes, and they squish with each step. Today’s run is more difficult; it must be my age showing. My legs are sore when I get home, and the hot shower feels great. Prospero rubs against my calves when I exit the shower, spreading cat hair over my freshly shaved legs. Damn cat. I should brush him later.
I picked out my ensemble last night to avoid the I-have-no-clothes panic dance. It looks like the I-have-to-pee dance only more urgent and hysterical. My navy and white floaty short skirt lies next to a lacy, chocolate camisole and my jean jacket, in case it gets chilly. Strappy but sturdy woven rope wedges sit by the bed. I stow a pair of flip-flops in my roomy tote, just in case. A girl can’t be too prepared.
My hair won’t cooperate with the curling iron, so I straighten it instead and smooth my bangs over one side, just the way my mom hates it. I secure the strands with a bobby pin and move on to makeup. My Instyle is open on the counter where I’ve marked a few choices. There’s an awesome purple eye shadow option with cat-eye liner, but it might be too severe. The natural look with beiges and browns isn’t special enough. The rose shadow and deep burgundy liner should be perfect. I thought about fake eyelashes then remembered the last time I attempted them. I throw the box under the sink. Three mascara coats will have to do. After lip-gloss I’m all set. I wait for Dad to pick me up, and we’ll be on our way. Though I turned thirty around midnight last night, at this moment, I finally feel older.
At half past, I hear my buzzer and run to let my dad in.
“Come on up! I’m almost ready!” He doesn’t answer, so I race into the bedroom to grab my jacket. I recheck my makeup and hair, slip on my watch and swap my plain studs for some dangling earrings. They look better with my long hair. I really need a trim.
Dad knocks on the door, and I leap over Prospero, who knows I’m leaving and wants to impede my progress as much as possible. I shout at him to get out of the way and pull the door open. “Hi Da—”
It’s not my dad. Justin came to pick me up.
“Was there a change in itinerary no one told me about?”
“Your dad asked if I could get you. There were a few things he needed to take care of at the restaurant.”
“Well, that’s fine. Let me grab my bag.”
“Wait one second. There’s something I need to say before we go.” He’s not going to chastise me on my birthday, is he? I thought we were past this. How could my dad do this? I have no escape route, so I put my bag down and wait for the reprimand. I cross my arms across my chest.
“First, happy birthday.”
“Thank you. I feel pretty ancient today.”
“You look great.”
“Thanks. New shoes.” We stand for a moment and I shift my weight from foot to foot. “Anything else?”
“Yes,” he says. He takes my hand gently and holds it. “You’re one of my best friends, and I feel awful for how I treated you when…you know.” By his bent posture, I can tell he’s been wanting to say this for some time. His eyebrows furrow and he brushes a hand through his hair.
“You don’t have to apologize.”
“I do. I was mean and spiteful, and we were both drunk when it happened. I shouldn’t have pressured you.”
“From what I recall, I jumped on you.” He laughs and looks me in the eyes. I realize how much I’ve missed Justin. We made up but still haven’t been talking much. Work is bearable, but we lost whatever friendly spark we had. “Let’s just say that we’re both morons and leave it at that.”
He’s wearing the cologne Kevin gave him for Christmas, a woodsy, rich scent. It brings to mind our long textbook proofreading sessions. I inhale deeply and recall his lips on mine. The image stops my breath, and my knees feel weak. Whoa. That came out of nowhere.
His hair flops to one side, giving him an inquisitive air, and his smile is easy, not forced. I take in his face, every freckle darkened by the May sun. It dawns on me that every woman in our office has a crush on him, and I remember Lindsey calling him a fox. I laughed off these women before, because he was just my good friend. He’s been there for me through the entire year, pushing me to make decisions that are good for me. He always asks how I’m doing and inquires about my projects. He puts up with Kevin and me making fun of his outdoorsy clothing and love of old poetry. Even when he was furious with me, he never made me feel less than, I did that all by myself. He never puts me down.
I squeeze his hand, and he squeezes back. If he lets go, this is nothing. He’s done with the idea that we could be together. Do I want him to let go?
“Agreed. And for the record, I’m glad you’re finished with the dating torture chamber. You didn’t deserve that. I felt like strangling your friends, or at least sending them nasty letters.”
You know that moment in the movies where the dumb heroine finally figures out that her best friend/old lover/hated nemesis is the one for her? There’s an “OH” moment, and you can read it plain on the actress’s face. What was she thinking? The audience knew all along that man was meant for her, so why was it so difficult for her to figure out? What the hell was she waiting for?
His hand doesn’t drop mine.
I hold my breath. Here goes nothing. I reach up, grab his head, and pull it down toward me. His eyes widen, and he stops me.
“What are you doing?” His fingers have twined around mine, but his eyes say, please don’t stomp on my heart again, because I can’t take it. I can feel him holding his breath.
I take my time thinking of an answer. He deserves my utmost attention. He needs to understand what I’ve realized.
“I’ve never seen you clearly until now. And I love what I see.” I try to tell him with my eyes that I’ve let the last year go, that no man I’ve met this year has measured up to him. He was kind to me on New Year’s, and respectful. He didn’t take advantage of me. If anything, I took advantage of the situation, let my sorrow wash over good sense. But maybe it was my brain telling me something else.
So many thoughts! He needs to know that I’ve been waiting for someone like him, the absolute antithesis of Pete. What took him so long to show up? Oh yeah, I’m an idiot and never noticed him. I want to say all this to him but can’t spit it out. I attempt a stammer.
Before I can say anything else, Justin puts his arms around my waist and sweeps me around, kissing me all the while. My feet leave the floor and one crashes into the lamp on my end table. It soars across the room and clunks against the wall, but we don’t notice.
It feels like forever and not long enough when he sets me down. The room is spinning, and I can’t help but check my hair. He pats a loose piece back in place and shakes with laughter.
“Is this for real? Or is it the script I came up with in my head and I’m dreaming?”
“It’s real,” I say. “Come on. We’ll be late for my party.”
The rooftop bustles with people when we arrive, and everyone yells “Surprise!” as we bound up the steps, hand in hand. The staff claps and grins; I know most of them from frequent patronage. Friends, family, and lots of people from work stand on the grassy roof and around small tables. They hoot and holler and put fists in the air, and I spy the girls nestled in a group at the front. Each is laughing, and they hold each other up. Alicia smiles as though she knows something has happened, and Keeley is practically crying. Lindsey gives me a thumbs-up and winks. I drop Justin’s hand—he knows I have to greet the girls—and run toward them. They wrap themselves around me and pat my back.
“I knew this would happen eventually,” cries Keeley, and Lindsey rolls her eyes.
“You didn’t know anything.�
��
“I picked Justin out for her all along.”
“Shush, you two,” says Alicia. She arches her eyebrow. “As usual, Cassie was the last to know.”
“As usual,” I agree and roll my eyes. I turn and beckon Justin forward. He’s standing with Kevin and they make their way over. Kevin looks self-satisfied, as though licking expensive wine from his lips. He grabs my hand and presses it but doesn’t do the I-told-you-so foxtrot. Justin shines from someplace deep within, his eyes and skin glowing.
“Kevin told me he’s been secretly trying to get us together for years. I told him I was all for it when I met you, but he warned me it would take to a while for you to wake up from your, how did you put it Kevin, ‘no-sex-induced stupor.’”
I shove Kevin and say, “He would tell you that.”
“At least I didn’t point him toward Carly,” says Kevin.
“She isn’t here is she?”
“Of course not. I wrote the guest list.”
My parents swoop in, one on each side, their own significant others in tow. Sandy and Gideon congratulate me, and I start to like Sandy when she doesn’t even glance at the handsome Gideon. She only has attention for my dad. I say thank you and pull Mom and Dad closer.
“This is great, guys. I didn’t think you two had it in you.”
Mom says, “We’ve been known to cooperate from time to time.”
“Since when? 1983?”
“Give us a little credit, squirt,” says Dad. “We collaborated long enough to get the two best kids in the world.”
“Here here!” Joel steps in and picks me up in a bear hug. He nearly drops me, and I slap his arm when he releases his grip. “Not so rough!” he cries in fake anguish.
“These shoes are expensive!”
“Only you would spend a ton of money on shoes you’ll wear once.”
“I don’t know,” I say and gaze at Justin, who is deep in conversation with my parents. My mom breaks down and hugs him, and Justin’s startled expression is hilarious. “I’ve already got some good memories attached to these babies. I might wear them a few more times.”
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