When We're Thirty

by Casey Dembowski

  When We’re Thirty

  Red Adept Publishing, LLC

  104 Bugenfield Court

  Garner, NC 27529

  https://RedAdeptPublishing.com/

  Copyright © 2021 by Casey Dembowski. All rights reserved.

  Cover Art by Streetlight Graphics

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Dedication

  Part 1

  Chapter 1 | Hannah

  Chapter 2 | Hannah

  Chapter 3 | Hannah

  Chapter 4 | Hannah

  Chapter 5 | Will

  Chapter 6 | Hannah

  Chapter 7 | Will

  Chapter 8 | Hannah

  Chapter 9 | Hannah

  Chapter 10 | Will

  Chapter 11 | Hannah

  Chapter 12 | Hannah

  Chapter 13 | Will

  Chapter 14 | Hannah

  Part 2

  Chapter 15 | Hannah

  Chapter 16 | Hannah

  Chapter 17 | Will

  Chapter 18 | Hannah

  Chapter 19 | Hannah

  Chapter 20 | Hannah

  Chapter 21 | Will

  Chapter 22 | Hannah

  Chapter 23 | Hannah

  Chapter 24 | Hannah

  Chapter 25 | Will

  Chapter 26 | Hannah

  Chapter 27 | Hannah

  Chapter 28 | Will

  Chapter 29 | Hannah

  Chapter 30 | Hannah

  Chapter 31 | Hannah

  Chapter 32 | Will

  Chapter 33 | Hannah

  Chapter 34 | Will

  Chapter 35 | Hannah

  Chapter 36 | Hannah

  Chapter 37 | Will

  Chapter 38 | Will

  Chapter 39 | Hannah

  Part 3

  Chapter 40 | Will

  Chapter 41 | Hannah

  Chapter 42 | Will

  Chapter 43 | Hannah

  Chapter 44 | Hannah

  Chapter 45 | Will

  Chapter 46 | Hannah

  Chapter 47 | Hannah

  Chapter 48 | Hannah

  Chapter 49 | Will

  Chapter 50 | Hannah

  Chapter 51 | Hannah

  Chapter 52 | Hannah

  Chapter 53 | Will

  Chapter 54 | Hannah

  Chapter 55 | Hannah

  Chapter 56 | Hannah

  Acknowledgements

  About the Author

  About the Publisher

  For my husband

  Part 1

  Chapter 1

  Hannah

  Sometimes being a Jersey girl in New York City had its benefits, like approval from her boss to order a six-layer vanilla rainbow cake from New Jersey’s own Cake Boss for her office birthday celebration. She only turned thirty once.

  Hannah’s phone buzzed with yet another notification: You have memories with Kate Novack, Stephanie Lansford, and 32 others...

  She’d been waiting for that to pop up between all the texts and birthday posts. After twelve years on Facebook, there was a lot to reminisce over. And today, there would be plenty embarrassing memories to scroll through.

  She glanced around the small office, but the interns and staff writers were still enjoying birthday cake. Only the section editors—like Hannah—were back at their desks, scrambling to finish layouts. Hannah had finished her section the day before, affirming her New Year’s resolution to have her section in before deadline every issue. She took a bite of cake. Sugar coursed through her, fortifying her for the mortification that was sure to follow as she clicked on the Memories notification.

  Kate... Kate... Kate and Stephanie. She scrolled further, bypassing graduate school and going straight for the college memories. Kate... more Kate... Kate and Will. She paused on a picture from her twentieth birthday where she was smooshed between Kate and Will, each of them kissing one of her cheeks. Their eyes were glassy, their skin glossy with sweat. She remembered that birthday. The same couldn’t be said for her twenty-first, though the pictures told quite the story. Hannah, Will, and Kate—the three musketeers. God, they were so unoriginal and so drunk.

  She stopped on the last picture in the thread—her eighteenth birthday, two months into freshmen year of college. She and Kate, newly best friends, sat in their dorm room, a pilfered bottle of booze between them. She squinted at the photo—Jägermeister. Gross.

  Saving the picture to her photos, she added it to a text to Kate. We were so little, she typed.

  Kate’s reply came quickly, a series of scream emojis followed by: My eyebrows. Your hair. What were we thinking?

  Hannah snorted, looking around again to make sure no one was paying attention to her. Things were laid back at the Deafening Silence New York office, but she didn’t need one of her interns seeing a photo of her when she was younger than them. In the photo, Hannah’s hair had been a dark auburn, a look that didn’t suit her complexion at all, and Kate hadn’t yet learned to love getting her eyebrows waxed. But still, they had been so cute and little and skinny.

  We were adorable, Hannah typed back. And skinny. Omg!

  Kate sent several more distressed emojis. I prefer being thirty, flirty, and thriving. Skinny thighs be damned.

  The ding of a new email pulled Hannah’s attention back to the office. She glanced at her computer before taking another bite of cake. Skinny thighs be damned indeed.

  Re: Arctic Monkeys Feature.

  Great. Edits on her birthday. She would look at them later.

  “Hannah?”

  Hannah straightened at the sound of Riley’s voice and swiveled her chair to face her boss. “Are you here to tell me how awesome my section turned out this month?”

  Riley held a plate in one hand, and in her other, she gripped a bouquet of white carnations.

  “No, but it was definitely awesome. These came for you,” she said, holding out the flowers.

  Hannah stared at them for too long. White carnations were her favorite, but her boyfriend wasn’t the flower-sending type. In fact, she was pretty sure Brian wouldn’t have remembered her birthday had Kate not mentioned it at least four times the last time they were out at McMahon’s.

  “Did it have a card?” she asked, clearing a space on her desk.

  Riley put them down. “No card. I asked.”

  “Oh.” Hannah fingered the petals and breathed in their familiar scent. They had to be from Kate. “Thanks for dropping them off.”

  “No problem.” Riley shifted on her feet. “Listen, I have to go. CeCe’s school just called, and she’s running a temperature again. Can you assign the Atlas Genius concert to one of the interns?”

  Hannah put a comforting hand on Riley’s arm. Daycare was kicking CeCe’s butt, and it wasn’t even winter yet. And soon, Riley would have two babies to care for. “You mean, you’re giving me the honor of informing Henry that he gets to cover the Atlas Genius show?”

  The kid had lyrics from one of their songs tattooed on his arm. Hannah wasn’t even that hardcore.

  “Yes, please,” Riley said, resting her hand on her ever-growing belly. At nine months pregnant, Riley looked ready to pop. Hannah didn’t see how that baby girl was going to stay in there much longer. “Anyway, happy bi
rthday! Hope you have something fun planned tonight.”

  Hannah waited until Riley padded away, the drag of her feet on the hardwood one of the most comforting sounds in Hannah’s life, before snapping a picture of the bouquet and sending it to Kate. Thanks for the flowers.

  I didn’t send you flowers, weirdo, Kate wrote back.

  What? Hannah typed. She’d been certain they were from Kate. No one else would send her white carnations.

  Your parents?

  I don’t think so, Hannah replied. They got me tickets to that off-Broadway show.

  That’s right. Who brought them to you? Maybe you have a secret admirer.

  Hannah laughed. Riley.

  The typing ellipses appeared, followed by a flurry of back-to-back messages:

  She would be the first one I’d suspect. ;-)

  Heading to a meeting.

  I’ll pick up wine, you get dinner.

  Meet you at your place.

  Hannah put her phone down and looked back at the flowers. If Kate hadn’t sent them, who had?

  THE FAMILIAR CREDIT music of Kate’s podcast, Bitching about Boyfriends, wound down. Hannah pulled out her earbuds and wrapped them around her phone. Leaning back against her living room couch, she went through the script again in her mind, processing it. Across from her, the television was paused on the end credits of the last episode of the sappy drama she was currently binging with Kate. The preview for the next episode taunted her with the promise of tears.

  Kate had disappeared into the kitchen with an expensive bottle of wine a few minutes earlier. Hannah could hear her digging through drawers for a corkscrew. There would be no twist-off tops tonight. Thirtieth birthdays warranted high-class wine, a precedent Kate had set when she turned thirty at the beginning of the year. The kitchen went quiet, and a moment later, Kate returned with two overfilled glasses of Riesling.

  She handed one to Hannah. “So, these flowers...”

  Hannah worried at her cuticles. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the flowers since they’d arrived at her desk. Who’d sent them? Her parents didn’t do that type of thing, and in the eighteen months—on and off—she’d been with Brian, he’d only ever gifted her roses. She didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise. And it wasn’t as if she kept carnations around her apartment, from which he could have gleaned her preference. Fresh flowers weren’t exactly part of her weekly budget. “Have you ever mentioned to Brian that white carnations are my favorite?”

  “Brian and I don’t exactly talk when you’re not around,” Kate said between sips of wine.

  Hannah rolled her eyes. “Can you blame him? You talked about his penis size on your podcast and didn’t even try to hide his identity.”

  “It’s not like his parents listen to my podcast.”

  Hannah shook her head—Kate logic. “Still. Maybe they could be from him?”

  “Brian doesn’t have enough romantic sensibility to send you flowers at your job on your birthday.”

  “But—”

  “And if he somehow came up with the idea to send you flowers, he would abso-fucking-lutely send a card, because he would want credit for coming up with such a fabulous idea.”

  “Kate—”

  “Not to mention you have never told him that you love white carnations. And I certainly didn’t tell him, and he in no way asked for my help on the matter. So no, I don’t believe the flowers came from Brian, and you don’t either.”

  Disappointment coursed through her. Hannah didn’t know if it was because the flowers weren’t from him or because she knew they would never be from him. “I know, okay?”

  Of course she knew. She’d known for months. That didn’t mean she didn’t love him or that deciding to end her relationship was easy or simple.

  “Can’t I just pretend until I see him tomorrow?” she asked and took a sip of her wine.

  Kate shrugged, her standard reaction to all things Brian. “What’s one more night when you’ve been pretending for over a year?”

  Hannah flinched. After a decade of friendship, she was used to Kate’s bluntness, but Kate usually softened the blow. It was a trait Hannah sometimes loved and sometimes loathed about her best friend. Kate never meant to be cruel; it was just her way. She was a mirror, always reflecting the truths that Hannah wouldn’t voice.

  “Sorry,” Kate said, putting her hand over Hannah’s. “That was too much, and I didn’t even mean it. God, and on your birthday. I promised myself I would lay off Brian for the day. It was part of my gift to you.”

  Hannah forced a smiled and squeezed Kate’s hand. “Then I guess you owe me another gift.”

  “I guess I do.” Kate sighed. “Brian’s not even the reason I’m pissed... for once. Remember Teddy?”

  Hannah wished she didn’t. Teddy was the yoga instructor Kate had dated for three months back when Kate and Hannah lived together. It had been years, but the memory of walking in on Kate and Teddy attempting some insane, next-level Kama Sutra pose wasn’t something she would soon forget. Hannah stared at her incredulously for a few seconds.

  Kate, being Kate, stared right back, waiting for a response.

  “Yes,” Hannah said, laughing. “I remember Teddy, particularly his backside.”

  “At least it was a well-toned backside,” Kate said with a shrug. “Not like the memories of flabby backsides you cursed me with.”

  “You’ve never walked in on me having sex.”

  “I just didn’t squeal like a little girl and slam the door when I did. It’s called tact.”

  Hannah bit back a loud laugh, but the tiniest of giggles still escaped. “Yes, because tact is your specialty.”

  “Anyway...” The ghost of a smile played across her face. “I ran into Teddy at yoga class. I avoided him for years and two weeks ago—poof—there he is, ass firmer than ever.”

  “Oh no.” Hannah knew exactly where this was going. It was completely Kate. Teddy had smiled, flirted a little, and showed off his impressive flexibility. “You slept with him.”

  “He goes by Theo now, right? All I think of when I say ‘Theo’ is that guy from the Divergent movies, and he’s just gorgeous. I mean, ten seconds into our escapade, and I’m all hot and bothered. He’s kissing me, and I’m picturing hot Divergent guy whispering dirty nothings in my ear—”

  “I get the picture.” Hannah turned off the television. “So what’s the problem?”

  Kate focused on her wine. “He has a wife, Hannah.”

  Hannah’s stomach roiled, the two slices of pizza she’d eaten sitting heavy in her gut. Kate wouldn’t do that to another woman—not on purpose.

  “How did you—” Hannah held up her hand. “Actually, hold on.” With a last look at her friend, she went to the kitchen. Riesling wasn’t going to cut it. This conversation required a strong red. After pouring two glasses of the best—and only—red she had, she returned to the living room, reclaiming her spot at Kate’s side. “How did you find out?”

  Kate took a giant swig. “He was only in town for a few weeks, which I knew. We were talking after his final class, and he just nonchalantly mentions that he’s excited to get back home to his wife, who is due in a few weeks. Of course, I started freaking out, but he just stared back at me calmly before explaining that his wife understood he had to ‘share his love.’”

  “Jesus. What exactly has he been smoking lately?” Hannah asked, putting her arm around Kate.

  “You’re the one from backwoods Jersey, so you tell me.” Kate smiled half-heartedly at her own joke.

  Hannah took Kate’s hand. “Well, there is a story about some teenagers and the poppy fields behind the high school.”

  Kate rested her head on Hannah’s shoulder. “So yeah, I’m a home-wrecker.”

  Hannah stroked Kate’s curls, pulling her fingers through the ever-tangled strands. “I don’t think you can be a home-wrecker if his wife is aware of his penchant for sleeping with other women.”

  “Pregnant wife.”

  Hann
ah sighed, tightening her grip on her best friend. There was no easy answer to this situation—a man supposedly allowed to cheat on his wife. Was it even still cheating? Maybe not to Teddy. The growing wet spot on Hannah’s shoulder proved it meant something to Kate.

  HANNAH TURNED THE DEAD bolt. Kate only lived two blocks away, but Hannah always asked for a safe-arrival text. She glanced at her phone, though Kate was probably still in the lobby chatting up the doorman. Kate loved older gentlemen with character, and Ronny was a character. He knew all the residents and had taken a shine to Kate when she’d stayed over for a few weeks between apartments—and boyfriends. Hannah plopped down on the couch, wishing she had cable and could channel surf. But cable had been one of the first things to go when her rent went up last year.

  The apartment had been her home for the last four years. With a little help from her parents, she’d been able to get a small, one-bedroom unit instead of a studio—a decision that she couldn’t regret, even though it had cost her a dishwasher. She loved having a bedroom with a door instead of everything being in one open space. Not that paying the rent and keeping herself and Binx fed had always been easy. Journalists, especially ones working for small alternative music magazines, didn’t exactly make enough money to support a New York City lifestyle. But Hannah had made it work, first by leaning on her parents too heavily and then by working too many hours at Starbucks. Now, she embraced the art of budgeting and forced herself to take an honest look at how she spent her money. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it.

  Hannah picked up her untouched red wine. She swirled it around the glass, watching as it caught the rim and dripped down the sides. Wasn’t there something about the quality of the wine and if it left marks?

  “Happy birthday, Hannah,” she said, toasting the air. Thirty. Fuck. On the outside, her life looked, if not perfect, certainly close to it—dream job, Manhattan-adjacent, long-term boyfriend, her own place. But something had felt off for a while. She could pinpoint her ennui to her sister’s wedding. Stephanie and Charlotte had met in London in a whirlwind romance. They had married within a year. Stephanie, who was all of twenty-six, had a house in the suburbs, a wife, stepkids, and a chocolate lab. Hannah had six hundred fifty square feet, her cat, and Brian, who couldn’t even be bothered to call on her thirtieth birthday.