Birthday Girl

by Penelope Douglas

  Not this again. When is she going to give it up?

  “I can’t, okay?” I tell her. “I don’t want to. I like my job, and I don’t to work where you work.”

  “Of course, you don’t.” She gives me a bored look. “It’s beneath you, right?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  I don’t think less of my sister because of her job. She feeds and clothes her kid. She swallowed her pride and did what she had to do, and I love her for it. But—and I would never say this to her face—it’s not a career she would’ve picked for herself if she’d had other choices.

  And I’m not out of choices yet.

  Cam has been dancing at The Hook since she was eighteen. At first, it was just a temporary job to get through her boyfriend leaving her and to support their son. But juggling college and her child became too much, and eventually, she quit school. It was the plan to get back on track once Killian started kindergarten, but that’ll be soon, and I don’t think she has immediate plans to quit anytime soon. She’s gotten used to the money.

  And nearly a year ago, her boss offered me a job bartending there, and she’s been on my ass to take it ever since. I could make more than enough to support myself, after all, and maybe not have to take out so many student loans, either. A few years and that’s it, she’d said. I’d be out.

  But I know bartending is just the job her boss gets girls to take while he works them over to get them to start dancing on stage.

  And I’m not doing that. I’m not watching my sister do that every night, either.

  My body is private. It’s personal to me and whom I want to show it to. I’ll stay at Grounders, thank you.

  “I’m fine where I am,” I tell her. “I got this.”

  She sighs. “Alright,” she says, giving up for now. “Just be prepared if this doesn’t work out, okay?”

  This, meaning Cole and me living in his father’s house.

  I move around her to pull some lemonade out of the fridge and suddenly hear the low rumble of an engine growing closer. I stop, peering toward the window, and see the corner of a black truck pull into the driveway. The same ’71 Chevy Cheyenne I rode in after the movie the other night to get Cole at the police station.

  My heart thumps in my chest, but I ignore it and quickly close the fridge.

  “His father’s home,” I tell her, grabbing her purse on the counter and shoving it at her. “You need to go.”

  “Why?”

  “Because this isn’t my house,” I bite out, pushing her toward the laundry room and the back door. “At least let me wait a week before I impose on his space with all my friends.”

  “I’m your sister.”

  I hear a car door slam.

  I keep pushing her out toward the back, but she’s digging in her heels. “And you better keep me posted,” she says. “I’m not letting you let some beer-bellied, middle-aged pervert who was only too happy to let a hot pair of teenage thighs move into his house start demanding a little extra from his new tenant.”

  “Shut up.” But I can’t help laughing a little.

  Yeah, he’s not beer-bellied, middle-aged, or a pervert. I don’t think, anyway.

  She turns around, jabbing me in the stomach playfully and lowering her voice to a deep, husky tone. “Come on, honey.” She squirms up to me, trying to wrap her arms around me seductively. “Time to work off your rent, baby.”

  “Shut up!” I whisper-yell, laughing and trying to nudge her out of the kitchen. “God, you’re embarrassing. Get out!”

  “Don’t be scared,” she continues, pretending she’s some creepy old guy as she slobbers up her lips and tries to get a kiss from me. “Little girls take care of their daddies.”

  And she mock thrusts into me, jutting out what beer belly she can muster with her twenty-two-inch waist.

  “Stop it!” I plead, flaming with embarrassment.

  She paws me up and down my hips, smiling as I try to shove her out of the kitchen.

  But then she stops suddenly, her face falling and her eyes focused on something—or someone—behind me.

  I close my eyes for a moment. Great.

  Turning around, I see Cole’s father standing in the entryway between the living room and the kitchen, paused and staring at us. Heat rises up my neck at the sight of him again.

  I hear my sister suck in a breath, and I move away from her, clearing my throat. I don’t think he heard anything. At least, I hope not.

  His eyes dart between us and finally come to rest on me. His short hair is just a little messy, and I can see the sweat from his workday still dampening the sides, and the five-o’clock shadow coming in across his jaw. Black marks scuff his forearms, and the tendons in his tanned hands flex as he grips his tool belt and lunch container.

  He inhales a deep breath and moves forward, setting his things on the island. “All moved in?” he asks me, running a hand through his hair.

  I nod. “Yeah,” I blurt out. “I mean, yes.”

  My heart is doing that thing again where it feels like it’s riding on ocean waves inside my chest, and I can’t remember what I’m supposed to be doing. So I just nod again, blinking until my sister comes into view at my side and I finally remember what’s going on.

  “Pike. Mr. Lawson,” I correct myself, “Sorry. This is my sister, Cam.” I gesture to her. “And she was just leaving.”

  He glances over at her. “Hi.”

  And then to my surprise, his gaze moves back to me for a moment before he sees the mail on the counter and begins flipping through it like we’re not even here.

  I blink, slightly confused.

  Cam’s a carnival ride. She might be younger than him, but she’s certainly a woman, and most men let their eyes linger on her, her long legs, and the perky and expensive handfuls she has under that tank top. He doesn’t.

  “Yeah, nice to meet you,” she says back. “Thanks for taking her in.”

  He spares us a quick glance and half-smile before taking all the envelopes and stuffing them in a mail holder.

  Cam starts to walk out of the kitchen, and I follow her as she enters the laundry room.

  Once she’s out of his line-of-sight, she spins around, mouthing to me “Oh, my God” with a mischievous gleam in her wide eyes.

  I clench my jaw, jerking my chin to keep her moving. She’s going to be over here every other day flirting with him now.

  I hear Pike behind me, opening one of the ovens, and I turn around.

  “I was making dinner,” I tell him. “For the three of us. Is that okay?”

  He closes the oven, and I see a hint of relief on his face. “Yeah, that’s great, actually.” He sighs. “Thank you. I’m starving.”

  “It’ll just be fifteen more minutes.”

  He reaches into the refrigerator and pulls out a Corona, sticking the cap under an opener nailed under the island and pulls the top off, the cap dropping into the trash. “Enough time for a shower,” he replies, glancing down at us. “Excuse me.”

  And then he walks out of the kitchen, the bottle hanging from his fingers as he clears the entryway by only half a foot. I pause, it hitting me how tall he is again. This is a good size house, too, but it will be impossible to not notice him in a room.

  “Now I get it,” my sister whispers a taunt in my ear. “And here I was, worried you’d be suffering unwanted advances from a sweaty, old, fat fart.”

  “Shut up.” I close my eyes in exasperation.

  I hear the back door open and humor laces her voice as she teases, “You take care of your men now.”

  I whirl around to slam the door closed in her face, but she squeals, pulling it shut before I have a chance.

  “Oh, I don’t like onions.”

  I stop at Pike’s words and stare down at the barbeque sauce drizzled all over my onion ring-stacked masterpieces. They’re an Instagram post just waiting to happen. If I take off the beautiful, golden onions it’ll just be a Pinterest fail.

  “Try a bite?” I ventu
re, with a timid smile. “You’ll like this. I promise.”

  In my experience, men will eat what’s in front of them.

  He seems to think about it for a moment and then closes the fridge and meets my gaze. His expression softens. “Okay.”

  He probably feels like he owes me a bite, since I made dinner, so I’ll take it. Topping the burger, I hand him the plate, and he carries it over to a stool, taking a bite before he even sits down. I spare a glance over my shoulder. His jaw stops moving, and he blinks a few times, the muscles in his cheeks flexing. And then I hear a groan.

  I turn back around to the stove so he can’t see my smile.

  “That’s good, actually,” he says. “Really good.”

  I just nod, but I feel a small pinch of pride.

  “When you eat cheap growing up,” I tell him, “you find your own ways of adding a little gourmet to it.”

  He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds but follows with a quiet, “Yeah.”

  I’m not sure if that means he’s just listening attentively or agreeing with me. If he’s found out my last name, he must know who my father is. Everyone in town knows Chip Hadley, so he would have an idea of how we lived.

  I don’t know much about Cole’s family, though, or if they’ve always lived in this town. Pike Lawson isn’t wealthy, but he’s certainly not poor by the looks of his house.

  “It’s really good. I mean it,” he says again.

  “Thanks.” I turn around and place a plate on the island perpendicular to his seat for Cole and my own at the stool next to that one.

  We fall silent, and I wonder if he feels weird, too. We talked so easily the other night when we didn’t know who the other one was, but it’s changed now.

  I hear movement from the living room and glance around to see Cole coming into the kitchen. I smile. He has grease all over his shirt already and a streak under his lip. He can misbehave like it’s his job, but he can also flaunt some boyish charm like nobody’s business.

  He grabs the hamburger off his plate in one hand and tucks some dirty, rusted car part under his arm, tipping his chin at me. “Hey, babe. We’re working on your VW. You don’t mind if I eat outside, do you?”

  I stare at him.

  Is he serious? I shoot my eyes between him and his father. “Yes,” I reply quietly, trying to say more with my eyes. I don’t want to eat alone with his dad.

  “Come on.” Cole cocks his head, trying to work me with his playful expression. “I can’t just leave them out there. You could come and sit outside with us.”

  Gee, thanks. I purse my lips and turn back to the refrigerator, yanking out the pitcher of lemonade. It’s rude to just leave. His father’s not our meal ticket. I should make some effort to get to know him.

  But before I can tell Cole to just go and eat outside, his father speaks up. “Why don’t you sit down for ten minutes? I haven’t seen you in a while.”

  Relief hits me, and I’m thankful for the backup. I finally hear Cole release a breath and the legs of one of the island stools scrape across the tile as he takes a seat in front of his plate.

  I make sure the oven is off, grab my drink, and follow Cole’s father as he sits down, leaving the seat between him and Cole empty. I take it, reaching over the island and pulling my plate to me.

  “So, how’s work?” Mr. Lawson asks, and I assume he’s talking to Cole.

  Cole’s right hand finds my thigh as he uses his left to lift the burger to his mouth, and I glance at his father, seeing his eyes downcast and looking at Cole’s hand on me. His jaw flexes as he looks back up.

  “It’s work.” Cole shrugs. “It’s a lot easier now that the weather has warmed up, though.”

  Cole’s been doing road construction since we moved in together about nine months ago. He’s gone through a lot of jobs since I’ve known him, but this one has lasted.

  “Thinking any more about college?” his dad probes.

  But Cole just scoffs. “It took everything I had to finish high school. You know that.”

  I raise the lemonade to my lips and take a sip, my tight stomach and not wanting food at the moment. Cole’s father chews and sets his burger down, lifting his bottle next.

  “Time moves a lot faster than you think it will,” he replies quietly, almost to himself. “I almost joined the Navy when I found out…” But he trails off, finishing instead, “when I was eighteen.”

  But I think I know what he was going to say. When I found out I was going to be a dad. Pike Lawson doesn’t look old enough to be the father of a grown son, so he had to have been pretty young when Cole was born. No more than eighteen or nineteen himself. Which would put him at thirty-eight? Give or take?

  “I just couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that I was giving up seven years of my life,” he goes on. “But seven years came and went pretty fast. Securing a good future takes an investment and a commitment, Cole, but it’s worth it.”

  “Was it for you?” his son shoots back, tearing off a bite of burger, his hand lightly squeezing the inside of my thigh. It’s a subtle gesture I actually love despite the building tension in the room. It’s his way of letting me know he might be angry, but he’s not angry with me, and he hates that I’m probably uncomfortable right now.

  Cole’s father takes a drink from his bottle and calmly sets it back down, his tone now harder. “Well, I’ve had the money to bail you out of jail,” he points out. “Last time. And the time before that.”

  Cole’s hand tightens around my thigh, and my neck is so hot all of a sudden that I wish I had a hair tie. A thousand questions whirl around my head. Why don’t they get along? What happened? Cole’s dad seems okay, from what little I know about him, but Cole has erected a wall between them, and his dad has almost as short of a fuse as his son.

  Cheeseburger in hand, Cole shoves his plate away from him and pushes his chair back, standing up. “I’m eating outside,” he says, releasing my leg. “Come join us if you want, babe. And leave the dishes. I’ll do them in a bit.”

  I open my mouth to speak but stop myself, clenching my teeth instead. Well, this is going to be fun.

  Cole turns and walks out of the room, and moments later I hear the front door slam shut. Muffled voices carry in from outside, and a horn honks down the street, but it’s suddenly so quiet in the kitchen that I stop breathing. Hopefully Pike Lawson will forget I’m here.

  How the hell am I supposed to live here? I can’t take sides if they’re going to do this.

  But Pike speaks up, softening his voice. “It’s okay,” he says, and I see him turn his head toward me out of the corner of my eye. “You can join him if you want.”

  I turn my head, meet his eyes, and fix him with a close-lipped smile as I shrug. “It’s hot out,” I tell him.

  I’m already burning up with the tension in here.

  Besides, Cole’s friends aren’t my friends, and outside won’t be any better.

  “I’m sorry about that,” he says, picking up his burger again. “It won’t happen a lot. Cole’s good about avoiding anywhere I am.”

  I nod, not knowing what else to say. I have a gut feeling I won’t be here long anyway. I already feel like I’m on a tightrope.

  I force myself to eat, because this won’t taste this good as leftovers tomorrow. Music drifts in from outside, the rumble of a lawnmower sparks to life in the distance, and the scent of grass hits the back of my throat as it wafts through the open windows, the simple tan curtains of Pike’s house billowing in the breeze coming in. Chills spread down my arms.

  Summer.

  A phone rings, and I see Pike reach over and grab his cell off the counter. “Hey,” he says.

  A man’s voice grumbles on the other end, but I can’t hear what he’s saying.

  Pike gets up, carrying his plate to the sink with one hand and holding the phone with the other, and I steal glances while he’s distracted. Cam’s teasing about him keeps coming back to me, warming my cheeks, but it’s not like that.

&n
bsp; Pike’s kind of a mystery.

  I saw pictures of Cole in the living room—as a baby and as a kid—but other than that, the house doesn’t have a lot of his father in it. I know he’s a single guy, but there’s no coffee table books displaying his interests, no souvenirs from vacations, no pets, no art, no knickknacks, no magazines, no paraphernalia indicating his hobbies like sports, gaming, or music…. It’s a beautiful home, but it’s like a showcase house where a family doesn’t really live.

  “No, I need another digger and at least a hundred more bags of cement,” he tells the guy, tucking the phone between his shoulder and ear and pulling his sleeves up more as he turns on the water.

  I smile to myself. He’s doing the dishes. Without being asked? I heave a sigh and rise from my seat. I guess he normally does live alone, after all. Who else would do them?

  He chuckles at something the guy says and shakes his head as I scrape off my plate into the garbage.

  “Tell that idiot I know he’s not sick,” he says into the phone, “and if he doesn’t get off whomever he’s on by morning, I’ll come and get him myself. I want to stay ahead of schedule.”

  I come up beside him and quietly set my dishes down on the counter before putting the lemonade and condiments back in the fridge.

  “Yeah, yeah…” I hear him as he rinses off plates and puts them in the dishwasher. “Okay, I’ll see you in the morning.”

  He hangs up and puts the phone down, and I cast another quick glance at him. “Work?” I inquire.

  He nods, swishing water in a glass and dumping it out. “Always. We’re putting up an office building off twenty-two right before you reach the state park.” He looks at me. “No matter how much you plan and budget, there are always surprises that try to throw you off track, you know?”

  Highway 22. Same road I take to get out to classes at Doral. I must’ve passed his worksite lots of times.

  “Nothing ever goes according to plan,” I muse. “Even at my age, I know that by now.”

  He laughs, the corners of his mouth turning up in a grin as he looks over at me. “Exactly.”

  I suddenly falter, déjà vu hitting me. For a moment, I see the guy in the theater again.