Birthday Girl

by Penelope Douglas

  He looks over at me, almost like he’s nervous of my reaction.

  “What is this?” I ask.

  He glances at it behind him and back to me again. “It’s a garden,” he answers. “I was hoping you’d want to help with it or something.”

  I’m speechless. My heart is beating so hard, and the sun feels so hot. How did…? But then I remember. He knows I love landscaping. He knows I read all those magazines. He knows what I like.

  An ache hits my heart. He did this all in one day?

  But I’m not melting for him. I harden my voice. “Since when did you want a garden?”

  He approaches me, and I cross my arms over my chest, steeling my armor.

  “Jordan, I was an asshole,” he says. “I jumped to a conclusion, because I had it bad, and I’m old and jaded. I expect gutter behavior from everyone.” He pauses and frowns. “But it was me with the gutter behavior. You’re different, and I really fucked up. It won’t happen again. I can’t believe I said those things.”

  He’s turning blurry, and I can’t stop the tears from welling despite how hard I’m clenching my teeth.

  “I want you to stay,” he goes on. “I like having you here. It’s nice coming home and having life in the house. Having people to talk to. It’s nice having help, and…” His jaw flexes, looking angry. “And you shouldn’t have been sleeping on a fucking pool table. You’ll stay as long as you need, do you understand? I don’t want you to leave.”

  My chin trembles, and I can’t help it. The tears spill over, and I drop my head to hide it.

  “Please don’t cry again,” he begs, “or I’ll have to take out the pool and build you a gazebo or some shit.”

  I break into a laugh, sniffling and wiping my eyes. “No, don’t take out the pool. I like the pool.”

  Wandering over to the new garden, I take in how big it is and how much work it must’ve taken. It doesn’t make his behavior okay, but it does help knowing that he worked his ass off on something that he thought would make me happy. No one has ever done something like this for me.

  I mean, my sister has bought me clothes and taken me out, but Pike did something he knew I would love. Something that’s very much me.

  “This is amazing,” I tell him, meaning it. “But I really think it’s best if just I go.”

  “This is your house,” he tells me. “You belong here for as long as you want. You and Cole can invite your friends over, play your music, light your candles—”

  “Toilet seat covers?” I tease.

  “Fuck, no.”

  We exchange a chuckle, and I gaze back at the soil. We can fit so many vegetables in here.

  “I bought a bunch of seeds,” he says, grabbing a bag and sifting through handfuls. “But I’m not sure how everything gets planted or how much space to allot for each vegetable, so I thought you might want to plan it out?”

  I meet his eyes, and we hold the look for a moment. I think maybe he wants me around even more than he’s letting on. Like maybe I’m a buffer between him and Cole, and like he said, he’s enjoying having people in the house.

  He hands me the bags of seeds and slowly takes the suitcase from my hand. “I’ll put this in the garage,” he says. “I’m going to go get a shower. Maybe we can get started planting in the morning?”

  His eyes seem to search mine, and my breath catches for a moment at his gaze.

  I finally nod, turning away.

  He walks toward the house again and then I hear his voice from behind me. “And if we need more supplies, just let me know. I have to hit Home Depot tomorrow anyway.”

  “’Kay,” I whisper.

  And then I look at him over my shoulder. “And you’re not old, you know?” I call out.

  He looks at me, amusement in his eyes. “Old enough to have gotten set in my views. And that was wrong of me.”

  “Thanks.”

  The muscles in his arm flex as he holds my suitcase, and I can’t help but stare at the tattoos running down the length. They look slightly faded, like he got them when he was a teen.

  What was he like at Cole’s age? It’s hard to picture him as a…. Well, a guy, I guess. He’s so serious. To a fault, almost.

  But he’s sincere.

  “The next time you need a ride—or anything,” he tells me, “promise you’ll call?”

  I nod again and turn back to my seeds, excited for the summer ahead.

  Pike

  “Two,” I tell Dutch and toss the cards I don’t want back at him.

  Shifting his eyes from his own cards, he pushes two more over to me, and I fit them into my palm and examine the new hand. It’s shit, but I do have two sevens, so it’s not a complete loss.

  Not that I care. I’m not a competitive man—at least not when it comes to poker—but hosting these get-togethers once a month at my house gives us something to do while we talk. I dart my gaze up to Dutch and then flash my eyes around the table, seeing Todd, one of my foremen, as well as Eddie, John, and Schuster either exchanging or rearranging cards. Everyone puts a few bucks in the middle, and Todd raises us by three more. Everyone takes the bluff…hoping it is a bluff.

  “I am not excited about my girls growing up, I’ll tell you that,” Dutch says, flashing me an amused look.

  “Why?”

  He just shakes his head, sighing. “That noise would drive me nuts. For now, all I have to endure is the occasional sleepover with a gang of giggling eight year olds.”

  I chuckle under my breath, the pounding from upstairs starting to feel like walls caving in. I wince. It’s only about nine-thirty. If it’s still this loud in an hour, I’ll tell Cole to turn the music down or the neighborhood will be on my ass. It wasn’t supposed to be a party, but I’d encouraged him and Jordan to have some friends over, so it’s my own fault, I guess.

  “It wasn’t so long ago we liked quite a lot of noise,” I mention, tossing him a grin.

  The guys laugh, mumbling their agreement. We’d all graduated together, and it was a happy turn of events that a few of us now work together, although John and Schuster don’t, being a cop and a roofer, respectively.

  It hadn’t been long since we were a lot like Cole—making messes and having too much fun in our mistakes. I was the first to get thrust into adulthood, but we still kept close over the years. Marriages, kids, a divorce—we’d all been through the ringer, and it was a wake-up call one day when I realized I’d been waiting for my life to start—my real life—only to realize that it had already happened when I wasn’t paying attention.

  That train I was waiting to catch raced by me without stopping. There probably wouldn’t be a wife, and I would never know what it would be like to have my kids grow up seeing me every day. At this point, I’m too used to being on my own that I’m like an only child.

  And an only-child doesn’t know how to share his things.

  Todd raises another dollar, and I’m out, followed by Lin, Dutch, and Eddie. Todd collects the pot, and Dutch shuffles all the cards, dealing again.

  The muffled music from upstairs all of a sudden blares louder and clearer, and I hear footfalls on the stairs followed by a slammed door. Bare feet appear on the stairwell, the legs coming more into view the lower they descend.

  Jordan bends down, peeking under the basement ceiling at us. “Hey, do you mind if I grab the Otter Pops out of the freezer?”

  Everyone glances up at her, turning their heads, and I gesture, barely sparing a glance from my cards. “Yeah, go ahead,” I reply quickly.

  Liquid heat runs down my arms, and I stare at my hand, struggling to concentrate, because she’s all I’m aware of now.

  She hurries down the rest of the stairs, her footsteps light and quick like she’s trying not to be seen or heard as she dashes over to the wall to my right and lifts the lid of the big freezer.

  The room has grown quiet, and I’m not sure if the guys are afraid to talk normally, because there’s a woman in the room or if they’re distracted. I stare at my cards and search my
brain. What were we talking about a minute ago?

  Oh, kids. Right.

  I hear things being moved in the freezer and glance over, my gaze immediately falling to her feet. She’s on her tiptoes and bent over, holding the lid up with one hand as she digs in the huge container. She seems to be aware of her shorts and that she’s bending over in front of a table of guys, because she keeps straightening every few seconds and pulling her shorts down as much as she can.

  Her toes are painted a soft pink, and I can tell she’s wearing a bikini top under the gray T-shirt. The strings are visible tied behind her neck, and I can see more of it through the sides of her sleeveless T-shirt which are cut out, showing off the curvy, sun-kissed skin of her waist. The muscles flex in her thighs, and my stomach swoops up and around.

  I start to glance back at my cards, but I catch her pushing her hair behind her ears, and that’s when I notice the little holes in the T-shirt. Up on the shoulder, by the seam.

  Is that…?

  “Isn’t that your shirt?” Dutch leans in, whispering.

  I squint at it a little, and then I notice my baseball number in faded, chipped green peek out from behind her hair. I knew I recognized those holes.

  I look away. I must’ve left it on the furniture the other day, and she picked it up, thinking it was Cole’s maybe? He was in baseball, too, I guess.

  And she cut out the sides of it? I kind of want to be angry at the loss. I’ve had that shirt since high school, but…

  It was too shabby to wear in public anymore, anyway. And she looks better in it than I ever did. I glance at her again, seeing the shirt drape over her smooth, sun-kissed skin, and a subtle wave of pleasure creeps in that she’s wearing something of mine on her.

  I shift in my chair, blinking at my cards to get past the stars in my vision.

  “Need a hand?” Eddie offers her.

  Flickering my gaze to Jordan, I see her bend over into the freezer, and I furrow my brow.

  But Todd comments, a sly humor filling his tone. “Oh, leave her alone. She’s doing just fine on her own.”

  The guys chuckle, unmistakably enjoying the view, and Jordan swings back upright, hefting the box of Otter Pops into the crook of her arm. She arches an eyebrow at Todd while letting the lid slam shut.

  I brace myself for her smart mouth, but instead, she saunters to the table and looks over his shoulder and down at his hand. “Oh, look at that,” she says, her eyes lighting up and her voice chipper. “You have all the kings in the deck. What luck, huh?”

  Dutch snorts, and I can’t help but shake with laughter as everyone joins in the amusement. Everyone except Todd, who throws down his cards, giving up his hand now.

  She fixes a self-satisfied smile on her face and makes for the stairs again. I’m half-tempted to tell her to make sure no one gets those popsicles in the pool, but I’m trying not to micro-manage her and Cole like they’re kids.

  “Oh, hey, can I ask you a question?” she says, stopping half-way up the stairs.

  I meet her eyes.

  “There’s a little cake in the refrigerator,” she goes on. “Cole’s begging to eat it, but I didn’t buy it and wasn’t sure where it came from. Just wanted to check with you before he digs in.”

  Fuck. I keep my face straight despite my aggravation. I can feel the guys’ eyes on me.

  “Oh, uh, it’s a…” I mumble, shaking my head and pretending to study my cards again. “I, uh… I got it for you guys…today, at the store…for both of you.”

  She doesn’t say anything, and after a moment of completely, uncomfortable silence, I glance up. She cocks her head, looking confused.

  I toss three cards at Dutch for him to pass me three more, although I’m not sure which three I just discarded.

  She’s still looking at me. I can feel it.

  I rush out with more info, hoping she’ll say something and get out of here. “I was just passing Etienne’s and remembered you didn’t get any cake on your birthday,” I tell her, acting nonchalant, “or a chance to really celebrate. I just thought you guys might like it.” I grab three new cards off the stack when Dutch fails to pass me new ones. “I was passing by anyway. No big deal.”

  If it wasn’t a big deal, I wouldn’t have felt suddenly weird about it when I came home. It was stupid to get it in the first place. She’s not my kid.

  But for some reason, passing the window and spotting the three-layer cake with pink roses covering every inch, I thought of her. I guess I was just still trying to make up for acting like a dick the other day.

  And the other night she mentioned blowing out candles, making wishes…. She didn’t get to do that properly on her birthday—donuts don’t count—so I felt bad even though it wasn’t my fault. Buying it seemed like a good idea at the time.

  Bringing it home felt sentimental, though. Too sentimental. I stuck it in the fridge, hidden in the pink box, waiting to see if the mood struck me again before I just threw it out.

  “But yeah, it’s yours, so let him go for it,” I finally say, sparing her a quick glance before looking back down at my cards.

  “Weren’t you going to tell me it was there?”

  I shrug. “I forgot about it, I guess.”

  The lie doesn’t sound convincing, but her excited voice saves me from the heat of everyone’s eyes on me.

  “Well, in that case, then no,” she states firmly. “He can’t have any. It’s mine.”

  My heart warms, and I can’t help it. I look up slowly. She’s smiling at me as she ascends the rest of the stairs.

  “Thank you!” she calls, and then I hear the door open and the music flood in before it closes again.

  Pink. I bought her a fucking pink cake like she’s seven. With roses on it. Did she see the cake? Does it look like a little girl’s cake? Or worse, something romantic? They had cakes with balloons on them. They had plain cakes. Fuck, I’m an idiot. I didn’t even think.

  I throw down my cards, closing my eyes, and running my hand through my hair.

  “Just a minute, guys,” I say, pushing back my chair and moving around the table, toward the stairs.

  A few snickers and chuckles explode behind me as I leave the basement and run after the kid.

  You know, it wasn’t long ago I could think clearly. I wasn’t constantly doubting every move I made and listing every possible outcome for a single action and how Jordan would respond to it. I haven’t been this confused about anything in a long time.

  Pushing through the door at the top of the stairs, I hear the blare of I Love Rock ‘n Roll coming from the backyard and the splash of someone jumping into the pool. I’d tasked Jordan with collecting keys for anyone drinking, but if the neighbors decide to call the cops because of the noise, my safety measure to keep kids from drunk driving wouldn’t save me from the illegality of letting minors drink here in the first place.

  Although I have a cop downstairs, so I’m guessing the odds are on my side.

  I enter the kitchen, catching glimpses of the party-goers outside, and see Jordan by the refrigerator, pulling out the pink box with the cake.

  She turns around and sets it on the island, looking up and meeting my eyes. “I’m not going to eat it yet,” she says. “Otherwise I’ll have to share it. I just want to see it.”

  Apprehension creeps in as she lifts the lid, and there’s an apology on my lips even as I see her break into an excited smile.

  I walk to the fridge and get a soda I pretend I came up here for. “Sorry if it’s childish,” I tell her. “Not sure what I was thinking.”

  She crosses her arms and folds her smile between her teeth, like she’s trying to contain herself, but it’s not working. I can see the blush on her cheeks in the dark kitchen and the way her breath is trembling.

  She turns her head toward me. “I don’t think I’ve ever had a cake this pretty,” she says. “Thank you for thinking of me. It’s a nice surprise.”

  She looks back at the cake, a whimsical look in her eyes.

&n
bsp; Great. Now I feel worse. She looks like this is the nicest thing someone has ever done for her, and wouldn’t that be fucking sad?

  It kind of is a pretty cake, though. The frosting is designed into roses and starts off at the bottom in white and slowly grows pinker by row as it moves toward the top where it’s finally evolved into a dark hot pink.

  See, it wasn’t stupid. I knew she liked pink.

  “It’s pink on the inside, too,” I tell her. “Pink cake, I mean.”

  Her smile grows bigger.

  And it’s not made for kids, now that I remember. The cake is made with champagne, the sales lady said.

  Ok, I did good. My head finally evolves into the perspective I had when I bought it, and I feel less tortured.

  She dips her finger into a rose and brings it to her mouth, sucking off the sugar. My gaze freezes, watching the way her lips purse and her tongue dips out to lick the tiny bit of frosting left off the tip.

  I groan inwardly, unable to stop myself from wondering how warm her mouth is.

  I clear my throat. “Uh, I completely forgot candles,” I admit, moving for the drawer behind me, “but I know you have to do this, so...”

  I pick out a box of matchsticks next to the pot holders and light one, going to stick it in the center of the cake, but I stop. “Should we call Cole inside?”

  She glances out the window and then waves me off. I stick the matchstick into the cake.

  I watch as she closes her eyes, exhales a breath and relaxes her shoulders, and then slowly, a small smile curves her lips. Instinctively, I smile, too, like I don’t know what she’s thinking, but I think I know what she’s feeling in that moment.

  She blows out the matchstick and opens her eyes, the stream of white smoke billowing in front of her face.

  I stay by her side for a moment, not wanting to budge.

  Someone should be holding her right now. Someone should be coming to stand in front of her, putting both his hands on the counter at her sides, and feeling her breath against his face.

  I breathe a little faster, imagining what she tastes like.

  And then I reach for the soda can I’d set on the counter and fist it until the aluminum crackles.