The Birthday List

by Devney Perry

  My hand dove into my pocket for my phone. “Shit,” I muttered when it came out empty.

  I didn’t have my phone. It was dead somewhere in my house.

  Cursing myself for getting so drunk last night, I raced back toward my house, mentally drafting my apology speech once I got my phone charged.

  I pulled up to my house, hitting the remote for the garage, but did a double take when I noticed the porch.

  Two white rocking chairs—chairs Poppy had sworn she was going to buy after moving in—were placed perfectly in front of the railing.

  She’d been here? I scanned the street, looking for her car, but it wasn’t here. Which meant we’d crossed paths. While I’d been searching for her, she’d been here. But why had she left?

  Not wasting time by parking in the garage, I left my truck in the driveway and hustled across the snow-covered yard, taking the porch steps two at a time. But the moment my foot landed at the top, I froze.

  Leaned against the front door were two books. One I’d never seen before. One I had. It was Jamie Maysen’s journal for his birthday list. And on top of both books was a letter with my name curled in Poppy’s fancy handwriting.

  I picked up both books and the letter, not bothering to go inside and get out of the cold, then sat in one of the rocking chairs and started with the letter.

  Cole,

  Exactly one year ago, I decided to finish Jamie’s birthday list. I was standing in the kitchen at my house and taking a selfie. That’s how this all started. One selfie of me crying in front of a chocolate birthday cake.

  I wish I could go back to that day, not to erase this last year, but to tell myself to hold on. To tell myself to keep breathing, because pretty soon, someone special would come into my life and make it easier. I’d tell myself not to cry, because he’d be there to help me finish the birthday list. He’d hold my hand when I needed to borrow some strength. He’d let me cry into his shirt when I couldn’t hold back the tears. He’d make it easy to fall in love again.

  Because I do. I love you, Cole. I can prove it too. Do me a favor. Put this letter down and look at the big book. And don’t just flip through it. Really stop and look.

  I set down the letter and opened the large book. Except it wasn’t a book—it was a photo album. Poppy had printed out all of her daily pictures and made me this book.

  My heart twisted as I stared at the first page. Seeing her first picture hurt. Just as she’d described in the letter, there was Poppy—beautiful, but miserable—standing next to a cake filled with burning candles.

  The pages that followed weren’t a lot better. Her blue eyes were dull and her smiles were forced. She looked like a ghost of my Poppy.

  I kept flipping, hating every one of these pictures, until I got about halfway through the book and the pain in my chest started to ease. The halfway point was when the photos started to include the restaurant. Poppy’s smiles actually reached her eyes, and a handful of pages later, I found the photo I’d taken of her the day we’d walked in the park. The day she’d joked about having a big nose.

  From there, the photos were all ones I recognized, since I’d taken most of them. I thumbed through the rest of the book quickly, wanting to get back to Poppy’s letter, but I stopped on the last page.

  Unlike the middle of the book, this page wasn’t a collage, but just one photo. It was a simple picture, entirely of Poppy’s face. Her eyes were bright, like they were whenever I made her laugh. Her smile was wide, like it was whenever I told her that I loved her.

  Her happiness radiated off the page, and I soaked it up for a few moments before going back to the letter.

  Did you see it?

  I nodded.

  You did that, Cole. You. You and all of these crazy coincidences that brought us together. Now do one more thing for me. Flip through Jamie’s birthday list.

  I set down the letter again and opened the leather journal. I went through it quickly since not much had changed from the first time Poppy had shown me this list. The only difference was that she’d added marks to the items she’d completed.

  All of them were marked, except one.

  50th Birthday: Change someone’s life

  Why hadn’t she marked that one done? She’d changed many lives. Tuesday Hastings’s. Jimmy’s. Randall’s. Molly’s. Finn’s.

  Mine.

  So why would she leave that box empty?

  Confused, I went back to the letter.

  I’m not checking the last box, because I don’t have to. Jamie finished that one himself. He changed my life. And he changed yours. His birthday list changed us both. I started his list, hoping I’d find closure. Hoping I’d be able to let go of the past and start to live for the future. But I was wrong. Finishing the list didn’t give me a future.

  You did.

  Read these words until you believe them. Nothing you did caused Jamie’s death. Nothing you did could have prevented it. I know it to the very bottom of my soul. Just like I know now that I’m not to blame either. And just like I know that life is too short to waste.

  Love,

  Poppy

  The minute I read the last line, a car door slammed shut, bringing me back to reality. Poppy’s car was parked on the street and she was opening up the trunk.

  The dull throb in my head vanished and the ache in my chest disappeared with just one look at her beautiful face. If I was her future, then she was mine.

  She ducked into the trunk, lifted out a box, then shoved the trunk closed with her elbow before coming up the sidewalk. Her nose and cheeks were pink from the cold and her breath trailed behind her in tiny, white clouds as she stepped up to the porch.

  I set aside the letter and the books, then stood from the rocking chair to take the box from her hands, putting them down by my feet. “Hi.”

  “Hi. Did you get my letter? I probably should have left it inside, but you weren’t here and I thought you’d see it with the chairs.”

  I nodded. “I did.”

  “Good. I wanted you to have some time to read it alone.” She stepped past me, walking the length of the porch and inspecting her rocking chairs before coming back to lean on a post and look out into the yard. “I’m sorry it took me so long to come over. I tried to call you last night, but I got your voicemail.”

  “My phone died.”

  “I figured. I also figured you wouldn’t turn me away if I just showed up.” She grinned over her shoulder. “I’d actually planned to be here earlier this morning, but I wanted to have the photo album done first and putting it together took longer than I’d thought with everything else going on. Then your dad came by. It’s been a hectic three days.”

  I didn’t doubt that. If her house had sold, she’d been packing on top of everything else.

  “It’s okay.” I crossed the space between us, standing by the post but facing her instead of the street. My hands were itching to touch her, to pull her into my arms and hold her tight, but I didn’t want to press, so I stuffed them into my jeans. The second she gave me any kind of opening, they’d be ready.

  “I’m sorry, Cole. I’m sorry that I asked you to leave the other night. I just needed some time to process everything. Maybe some time to finally forgive myself and realize you were right. I’m not to blame for Jamie’s death and neither are you. Can you understand that?”

  I leaned into the post, breathing easy for the first time in days. “I get it, and there’s no need to apologize. I’m just glad you’re here.”

  She smiled. “Me too.”

  “How are you doing today?” Jamie’s birthday had to be taking its toll.

  She pushed away from the post and stepped in front of me, then wrapped her arms around my waist as she shuffled close. “I’m better now.”

  My hands abandoned my pockets and tucked her into my chest. The second she was in my arms, three awful days just disappeared. This. This is what I’d been needing for the past three days. Not bourbon or time alone or even words of wisdom from my dad. What I ne
eded would always be Poppy.

  I considered myself a strong man, but this tiny woman in my arms had me beat every time. Three days after I’d rocked her world, and here she was, bringing peace and love back into my life.

  “I love you, Poppy.”

  She gave me more of her weight. “I love you, Cole.”

  We stood on the porch, holding each other and letting the silence say the rest. I don’t know how much time passed with Poppy’s cheek pressed against my heart. But I did know that we were going to be fine. That we would have our future.

  “Do you know what I like best about New Year’s Day?” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “Everyone gets a new beginning.”

  I smiled and pressed a kiss to her hair. Behind me, a set of brakes squeaked to a slow stop on the street. Finn was parking a U-Haul behind Poppy’s car with Nazboo at his side.

  “New beginnings?”

  She nodded. “I think we deserve a new beginning, don’t you? Only this time, let’s start from a different porch.”

  Five years later . . .

  “What the hell is this?” Randall glared at the plate in front of him.

  “That would be a birthday cake. You know, for birthday parties. You’re at a birthday party. We just sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to my son.”

  “Smart-ass.” He sneered. “Why’s it on a plate?”

  “Because eating off the floor is unsanitary.”

  At his side, Jimmy laughed as Randall’s face turned a darker shade of red. “But we’re at the restaurant.”

  “Yes, I’m aware. I’ve been here all afternoon to decorate the room and make the birthday cake.”

  Molly and I had closed The Maysen Jar tonight for a private family function. All of my family and friends were here, enjoying pizza and beer and cake as we celebrated my son’s first birthday.

  Everyone I loved was here for the party. Adults were smiling. Kids were laughing. Everyone was having fun.

  Everyone, except Randall.

  “I come here,” Randall stabbed his finger on the counter, “to sit on this stool and eat food from your jars. It’s been that way for almost six years. I could stay at The Rainbow if I wanted to eat from a plate.”

  I blinked at him, dumbfounded. “So you’re mad because I didn’t make Brady’s birthday cake in jars? You know that’s ridiculous, right?”

  He grumbled something and stabbed his fork into the cake. “For every one of MacKenna’s birthdays, you made desserts in jars. How was I supposed to know you’d change for Brady? I don’t like surprises.”

  Jimmy had been trying to hold back his laughter, but as Randall shoved a huge bite of cake in his mouth, he burst out howling at his best friend. “You old grump. You don’t like anything. Shut up and eat your damn cake.” He winked at me before diving into his own cake and ice cream.

  “Are you going to join the party?” I tilted my head toward the tables I’d pushed together for the party. “Or are you going to stay at the counter and be antisocial?”

  “Antisocial,” Randall muttered before taking another enormous bite.

  Jimmy just shrugged. “This is my seat.”

  “Fine.” I got them each a glass of water before leaving them alone to join the party.

  It didn’t surprise me that they were in their stools. Jimmy and Randall, sitting in the same spots as they had nearly every day since I’d opened The Maysen Jar, had become fixtures in the restaurant. They were as much a part of this place as the brick walls or wood floors.

  Last year, when I’d won an award for Bozeman’s best restaurant, the newspaper reporter had spent more time interviewing those two than he had me or Molly. They’d practically become famous after that. There wasn’t a day that went by anymore where the counter wasn’t full of their friends from The Rainbow.

  But no one ever dared sit in their stools.

  There had only been one incident when a poor, unsuspecting fool had tried to take Randall’s seat. He’d chased away the “stool thief” with a tongue-lashing and some wild swinging of his cane. Thankfully, no one had gotten hurt, but ever since, Molly and I had marked those stools as reserved to avoid the risk of assault.

  And if they wanted to sit in their seats, far be it from me to insist they move.

  I crossed the restaurant with my eyes locked on a little girl bouncing off her seat to race my way.

  “Mommy!” MacKenna’s chin and cheeks were covered in blue frosting. Her green eyes, the ones she’d inherited from Cole, were darting back and forth between me and the present table. “Time for pwesents?”

  I smiled and stroked her brown curls. “Not quite yet. Let’s give everyone a chance to finish eating their cake.”

  Her three-year-old face formed a scowl. “But I eat mine alweady.”

  “MacKenna Lou,” Mia called from the table. “Come sit by me and you can have more cake.”

  The scowl disappeared from my beautiful daughter’s face as she raced to her grandmother’s side.

  Mia was MacKenna’s favorite person on the planet other than her baby brother. Cole came in a close third with me trailing a distant fourth. But I loved that my daughter had such a close relationship with her nana.

  Really, she was close with all her grandparents.

  Just as he’d planned, Brad had retired as chief of police a few years ago. He and Mia spent some time traveling, but for the most part, they were wholly dedicated to their grandchildren. Evie and Zack’s triplets—three rambunctious boys—had just turned five. MacKenna was three.

  And today, Brady James Goodman was one.

  Just like his sister, Brady loved his grandparents, but while Mia and MacKenna had a special connection, Brady was more attached to my mom.

  I walked around the table and took the free chair between my parents. Brady, who’d been sitting on my mom’s lap and sharing her cake, lunged for me the moment I sat down.

  “Hi, baby.” I kissed his cheek. “Did you like the cake?”

  His answer was to stick his fingers in his mouth and suck off the frosting.

  Like MacKenna’s, Brady’s hair was brown like Cole’s, but while MacKenna had gotten Cole’s green eyes, Brady’s were completely unique. They were blue, like mine, but a brighter shade with small green flecks around the middle.

  “How is it?” I asked Mom as I picked up my own fork.

  She swallowed her bite of cake. “So. Good. I love the almond flavor you added. You’ve inspired me to do some experimenting.”

  “Like what?” I took a bite of my own piece of cake. With a mental pat on the back for one hell of a good cake, I kept eating as Mom and I chatted about new recipe ideas. Something we did a lot these days.

  My parents had moved to Bozeman from Alaska last fall. Sadly, all of my grandparents had passed within the last four years, and since my parents no longer had family in Anchorage, they’d retired and moved here to be closer to their grandchildren. Dad had gotten a part-time job at the private airfield—mostly so he had an excuse to leave the house—and Mom came into the restaurant most days to help me cook.

  I loved that they were closer. Everyone did. Kali and Max had been overjoyed when they’d moved here, and my kids wouldn’t remember a time when they didn’t have four grandparents at their beck and call.

  Like Finn and I when we’d been kids.

  “Where did your brother disappear to?” Dad stood to clear his plate.

  “He and Cole went to buy more beer. When they get back, we’ll open presents.”

  Dad smiled and patted my shoulder. “Everything was delicious. Don’t tell your mother,” he leaned down but didn’t even try to whisper as he grinned at Mom, “but I think you’ve surpassed her.”

  Mom just laughed. “I know she has.”

  “I ate too much.” Molly slid past Dad and into his empty seat, collapsing and rubbing her stomach. “But it was so good. We need to add that cake to the menu.”

  “Or maybe we should make a cake every week, just for the staff to share.�
�

  “Yes!” Molly cheered. “They’ll love that.”

  Mom, Molly and I visited for a while until the cake was demolished and the kids were chasing each other around the tables. So while everyone was enjoying the conversation, I left Brady under the watchful eye of his grandparents and snuck away to my office.

  I flicked on the light and pulled out my phone, swiping to find the right picture. Then, using the special printer that Cole had gotten me last year for Christmas, I hit print.

  A few moments later, I was smiling at the picture in my hands.

  Brady was sitting on Cole’s lap. MacKenna was on mine. In front of us was the birthday cake I’d made with a single lit candle in the middle. Brady was staring at the flame with wide eyes while MacKenna leaned over the table, her mouth in a perfect O as she prepared to blow it out for her brother.

  I stared at the picture for another second, then went to the desk, getting out a pushpin for my wall.

  My wall of memories.

  After I’d finished Jamie’s birthday list, I’d contemplated starting one of my own. But plotting the future had been Jamie’s thing, not mine. So I dismissed the idea and settled on something else.

  I’d covered one entire office wall with corkboard to pin up special pictures.

  I didn’t have a list of things I wanted to do in my life. I had a wall of memories of the things I’d already done.

  I had pictures of Nazboo chasing my kids in our yard. Of Cole as he fixed up cars in our garage. Of board game nights with Finn and his girlfriend. Of Molly and her kids carving pumpkins for my porch.

  My wall was full of memories I wanted to keep close, and tonight, I’d add one from Brady’s first birthday.

  I stepped up to the wall, searching for just the right spot.

  There was a small space open next to the picture from the day Cole had proposed. He’d taken me to Glacier and gotten down on one knee in front of Lake McDonald. After I’d said yes and we’d kissed, he’d taken a selfie for my wall, making sure to capture the solitaire diamond shining brightly on my hand.