by Shana Norris
I closed my eyes, letting out a long breath. The guilt surging through me told me that Aunt Lydia was right, but still, I was afraid about how he might react when he found out that I’d been lying.
“I’ll tell him,” I said. “I promise.”
Aunt Lydia nodded, satisfied. “He’s not a bad kid. He’s been through a lot, but he seems like a good person underneath the tough exterior.”
I smiled. “He is.”
She patted me on the shoulder and then kissed my forehead. “Tell him the truth then. He’ll understand.”
I promised again that I would, and Aunt Lydia left the room with a satisfied smile.
But I never promised when I would tell him.
Chapter Seventeen
I opened my eyes and found myself nose to nose with a white horse.
I blinked. No, not a horse. A unicorn. A very large, very white unicorn with a silver horn protruding from its head.
“Happy birthday!” the unicorn shouted, in Aunt Lydia’s voice.
Pushing my hair out of my face, I sat up and regarded the giant stuffed unicorn. “Please tell me you haven’t lost your mind,” I said.
Aunt Lydia put the unicorn down between us and huffed in frustration. “Have you forgotten?”
“Obviously,” I said as I rubbed sleep out of my eyes. A check of the clock told me it was ten minutes to eight.
“Every year on your birthday, you used to tell me you wished for a unicorn,” Aunt Lydia said. “You always made up stories about the adventures you two would have.” She shook the stuffed animal at me. “So, I bought you a unicorn!”
“That was when I was seven,” I said. How had she remembered that?
Aunt Lydia shrugged. “Better late than never, right?” She reached for something on the bed behind her and then presented me with a cupcake, topped with pillowy yellow frosting and red sprinkles. “And a cupcake for the birthday girl,” she said.
I smiled as I took the cupcake. “Thank you.”
Aunt Lydia kissed my forehead. “No problem.” She sat back, looking at me with a soft smile on her face. “I’m really glad you came here this summer, Hannah. It’s been a long time since we had a chance to hang out like we used to.”
I swirled a finger around the edge of the cupcake, scooping up some frosting. “I’m glad I came, too.”
Aunt Lydia patted my knee. “Go on and eat that, then get dressed. We’re going out for a big birthday breakfast.” Aunt Lydia bounced to her feet and then walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.
It was too early for cake, but it was my birthday, so I could break all the rules. I ate the cupcake in bed, brushed the crumbs off after, and then got up to get dressed. I stopped in front of the mirror and studied my reflection. Seventeen. I still looked mostly like the same Hannah, but inside, I already felt like something had changed. I wasn’t the same Hannah that had come to Asheville a couple weeks ago. Mark was right. I could be anyone I wanted to be and not just the person I thought I should be. I had held myself back for too long.
After I was dressed, I picked up my phone and checked the screen. No messages. No calls.
I held the phone in my hand for a moment, staring at it until the screen went black from inactivity. Then I pushed it into my pocket and went to find Aunt Lydia.
We drove to Papa Gino’s and I gave Aunt Lydia a dubious look as she parked the car. We were the only ones in the parking lot.
“Italian for breakfast?” I asked.
“Italians eat breakfast, too,” she said.
“I don’t think I can handle lasagna at 8:00 a.m.”
“It won’t be lasagna,” she promised as she got out of the car.
Mama Rita met us at the door. “Welcome!” she shouted, throwing her arms wide. She hugged Aunt Lydia and then me, nearly squeezing the breath out of me. “Happy birthday, Coccolona!”
Coccolona? I raised my eyebrows at Aunt Lydia over Mama Rita’s shoulder.
“This way, this way,” Mama Rita said when she let me go. “We have breakfast all ready for you.”
As we followed Mama Rita to the table already set and decorated with bright red balloons and streamers, Aunt Lydia leaned toward me and whispered, “You should feel honored. Mama Rita gave you a pet name.”
“Coccolona?” I asked.
“It means cuddly one,” Aunt Lydia said. “That’s better than the one she gave me. Capretta means little goat.”
We sat down and Mama Rita poured us both cups of coffee and glasses of orange juice. “Breakfast will be right out,” she told us. She beamed down at me. “Seventeen! How I remember those days. Enjoy it, Coccolona, it passes too quickly. One day, you look in the mirror and you see an old woman staring back at you.” She patted her gray hair, frowning. “Anyway, breakfast! I’ll be back.”
Mama Rita disappeared into the kitchen and I reached for the creamer to stir into my coffee.
“Has your mom or dad called yet?” Aunt Lydia asked.
I shook my head, not looking up from my coffee cup. “Not yet.”
“I’m sure they will,” she said.
I shrugged, but didn’t say anything.
Aunt Lydia cleared her throat. “Well, while we have a moment to ourselves, I wanted to give you your birthday gift.”
“The unicorn wasn’t my gift?” I asked.
Aunt Lydia laughed. “That was just a silly joke.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a small red box. “This is your real gift.”
I took the box. “Thank you,” I said. “You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to,” Aunt Lydia interrupted me. “Go ahead. Open it.” She looked as eager as a child on Christmas, but her smile showed nervousness.
The box creaked a little when I opened it. Inside, nestled on a white satin pillow, was a tiny gold wishbone charm attached to a delicate chain.
“It’s not much,” Aunt Lydia said. “I know you probably have all kinds of nice jewelry at home—”
“It’s perfect,” I told her. “Thank you.”
I took the necklace from the box and hooked it around my neck. The wishbone caught the light where it rested against my skin.
“I wanted to give you a reminder,” Aunt Lydia said, “to never stop wishing. Your parents have their wishes for you, and I have mine, but what matters most is what you wish for yourself.”
I smiled at her across the table. I felt like I had the old Aunt Lydia back, the one who used to play games with me and tell me silly stories and who never once laughed at any of my ideas or told me I shouldn’t do something.
The kitchen door burst open and Mama Rita returned with Papa Gino following behind. He carried a big plate piled high with pancakes. Candles perched crookedly in the pancakes, their lights fluttering as Papa Gino and Mama Rita sang “Happy Birthday” at the top of their lungs.
#
I closed the door to my room at Aunt Lydia’s house and checked my phone again. Natalie hadn’t texted me, but then again, we hadn’t spoken since our argument. And there had still been nothing from Mom or Dad.
Dad, I could understand. Maybe he was busy doing therapy or whatever it was he did in rehab. Whenever I tried to imagine life inside Keller-Burns Rehabilitation Center, I imagined strung out people rocking back and forth in corners or spasming from withdrawal. It was probably easy to lose track of time in a place like that.
Plus, I hadn’t returned any of his calls.
But Mom had no excuse. She was on vacation in Paris. She had her phone, she never went anywhere without it. She couldn’t take two seconds out of her busy day of spa trips and French food to remember the child she gave birth to?
I tossed my phone on the bed. I wouldn’t let it bother me. My friends were throwing a birthday party for me. I was already worried enough about having Jude and Carter together in the same room again. I didn’t need to stress myself out over my mother’s thoughtlessness.
I stopped, realizing I was pacing the room. I knew I wouldn’t be able to forget about my mom until I
talked to her.
The phone rang as I waited for her to pick up. It was still mid-afternoon in Paris, so I knew she’d be awake.
Finally, the ringing stopped. “Hello?” Mom’s voice trilled into the phone.
I clenched my fist. “Hi, Mom.”
“Oh, Hannah!” She giggled. “I was jus’ telling Jean and Pierre abouchoo. How you’re goin’ to Yale in a year. Yesss, that’s right!” she said to someone else. A distinctly male voice spoke in the background. “A lawyer. My daughter’ll be the best damn lawyer in the country!”
“Who is that?” I asked. “Who’s with you?”
“Tess,” Mom said. She giggled. “And Jean and Pierre.”
“And who exactly are Jean and Pierre?”
Mom laughed. “Friends, Hannah. We go way back.”
How far back, exactly? I thought about the trips I’d taken with Mom to Paris, and the number of times we’d each ended up doing our own thing. Had she been spending that time meeting with French men?
“Are you having an affair?” I shrieked. I remembered Aunt Lydia was just upstairs in the attic and tried to keep my voice down.
“What do you think I am?” Mom asked. Her words slurred and tumbled into each other. “What kind of woman do you take me for?”
“You’re drunk,” I said. “With strange men. Where are you, in your hotel room?”
“We’re in my suite, yes,” Mom snapped. “Having croissants and wine.”
“More wine!” I heard Tess shout in the background.
“More wine!” Mom echoed, then exploded into her usual high-pitched, drunken laughter.
A lump formed in my throat. “Great, Mom.”
“What’s gotten into you?” she asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “Have fun with your affair and your drinks and whatever the hell you’re doing over there.”
“Don’t you speak to me in that language, Hannah,” Mom snapped. “I am on vacation and after what I’ve been through, I deserve the chance to relax and have some fun.”
“What you’ve been through?” My voice was growing louder, but I couldn’t hold it back. “What about what I’ve been through? What about the fact that it’s my birthday and my own mother doesn’t care enough to call?”
“I’ll call when you can speak to me with respect,” Mom said.
I laughed. “Don’t hold your—”
There was a beep and then the noise on the other end went silent. I pulled the phone from my ear and stared at it.
I could tell myself that there was a bad connection. That the mountains interfered with calls and made them drop easily. I could tell myself that Mom’s connection was never reliable overseas.
But what was the point? I knew the truth.
My mom had hung up on me.
Happy freaking birthday, Hannah.
Chapter Eighteen
After my phone call with my mom, I texted Jude to ask what he was doing. He suggested we try climbing Chimney Rock again. I needed something to take my mind off the phone call with my mom, so I agreed.
“You okay?” Jude asked as he drove up the mountain road toward Chimney Rock State Park.
I’d been quiet throughout most of the ride, staring out the window without really seeing any of the sights we passed. “I’m fine,” I said.
He reached over, putting his hand on mine. “If you need to talk, I’m here. Anytime.”
I couldn’t tell him about my problems with my parents. I couldn’t tell anyone. “Thanks,” I said, forcing myself to smile at him reassuringly. “But I’m okay, really.”
He bit his lip, but he didn’t say anything else as he drove up the mountain.
“I’m not climbing to the top,” I said as Jude and I made our way up the trail of steps to Chimney Rock.
“It’s your birthday,” Jude said.
“Right, and I’d prefer not to fall to my death until at least tomorrow.”
Other people passed us, some huffing and puffing with exhaustion, others bouncing up the stairs with big smiles. I focused on moving one foot at a time while my stomach gurgled with apprehension. The climb terrified me, but at least it gave me something else to think about other than the phone call with my mom.
As we made our way up the steps, I looked up at the bridge across the gap and gulped. “Um,” I said, “I don’t think I can do this.”
“You can,” Jude said.
“No, really. I can’t.”
We reached the bottom of the bridge and I froze in place. Sweat beaded along my lip and down the back of my neck. My stomach churned and a sick feeling welled up inside me.
Then Jude’s face was all I could see, right in front of me. His hands closed around mine.
“Do you trust me?”
He said it so simply, like it wasn’t a question full of implications and complications. Like the only thing that mattered at that moment was what I would say.
“Yes,” I answered.
“Then walk with me. One step at a time. Just look at me, nothing else.”
I did as he said, keeping my gaze locked on his. I took a step forward, lifting my foot to the bridge.
“Good,” Jude said. “We’ll go slowly. Keep your eyes on mine.”
He spoke to me in that soothing voice as we made our way across the bridge. Whenever I tightened my grip on his hands, he would remind me to look at him and not think about anything else.
“Good,” he said. “You’re doing great, Hannah.”
He looked at me as if he would protect me from everything. As if he could keep me from falling just because he said I wouldn’t.
“You’re there,” he whispered.
When he stepped out of my path and to my side, the valley opened up before me. We stood at the top of Chimney Rock, the American flag whipping over our heads in the breeze that billowed around the rock. Everywhere I looked, I saw the sloping shapes of mountains against the blue sky. A lake stretched in the valley, the sunlight glittering on its surface. It was breathtaking—I was almost gasping for air—and beautiful and exhilarating.
“I’m here,” I whispered. “I did it.”
“Scream,” Jude said.
“What?”
“Yell.” He waved his arm. “Let everything out.”
I shook my head. “Not happening.”
“Do it,” Jude persisted. “You’ll love it.”
“I can’t scream.” I looked at the other people on the rock with us. I didn’t want to be responsible for giving one of them a heart attack.
“Yes, you can. You can do anything. Yell!”
I sucked in a breath and then let out a yell. I felt ridiculous. Some people turned to look at us, their eyebrows raised.
Jude frowned. “That was pathetic. Like this.” He sucked in air until his chest was full and then yelled loud, his voice echoing around us. He yelled again, cupping his hands around his mouth and jumping up and down. They weren’t words, just sounds.
“Come on,” he told me. “Yell. It’s therapeutic.”
So I took another breath, closed my eyes, and then let everything out. I yelled until my throat burned and I had no air left. I squeezed my fists until my fingernails dug into my palms. Then I yelled again. I yelled out all of my frustration with my mom, my anger with my dad, all of the secrets I’d been keeping came out in those sounds I made that echoed around the valley.
Jude joined in and the two of us yelled until we had nothing left to yell about. A few other people on the rock joined us, all of us screaming for no reason on the top of a rock on a mountain. I opened my eyes, looking out at the mountains and valleys below us. I felt free.
Jude shifted closer to me, his hand brushing mine. “Happy birthday, Hannah,” he whispered.
#
“Happy birthday!”
I grinned wide at the people around me. Some of them I knew—Jude, Ashton, Kate, Carter, Nadia, Syke, and Trent—but the others were random friends of everyone else. They had told me their names and wished me a happy birthday, but there w
ere too many to keep up with.
Somehow, Ashton had gotten her parents to let her throw a party in their house. When I asked her how she’d managed this, she had just waved a hand and said, “Oh, they don’t mind, as long as I clean everything up and don’t let the vase get broken.”
The vase was a huge creation made from bits of stained glass that sat on the mantle over the fireplace in the den where the center of the party seemed to be. All along the mantle were framed photographs and porcelain cherubs, but it was the giant vase that Ashton cared about. The first time I was at Ashton’s house, she had pointed it out.
“I made that vase for my parents in sixth grade,” Ashton had told me proudly. “It’s like their favorite thing I’ve ever made, even though it practically weighs one million pounds.”
Ashton and Kate carefully set the huge cake down on the coffee table in front of me. It was a white sheet cake, with red flowers on the corners and “Happy 17th, Hannah!” written in swooping icing letters. Two big number candles, a one and a seven, sat in the middle of the cake, their flames flickering.
“Make a wish!” Ashton said.
I closed my eyes for a moment and then opened them as I blew out the two candles. People cheered, though probably because they wanted cake more than the fact that I had blown out the candles in one blow.
“Now your wish will come true,” Ashton told me. She picked up a knife. “Okay, line up for cake!”
I took two slices of cake and then found Jude hiding in a corner. He had come to the party, but he kept mostly to himself. He shifted from one foot to the other as he looked around the room.
“So,” he said, “this is fun.”
I rolled my eyes. “Eat your cake.”
He took the plate I offered him. We ate our slices in silence, watching as the people around us talked and laughed and ate cake. I smiled.
“You look happy,” Jude said.
“I am,” I told him. “It’s weird. I don’t know ninety percent of these people and I’ll probably never see them again, but this is one of the best birthday parties I’ve ever had. Low key. No pressure. You know?”
“Are birthday parties generally stressful where you live?”