“Abby wanted me to mail this to you, but I never got around to it. You know me—flaky as hell. It’s a letter she wrote you last year when we were at that stupid leadership camp my mom forced me go to—and Abby tagged along so I wouldn’t lose my mind and kill everyone there. I stuck it in my backpack and forgot all about it. I found it under the passenger seat of my car last night. Right before your birthday, can you believe it?”
“You’re kidding.”
“I had to use ultra self-control not to rip it open and read it myself. You’ll have to tell me what it says. I’m late for work. Happy birthday, September,” Mary said, squeezing my arm. “Do something fun today.”
“Thanks Mary.” I sat down and waited for her to go before carefully opening the letter. I took three deep breaths to calm my racing heart before reading.
Hey September,
This place sucks royally. If I hear words like “assertiveness” and “effectiveness” and anything ending in “ness” again, I’ll have to be committed. Seriously. I’m losing it. Do yourself a favor and never go to one of these stupid things. There are a couple of hot guys here, though, so I’m not completely miserable. And Mary and I play cards and listen to her iPod whenever they give us ten seconds to breathe.
Can you believe I’ve been gone for two whole weeks?? We’ve never been apart this long. I miss you like crazy. Thanks for believing in my dreams when no one else has. I now know that anything is possible. I have my whole life ahead of me.
I love you so, so much. You mean the world to me and then some. See you in a few days!
Your friend forever,
Abby
xxxxxxx
I spent the next two hours in bed, rereading the letter at least a dozen times, reminiscing, laughing and crying and laughing some more. It was my first birthday in eleven years without my best friend, in the flesh. I wasn’t sure where I stood on the whole life after death thing, but I felt Abby near. Could it be a coincidence Mary found that letter the night before my first birthday without Abby? I also thumbed through her scrapbook. It was probably just my mind playing tricks on me, but I could’ve sworn I saw Abby smiling at me—for a fraction of a second—in one of the photos.
I also thought about Adrien—I couldn’t help myself. I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever see him again. The way he just left after I told him about the accident was weird. I couldn’t stop replaying it in my head, the way he just took off like that. Was he so shallow he couldn’t deal with someone with a little baggage? Or was it that he was just in too much pain to share someone else’s burden? Whatever it was, I knew I had to see him again. I was beginning to have Adrien withdrawals. But the question was how? This time it wouldn’t be so easy to find him—he quit his job. I just had to hope he’d get bored and come over to hang out again. It was unlikely we’d run into each other a second time—not in a place as massive as New York.
I slid Abby’s letter into the book I was reading about forgiveness and took a short birthday nap.
***
“Happy birthday, Tember,” Chris said, giving me a vise-grip hug.
“I can’t breathe,” I said and it was partially true.
“I have to admit, I forgot it was your birthday. I was planning on giving you something great. Rain check?”
“Sure, no big deal,” I said, rubbing my sore ribs. Chris was even stronger than he looked.
“Meanwhile, I hope this will do.” He pulled about a dozen bags of Reese’s Pieces out of his pocket, handing them to me, one by one.
“Ooh, you remembered. My favorite,” I said, shoving them into my purse.
“Good old reliable vending machine. I bought all the ones they had—on each floor.”
“On each floor? You are too sweet.” I shook my head in disbelief. He really was the nicest guy, like, ever. “But are you trying to make me fat? Because it took a lot of lunges to undo the damage all those Twinkies did me,” I joked.
He shook his head. “You females and weight. You could never be fat.”
“I beg to differ,” I said, “You should’ve seen me my freshman year of high school. It wasn’t pretty.”
“September—not pretty? Impossible,” he said, looking at me in a way that caused me to blush. “Do you have fun plans for tonight?” He unlocked the janitor’s closet and pulled out his blue jumpsuit.
“You mean besides scrubbing urinals with my favorite guy?”
“I would never let you do such a thing on your birthday. Go home, I’ve got you covered.”
I was touched. “Really?”
“Really,” he said, his big hands cradling my head as he kissed my hairline. “Happy birthday. I love you. In a friend-who-already-has-a-girlfriend sort of way, of course,” he added, blushing.
“I love you, too, Chris.” It was the first time we’d exchanged the words. I looked away before Chris could see my eyes wetting.
“Go out to dinner with that boyfriend of yours or something. Just promise me you won’t spend the evening alone.”
It wasn’t a promise I could keep. Who would I celebrate with? Chris and Mary had to work and Adrien was, well… “Like I mentioned before—he’s not really my boyfriend.”
“Then he’s an idiot.” Chris’s eyes cut into mine for an intense moment before we both looked away.
“Well I’m off, then,” I said, studying the ground, still unable to make eye contact with my friend.
“Happy Birthday—again.” He laughed an awkward laugh as he filled the cart with rolls of toilet paper.
“Thanks—again,” I said, also laughing, turning to go.
“No problem.”
“And thanks for the candy,” I said over my shoulder as I headed out.
“Ah, forget about it.”
***
As my soiled apartment door greeted me, I let out a heavy sigh. The day had turned out much better than I expected, but now I had the evening to face alone, with more than enough time to mope and miss Abby. I combed through my purse until I found my keys and then unlocked the door. It was when I started kicking off my shoes that I heard: “Happy birthday, Beautiful.”
I dropped the keys and just about catapulted out of my skin. “Who is that?” I palmed the phone in my purse, ready to call 911 and with my other hand, flipped the light on.
I couldn’t be more surprised to see Adrien sitting on the couch, cradling a chocolate birthday cake, which had my name neatly written in yellow icing across the perfectly smooth surface. Little flames danced atop handfuls of tall, white candles.
“Wait, how did you know?” I asked, still a little shaken up.
“I heard you coming up the stairs. I have superior candle lighting abilities. A perk that comes with being a pyromaniac,” he said, smirking a little.
“How did you know it was my birthday? And how did you get in here? You didn’t break in, did you?”
“Sit down first, blow out your candles. Then I’ll explain everything.”
Obediently, I sat beside him. Although we’d spent a lot of time together, the fact that I hadn’t seen him for a few days—combined with how gorgeous he looked tonight—made me feel all sorts of things at once: excited, relieved, flustered. Weak all over. This guy had a strange and powerful affect on me and I wasn’t sure how much I liked it. He wore one of his usual green ensembles, this time a fern green top with Brunswick green pants and the green Converse he wore the day we met at Tim’s Coffee.
I giggled as he sang Happy Birthday. His voice was about as horrible as Aunt Number Two’s at Abby’s funeral, but the gesture was incredibly sweet.
“Make a wish.”
I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t have to think long before knowing exactly what I wanted. I blew out the candles in one forceful breath. “Wow, um, this is quite the surprise.”
“I bet.” He laughed. “Your expression—when you first walked in—was priceless.”
“You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble. You barely even know me.”
“It’s no
thing, really. And anyway, I have to admit I’m developing a little crush on you.” He reached out and grabbed my hand. His comment, combined with the warmth of his hand, shot electric currents through my body. I felt heat rising to my cheeks.
“I don’t even know how to reply to that,” I said, my voice quivering.
“Sorry, you shouldn’t have to. In fact, I slipped. It wasn’t fair of me to say that, considering…” His eyes wandered down to our clasped hands and he pulled his away.
For a moment we sat and listened to the hum of the refrigerator and Tiger clawing at one of his toys. I broke the uncomfortable silence. “Now explain how you got in, how you knew it was my birthday.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he teased. “Mary told me it was going to be your birthday that day I was making waffles, while you were in the shower. I told her I wanted to surprise you tonight, so she gave me a spare key.”
“Mary gave you a spare key?” I didn’t know what surprised me more. Mary playing a part in a nice birthday surprise or Mary giving a stranger our spare key, allowing him free roam of our apartment. The truth was we didn’t really know this guy. Adrien could be a thief or a rapist or a killer—or a combination of all three. He could be anyone. Ted Bundy, Freddy Krueger, Hannibal Lecter. And here I sat in the apartment all alone with him. He was suicidal. Maybe he was the type who would take someone down with him. I pictured a murder-suicide headline on the late night news.
No, I thought, shaking my head. I hadn’t known this guy for long, but I somehow knew he was a decent human being. I had a gut feeling about him. He might be capable of hurting himself, but he was too gentle and sweet to do anyone else harm.
I felt surprisingly safe with him.
“Wait, so how did you know I’d be coming home just now. I had work tonight—”
“I called Chris to ask him to cover for you. He was more than happy to. In fact, he said he was planning to do it anyway.” He pulled a candle from the cake and licked the frosting off.
The night was full of surprises. “You called Chris? Where did you get his number?”
“Mary found it in your phone.”
“Wow.” I was stunned. Four people had plotted and schemed to make this work. I felt loved. And then amused—Chris and Adrien spoke to each other over the phone. The two guys I had feelings for, I realized just then.
“September, I also wanted to apologize for the way I left the other day. I didn’t plan—I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t worry about it.”
He looked down at his lap. “The thing is I’ve been through a lot. Much more than most people go through in a lifetime.”
My interest was piqued. Maybe I could finally get him to open up to me. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No,” he said, avoiding eye-contact. “I’m sorry, but…I can’t.”
We sat in silence for another endless moment. Tiger made an appearance, stretching and yawning before rubbing his body against Adrien’s legs.
Adrien gave me one of his sly grins, making me weak again. “Are you ready to celebrate? I’m taking you out for your birthday.”
20
“What do you want to do? It’s your day,” Adrien said as we hopped onto the L train. We squeezed into seats next to an elderly man wearing a Hawaiian shirt. I could faintly hear him humming Frank Sinatra’s The Best is Yet to Come. My grandma used to sing it to me when I was little. She passed away when I was fourteen. Whenever I hear Frank Sinatra I think of her and the amazing donuts she used to make.
“Pizza sounds really good,” I said, just now realizing how hungry I was.
“Pizza it is.” He turned toward me, his face so close I could feel his breath on my face. “So how old are you turning?”
“Nineteen,” I said, realizing it was the last year of my teens, surprised by how fast it all went. “How old are you?” I’d wanted to ask him for awhile now, but the right moment never came up.
“I’m twenty.”
“So how are you liking your twenties?”
“I’m not the person to ask. I haven’t been happy in years. Actually, I don’t remember when I was last truly happy.” For a second his green eyes became stony, which caught me by surprise me and made me shudder. Adrien was one of the moodier guys I’ve met. He’d go from intensely happy, giving me a smile that made my head spin like a merry-go-round, to a place so dark it scared me. I couldn’t even begin to imagine what he’s had to go through. I’ve wondered about it a lot these last few days.
“That’s really sad.” I swallowed. “Is that why you’re…?”
“This subject keeps coming up,” he said, shaking his head, half smiling. “Do you think for just a while we could pretend I never told you—that thing—the first day we met?”
“I don’t know if that’s possible—”
“Please try.” His eyes pleaded with me. “I know I’m not being fair. I shouldn’t even be hanging out with you, subjecting you to any of this—”
“I want to spend time with you,” I stammered.
“I don’t see why,” he said, removing a piece of lint from his pants.
I didn’t know how to answer. Even I wasn’t entirely sure why I wanted to spend his last days with him. I guess I still had a sliver of hope that I’d be able to get him to change his mind.
***
At Eddie’s Pizza, Adrien and I talked on and on about music. I was shocked to discover, like Abby and me, Adrien also had a passion for 1980s alternative. Could the universe be screaming any louder that Adrien and I were soul mates?
“Okay, name your top five favorite bands,” I said, nibbling on a piece of crust.
“Don’t do this to me. I couldn’t possibly narrow it down to just five,” he said, really getting into the conversation.
“Try.”
He took a long sip of Coke. “Okay, let’s see. Echo and the Bunnymen, The Cure, Psychedelic Furs, The Smiths, U2 of course and…The The.”
“Cheater. You named six,” I said, kicking him under the table.
He shook his head. “But five was just too tough.”
“Good answer. I must admit—you have excellent taste. I love them all, especially The Smiths and The Cure. The The’s one of the most underrated bands, don’t you think?”
“Totally. The sad thing is none of my friends have even heard of them,” he said, grabbing another slice of pepperoni. We ordered a half-and-half. Half veggie for me, half pepperoni for him.
“Yeah, well most kids haven’t heard of any of these bands, except for maybe U2. It’s just the oddest thing, you and me loving the same stuff. I mean, what are the chances? I think you’d love Abby’s band, The Striped Goat,” I said, my mouth full of artichoke.
He almost choked on his food. “Abby was the singer of The Striped Goat? You’re kidding me. I love that band. I hear them all the time on college radio.”
“Seriously?” I was shocked, because one, I hadn’t realized her band was getting regular radio play. She would’ve been over the moon. And two, what were the chances Adrien was a fan? “You like The Striped Goat?”
“Do you need proof?” he asked, pulling his iPod from his pocket. He turned it on and scrolled through a million different 80s and indie bands until The Striped Goat filled the screen. “I have their CD in my car, too.”
“You have a car?”
Adrien laughed. “Of course I have a car. I am—was a car salesman, after all. It’s in the shop getting worked on. It’s a beater and it breaks down on me all the time. I really should get a new car.” Cradling his Coke, he searched my face for a moment. “Tell me more about Abby. If you want to, I mean. I don’t want to make you sad on your birthday.”
I set my half eaten slice of pizza down. “It doesn’t make me sad. I love talking about her. We met in second grade. She saved me from being the constant target of the school bully and we were best friends ever since. She was amazing. She had such a zest for life. She had big plans for the future, huge dreams. One of the things I loved most about her w
as she didn’t doubt them for a second, even when everyone else did. She was very sweet natured. A little flighty, too. We got an apartment together before she died. It was a big plan of ours to room together the second we graduated from high school. The tragic part is she was killed two weeks after our lives were really just beginning. And her band—they were on their way. That was her dream, you know, to be a professional musician, to see the world.”
“I’m so sorry, September. Sounds like she was pretty amazing.” He dropped his eyes and picked up his empty straw wrapper, twisting it around his finger.
“She was amazing. There’s no one else quite like her.” I sighed, nibbling on an olive left on my plate. “Enough about Abby, tell me about you. Where did you grow up?”
“Vegas.”
I chuckled. “Las Vegas? You don’t hear that every day. What brought you here?”
“I moved here to go to film school, but I found I enjoyed writing books more than screenplays. Less interaction with people that way.” I raised an eyebrow. “That came out wrong. I’m not a hermit or anything. I just…crave time alone.” He averted his eyes from me and I wondered if he was hiding something. “My parents are divorced. They split up when I was nine. My dad was a security guard at a casino and my mom runs a bakery. I have an older brother who’s coaching high school basketball in Dallas.” He grabbed a third slice of pizza. “What about you? Where are you from? Tell me about your family.”
“I grew up in Queens. My sister, April, still lives there with my folks. My dad is a podiatrist, my mom chose to stay at home to raise us. She loves gardening. It’s scary how much she loves to garden. Me, I seem to kill a plant by just looking at it. My family, they’re really normal—and incredibly boring.”
“Then it must not be genetic because you’re far from boring,” he said, gazing at me until I had to look away.
We sat saying nothing, taking in the ambiance. The jukebox played a sappy love song. An elderly couple stood and danced. The woman wore sexy heels and a smile so big I wouldn’t have been surprised if it broke her face. The man with pit bull skin wore plaid pants high on his waist, almost reaching his armpits. The romantic way they gazed into each other’s eyes rivaled any Jane Austen book. I’d never seen a couple look so in love. I turned to Adrien, realizing he’d never grow old and sadness poured into my soul like a heavy rain.
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