Maricarmen brushed Dawson’s arm, her gaze flicking toward the gallery. I waited a few minutes, then excused myself and followed.
Ash stood in the bedroom by the window, palms braced on the desk. The gift lay in front of him like a heartbreaking hello from the past.
“Peque,” I whispered, resting my hand on his back. “Did Miguel say something in the note?”
He passed it to me.
“Feliz cumpleaños, Asher,” I read. “Wait, that’s it? No explanation, nothing?”
“Nothing,” Asher whispered. “Fuck, this must be a joke. Nine years, countless attempts to reach him, and all he can say is happy birthday? How about answering a fucking email or opening the door when I show up? He remembers the things I like but can’t even acknowledge me?”
The muscles in his back tightened under my hand. I rubbed gently, trying to soothe him, to keep the gift from spoiling his birthday. He didn’t deserve that. He deserved a meal with his friends, nothing else on his shoulders.
“Do you want to talk about it?” I murmured, kissing between his shoulder blades through the cotton of his shirt.
He turned, exhaling hard. “No, mi amor.” His knuckles skimmed my cheek. “Let’s go back and finish lunch. The guys came all this way for me. This can wait.”
I gave the boxed motorbike one last look, unsure if he’d ever want to build it, and followed him out.
Thankfully, nobody asked questions when we sat again. Though quieter, Asher made an effort to keep the conversation going.
When the plates were cleared, Maricarmen caught my eye and winked as she stood.
“I’ll be back,” I told Ash. Alejandro was already gathering dishes as I followed her into the kitchen.
“What was in that package?” she asked, pulling Asher’s birthday cake from the fridge. “Ash looked pale.”
“A gift from Miguel,” I said, fishing a lighter from the drawer. “It just surprised him, but he’ll be fine.”
“Oh, dios mío.” Maricarmen shook her head. “It’s always something, isn’t it? Escucha, mi niña.” Her voice lowered. “I’m staying at Dawson’s tonight. You two need some time alone.”
My cheeks flushed. “If you want to be with Dawson, go, but don’t do it because of us.”
She nudged me with a playful smile. “I want a date night too. Have fun while you’re young and in love.”
I pressed a twenty-four candle into the strawberry and whipped cream cake Asher had loved since he was a boy. “Thank you. We’ll clean up so you don’t have to think about dishes.”
“I only worry about that boy. I don’t know what the hell Miguel is thinking, but he better have a good reason.”
None came to mind. Ignoring someone for years, then sending him a gift—it didn’t add up.
“And Sharon still hasn’t called,” Maricarmen muttered. “What could be more important than your child’s birthday?”
Forgetting was exactly the kind of thing Asher’s mother would do. Still, I hoped she’d call, for his sake—even though all I’d gotten from my father on my twenty-first in October was a text. Sometimes their silence felt like punishment.
The kitchen door swung open and Alejandro came in, balancing a stack of dishes.
“Leave them in the sink,” Maricarmen said. “How’s Asher?”
“Waiting for his cake.” He winked. “And his girl.”
I handed him dessert plates. “I better hurry, then.”
Maricarmen carried the cake out. Dawson lit the candle, and I leaned my head on Asher’s shoulder while everyone sang Cumpleaños Feliz. He made a wish, eyes soft when they met mine, then blew out the candle to the sound of cheers.
“Hope what you wished for comes true,” I said as Maricarmen sliced the cake.
Asher kissed the tip of my nose. “It already did.”
