“Mhm. First of February, like clockwork. I’ll go for dinner round my mother’s tomorrow, and she’ll recount the story of me causing her fourteen hours of labour and a second-degree tear. After that, she’ll tell anyone who will listen that every single hour was worth it to meet her last baby boy.”
Giselle smiles at the memory I paint, turning to face me fully so our chests brush. “Is that how you celebrate every birthday?”
“Depends on what day it lands.” I shrug. “It’s a Sunday this year so I’ll be having dinner with my family… other years I’ve gone bar hopping around London, getting shit faced with my brothers. But we’re older now, one of my brother’s has a kid, another is on his way to getting hitched once he plucks up the courage to stop hiding the engagement ring he’s got stashed away in his sock drawer, and Blake… Blake’s becoming responsible all of a sudden so I’m not sure throwing shots of Jager down his throat until he pukes is his idea of fun anymore.”
A sweet giggle escapes Giselle’s pouty lips. “I haven’t been bar hopping in the longest time. One drink, two at a push, and I’m drunk enough for pieces of my memory to be missing the next morning.”
This is my chance.
I’m going to fucking take it.
You only get one shot at life, you may as well grab the thing by the balls, so that you can tell your children, or grandchildren, that you lived without any regrets.
“What would you say if I asked you to come with me.”
“Tonight?”
I nod my head.
“Bar hopping?”
“It doesn’t have to be bar hopping per se… we could just find a local pub, order a drink each, see where the night takes us…”
It’s obvious Giselle’s unsure, I can see it written all over her face and in the way she anxiously spins the gold band sitting on her middle finger.
“I’m sure there’s a rule out there somewhere…”
“What rule?”
“The rule about saying no to the birthday boy. Isn’t it, like, bad luck or something?”
Giselle stares me down with narrowed eyes. A hard feat seeing as I’m inches taller than her, now she’s not wearing a sky-high pair of heels. “It’s not your birthday yet.”
“But it will be in…” I tap my phone screen to check the time. “Four hours.”
Still, she looks uncertain.
“Come on, Giselle. Please.”
She holds up one gloved finger. “One drink. That’s all your getting and only because it’s your birthday eve and nobody should be alone of their birthday eve.”
“Birthday eve?” I question, feeling my stomach flip.
“Yep.” She starts towards the door to the tattoo parlour, checking only once to make sure I’m following behind her. “My parents always made the day before my birthday just as special as the actual day. I don’t know when the tradition started, but it’sbeen that way for as long as I can remember. Hence, the reason… theonlyreason… I’m not leaving you alone for the remainder of your birthday eve.”
I can’t stop the grin building on my face, although it’s not like Giselle can see it since she’s still walking a footstep ahead of me, gifting me a phenomenal view of her arse encased in a pair of gym leggings. It’s like they’re fucking painted on or something. “Lead the way, then, Gee.”
We end up at a pub not a too far walk away from the tattoo parlour; something I’m grateful for because the temperature tonight is definitely sitting somewhere in the minus’.
The pub we stumble upon is fairly busy inside, not surprising seeing as it’s 8 p.m. on a Saturday night and most people are out to let their hair down after a tough working week, but I manage to find Giselle and I an empty booth tucked away in the back beside the door.
Giselle slides in first, while I pull my wallet from my back pocket, inhaling the familiar scent of yeasty hops practically ingrained into the tables, bar tops and the wooden panelling which surrounds the pub.
“What do you want to drink?”
“Just a cranberry juice, please.”
“Any vodka with that?”
