I immediately open the door of my house and get greeted with a bunch of confetti cannons. I’ve been dozing off in my Legacy of Rome class today so this was definitely the wake-up call that I needed.
Still would have preferred a birthday Cubano.
“Happy birthday!” Ronnie cheers, blowing a birthday horn and dancing in place.
I laugh at his celebratory dance. “Thanks, Ronnie.” I place my backpack down on the couch before heading towards the kitchen and straight for the moka pot. It may only be two in the afternoon but I only got three hours of sleep. Add that to the two-hour lecture on the literal Roman empire and I’m just about five steps closer to sleeping my birthday away.
But tomorrow is the re-do midterm for calculus, and I need to stay awake so I can finish studying. With Carson.
Ugh, the only reason I haven’t been sleeping much is because of him. My damn mind has been keeping me awake with thememories of Saturday night at the maze. How close his lips were to mine. The way he kept me in his arms.
How neither of us wanted to let go.
Was that all in my head? I hope not.
I fill the moka pot insert with coffee grounds and the bottom half with water before setting it on the stove. Now I can wait, knowing that I won’t be as grumpy as my usual morning self in about ten minutes. The sad thing about that is I’m usually an early riser. It must be the lack of sleep finally catching up to me.
“So.” Ronnie approaches the kitchen fridge and grabs a diet soda can. “What are the birthday girl’s plans?”
“We already celebrated my birthday,” I remind him. “Remember?”
“Yeah, but today is the actual day. It’s not every day a bad bitch turns twenty.”
I snort at Ronnie’s “bad bitch” comment. His enthusiasm knows no bounds. If I choose to make a birthday post, that will definitely be my caption. “Studying for a big test with Carson.”
He sticks his tongue out. “You’re no fun.” After closing the refrigerator door, he saunters off, heading upstairs. “Have fun with lover boy!”
My face heats up. “Ronnie!”
A few minutes later, the coffee is ready, and after adding oat milk and ice, I carry the mug and my book bag upstairs to my room. Since I have today off from work and only one class to attend—my other class got canceled—I have mostly a free day that will be spent studying and continuing myGilmore Girlsmarathon.
I place my headphones in my ears and begin looking over my notes. I don’t know how much time has passed before someone knocks on my bedroom door. Looking up from the textbook, I find Carson munching on a bag of spicy chips and my eyes immediately drift to his lips before my brain can stop them.
“You ready?”
My eyes finally meet his blue ones and I nod. He places his bag on the floor and sits down right across from me. Full-on, criss-cross like I would do as a kid. It’s a little adorable.
He holds out the bag of chips for me and after taking a couple of them, we return to studying. He quizzes me on theories from time to time and I answer the problems in the textbook that I haven’t already. Lucia joins us after coming back, and the three of us make progress. Though, I know Carson isn’t retaking the midterm since he doesn’t need to—the lucky one—he doesn’t need to be here helping us study.
But I’m thankful for it all the same.
When we finish, Carson waves goodbye to Lucia and me before heading out of my room and back downstairs, probably leaving the house overall. I close my book, let out a sigh, and pray that the re-do midterm will be a breeze.
Another nagging thought does sneak up to the forefront of my mind, however: Carson didn’t wish me happy birthday. Not that I expected him to. But for a guy who claims to have an eidetic memory, I would have thought he would. It… hurts, a little.
Maybe what had happened in the maze was all in my head.
Lucia flops herself down onto her side of the room and groans. “This will be the death of me.”
“Same,” I agree.
She lifts her head off her silk pillow. “So, how’s your birthday? Did you enjoy the box in the kitchen or something?
My ears perk up. “What box?” I didn't see a box.
“The white box on the kitchen counter, duh,” she says. “The one with all the cherry-flavored Jolly Ranchers, lollipops, cherry cola that Ronnie had to put in the—”
I dash out of my room and down the stairs like a kid on Christmas—on Halloween, ironically—to see if Lucia is bluffing. Sure enough, she wasn’t. There is a lot of cherry-flavored stuff.
