“To say happy birthday,” Junie supplies.
“And see if he’s single,” the sisters chorus.
“And ask if he’s ready to get hitched.” Cassie grins and grabs another cracker.
“You guys are dorks.” I take a small sip of champagne and decide to blame the bubbles for the fact that their ideas aren’t sounding all that dumb. “I do message him every year, I guess.”
No reason this is any different. Just because we both turned thirty, there’s no need to make this weird.
I grab my phone off the end table and scroll to our message thread. It takes a few seconds to locate it and to tap out a quick happy birthday note. It’s not until after I hit “send” that I realize my message is identical to the one I sent a year ago.
Happy birthday! Hope you’re doing well.
So original.
Those first two years of college, we were inseparable. We’d go camping with this big group of friends. Since his girlfriend went to school in California and the dudes I dated were too busy with frat parties to camp, Ian and I always shared a tent. Totally platonic.
We’d also eat ramen together in his dorm room, sitting there under these tacky, twinkly chili pepper lights he’d strung around his window. We talked about love and life, boyfriends and girlfriends, fantasies and—and?—
God, we were young. Young and passionate and ready to take on the world.
But we’re older now, and friendships drift apart when you’re separated by three thousand miles.
I set the phone down and pick up my champagne before turning to Cassie. “How goes the wedding planning?”
“It’s coming along,” she says. “Dax is doing this cool mixed-metal arch for the ceremony. Here, let me show you.”
As Cassie scrolls through her phone, Lisa sits beaming at the mention of her fiancé. It’s no secret she’s a big fan of Dax’s artistic skills, not to mention the rest of his talents.
Cassie holds out her phone so I can check out the arch. “It’s symbolic of the intertwining of his career in tech and mine in soil science and?—”
A buzzing from the coffee table yanks everyone’s attention back to my phone. The screen lights up with an incoming message, and there’s an unexpected flutter in my belly when I see Ian’s name.
Hey! Long time no chat. Happy birthday to you, too.
I smile to myself and hold out my hand for Cassie’s phone. “Let’s see the arch.”
She draws it back like I’ve just asked for a crack pipe. “No way. You need to respond to that right now.”
I give her a dramatic eye roll. “It’s girls’ night,” I tell her. “Ian Nolan is definitely not a girl.”
“All the more reason to respond,” she points out. “He has a penis. You enjoy penis from time to time.”
I’m not sure I follow the logic, but I pick up my phone anyway and tap out a quick reply.
Hope it’s been a good year for you.
Dorky, but true. I do hope he’s doing well. I hope he’s happy and healthy and?—
His reply appears before I can finish that thought.
Can’t complain. You celebrating with husband, kids, boyfriend, whatever…?
I stare at the words, not sure what to make of them. In ten years, Ian’s never asked about boyfriends or marriage. Not once.
“What is it?” Cassie asks.
“I can’t figure out if he’s super-clueless and hasn’t bothered checking my social media, or if he’s fishing for details about my relationship status.”
