ONE
HARRIET
“It iswith deep regret I must decline your invitation.”
My best friend’s arched brow silently tells me the answer is unacceptable.
“Invitation?” she scoffs, popping a hip as she looms over me. For a slip of a thing, she’s very intimidating. “It’s cute you think you have a choice.”
“You’re forgetting it’smybirthday.” I pout from my spot on the sofa, sloth mode activated.
Her eyebrow inches toward her hairline. Talia is the epitome of a confident woman. This is her sweet scowl, only shared with a select few. Her fiery hair bounces as she cocks her head, gesturing to my slumped form, a knitted blanket draped over my head and shoulders. “Your eightieth birthday?”
“I’m tired,” I croak before faking a cough into my fist. “And sick.”
She rolls her eyes. “Harry, you’re so full of shit. Take a laxative.”
“Aging’s overrated.” I burrow deeper into my nest, makingit known where I want to spend the rest of my evening. “Let me wither in peace.”
A firm grip drags me up to sit. “This is the last birthday of your twenties and your first free weekend since saying good riddance to Peter.”
Even the mention of his name has my lip curling in disgust. We dated for ten months, and I’ve spent the last two scrubbing the memory of our relationship from my brain. Peter wasn’t just a cheater—a cheating liar. I’d have known sooner if I wasn’t so fickle, allowing myself to be charmed by his false promises and contacts in the music industry.
Never. Again.
“Get your shit together, mourn your youth, enjoy being single, and let’s go drink lukewarm beer from plastic steins.”
My faux annoyance cracks when her accent thickens. She was born and raised in Texas; her Southern drawl really shines through the more frustrated she becomes.
She spots my façade slipping. “Ah-ha!” The sound of her palms meeting makes me wince. “See? You want to go out.”
Sighing in defeat, I unswaddle myself from my cocoon.
Birthdays are strange. For as long as I can recall, they’ve never felt worth celebrating. Perhaps that’s the joy of getting older.
Yay me. I survived another 365 days around the sun.
The morose side of my brain says,And what have you got to show for it?Because that’s what society instills in women as they near the ripe old age of thirty. Our life is a checklist leading up to this event, and if we haven’t ticked every item off, we’re made to feel ashamed.
Job. House. Marriage. Kids.
Typically in that order.
Job? Tick. One I’m passionate about and pays the bills. It’snot my dream job, but I’m working tirelessly on reaching that goal.
With a quick glance around my small living room, I take in all the little knickknacks I’ve collected over the years. Thehouseis a rented, shoebox-sized apartment, with peeling wallpaper and a family of birds living in the roof.
The closest I’ve gotten to marriage was when my fourth grade crush gave me a Ring Pop.
Children? If keeping a houseplant alive counts, then yes, I’m the proud mother of an entire windowsill of succulents.
Talia changes tactics when I don’t relent. “C’mon, we never go out. Just this once. The longer I sit in that house alone…” I catch a glimmer of vulnerability before she can blink it away. There’s no need for her to finish her sentence.
My friend needs me, though she’d never admit it. Tals is skittish—corner her, and she’ll head for the hills, so I play it cool. We both knew she was going to win anyway.
“I want to be in bed before midnight,” I warn her as I rise to my feet. “And you’re buying me a candy apple, a hot dog,anda minimum of two pretzels.”
Her expression shifts, gratitude lighting up her face. “You won’t regret it.”
