“Well, no one asked you to be born on New Year’s Day,” Paris scoffed, squeezing her thighs to hold in the pee she’d been suppressing for the hours’ drive back from Pirate’s Peek, a club in the town next to Blue Haven.
As a dual new year and birthday celebration, Paris and two girls at the store, took me out on our regular date night. According to them I was boring because I didn’t drink. Still, I always had fun when we went out. To prove a point, they dared me to stand blindfolded at the entrance inside the club and on the stroke of midnight, I had to kiss the very next stranger that entered. Fortunately for me, it was a rather good-looking but shy guy. He blushed for the rest of the evening after Paris insisted, he and his three friends join us.
“Hurry up, will you.” She slapped the wall, jumping from one foot to the other. The second the door swung inward, she flew past me and made a beeline for the downstairs toilet.
“Aim straight. You mess, you wash,” I called after her, laughing.
She was too drunk to sit on the seat without falling over. Her hand shot up and she flipped me the bird before the door slammed behind her, waking the babysitter passed out on the living room couch.
“Hey, Dinah, everything all right?”
“Hi.” She rubbed her eyes, yawning. “All good. He stayed up way past midnight wanting to wish you happy birthday. At one thirty, he knocked out.”
I smiled. “Thank you.” After I paid and watched her drive off, I closed the door and turned to watch Paris stagger out of the toilet.
She stopped at the bottom of the stairs, shaking her head. “Why are there two freaking staircases and who invented them,” she grumbled, catching the wall to keep herself upright.
Suffocating the laughter bubbling in my throat, I moved to her side. “Come on.” I grasped her elbow and guided her upstairs.
In her room, she flopped stomach down on the bed and zoned out in the time it took me to remove her silver heels. Covering her with a light blanket, I flicked the light switch and went to check in on my son. He was sitting on the side of the bed with his hands behind his back when I walked in.
Worried, I crouched in front of him. “Why are you awake, baby?” I brushed the long locks off his brow. He might have my hair color, but he’d inherited the straight, fall to the shoulder style from his father.
“Happy birthday, Mom.” He brought his hands around. Shocked, I jerked back, falling on my ass, my eyes riveted to his hand. “Mom?” I lifted my gaze to find his filled with fear, ‘the I did something wrong’ kind.
Quickly, I rolled onto my knees, bringing me close to him again. “Sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to scare you.” I took the blue rose from his hand and kissed the petals as I’d done every year Shay gave me one. “Where did you get it?” I asked, my voice lined with caution, fearing he might’ve met Shay someplace.
“I asked Paris to go with me to buy you flowers and when I walked inside the store, I didn’t like anything. Then the nice old lady asked me if I’d like to see all her special flowers. After I said yes, she took me into the greenhouse at the back of her store. She had all these different colored flowers growing there. When I saw these blue roses, I thought about you, mom. They reminded me of your eyes.”
Oh, my God, my child was just too beautifully mature for his age. I didn’t bother hiding my tears as my head flooded with memories of his father.
“You don’t like it?” he asked, his voice wavering.
I shook my head, swallowing down my tears and palmed his cheek. “Oh, baby. I love it. It’s beautiful.” He didn’t look convinced. With a soft sigh, I rose to sit on the bed next to him, placed the flower on the nightstand and taking his hand in mine, I made a decision. “I was shocked because every year on my birthday, your dad would give me a blue rose.”
“Really?” His eyes wide, he smiled. At my nod, he asked, “how come you don’t talk about my dad. Was he bad to you?”
My laugh was soft, my gaze falling to our linked hands. “Your dad was perfect in every way, sweetheart. He’s a soldier and when he wasn’t on the battleground, he was taking care of me. Unlike you, I was a naughty brat. Yet, not once did he hurt me.”
“Did he die?” he asked, his fear palpable in the way he squeezed my hand.
“No,” I whispered, trying to find the best way to explain to my six-year-old son why I couldn’t be with his father.
“Then why doesn’t he come see me. Does he not love me?” His bottom lip trembled, his eyes filling with sadness.
I slipped my arms around him and brought him into my chest in a bear hug. “Sometimes, baby, two people can’t be together even when they love each other. You’ll understand this when you’re older.” I kissed the top of his head. “If he could, he’d be here with you.”
He leaned back. “Will I meet him?”
I hoped he would. “You will but I can’t tell you when. Do you trust that I’m doing this for you, for him, for us?”
“Yes, mom.” He’d been blessed with Shay’s calm temperament and in my heart, I believed him.
Cupping his cheeks, I kissed his brow. “My sweet little boy, someday you’re going to break hearts just like your dad.” I laughed at the irony and he giggled. “Promise me, sweetheart, the day you meet your dad, you won’t hate him for not being here? That you’ll use the time you have with him to get to know him? That you’ll love him like I did, from afar.”
There was no hesitation in his response, “I promise.”
“Thank you, baby.” I kissed his brow again. “And thank you for my rose, I’ll always cherish it like I did your dad’s.”
