“Yeah…”
I wait a few beats to see if he asks anything else. After he’s stared at me long enough that my temples have started perspiring, he abruptly stands from his chair and claps Gabe on the back. “Well, I think that went well. I’ve got to head to the shop. See both of you later?”
Gabe looks incredibly confused, but he doesn’t argue as we watch Jules leave.
Finally he shrugs, also getting up so he can move to the couch. I sit next to him with my hot cup of coffee, watching as he finds the ESPN app and turns on SportsCenter. Several minutes go by before he says, “I’m always here if you want to talk, you know that?”
“Me, too. Okay?”
“Okay.”
And that’s the end of my brotherly intervention.
I hate birthdays.
Why do we feel the need to celebrate being born? We didn’t even do anything to make it happen. I had no part in the fact that someone, well, two someones, decided to procreate and deliver me into this world.
And the singing? I hate singing. I can’t think of anything more mortifying than a group of people singingat mewhile I sit in front of a cake. And opening presents? In front of people? What if I don’t have the correct reaction and then someonethinks that I hate their gift? And what if I do hate their gift and I have to pretend that I don’t?
It’s one terrible cultural tradition after another.
Thank God there’s only one person in this town who knows that today is my birthday. If I stay home, I can avoid him completely and only have to worry about the obligatory “Happy birthday!” texts from my parents.
In fact, my phone buzzes with one of them now. A little earlier than usual… I wasn’t expecting to hear from them until dinnertime.
Ben
Happy birthday, Red *red heart emoji*
Fuck off, Benjamin.
Ben
Thirty.
Big birthday.
Anyone to celebrate with?
You are an asshole.
Ben
I love when you’re mean to me.
There is something seriously wrong with you.
Ben
Stop with the dirty talk, Colette.
I’m blocking your number.
Ben
That’s fine, I’ll be by in a bit to help you celebrate. *wink emoji*
What?
