Trevor steps closer as my pulse pounds.
“It’s not a perfect rhythm,” he says, sounding almost apologetic.
I shake my head quickly. “Poetry isn’t about being perfect. It’s about what it makes us feel.”
“And?” Trevor asks, right behind me now.
I pull in a steadying breath. “Do you know what today is?”
“February 15th,” he answers.
I turn, finding him regarding me with a cautious smile. “It’s my birthday. And I think you know that. There’s a bouquet of flowers on my nightstand at home. I had lunch today with your uncle when all I wanted to do was hide inside. You brought me my favorite drink this morning, and I have what I’m fairly certain is a cake waiting behind me. And this poem…”
I let my hand drop to my side, the paper still between my fingertips.
“I really, really hate my birthday, Trevor. Every year when I was young, my dad would be late, caught up in work, my mom would overcompensate for his absence by buying me extra gifts, and when I went to bed, all I’d hear was them arguing. Every year was the same until they finally divorced. I stopped…caring about it. My birthday was only a reminder that people can so easily let you down.”
Trevor sits on the floor, inviting me to do the same. Our knees brush together as I settle in front of him. “I’m sorry if I made it worse.”
My laugh is small. “You didn’t. You made meforget. You made me think I was doing you all these favors, and itkept me too distracted to remember I was supposed to be sad. Did Todd and Lumi put you up to this?”
He shakes his head. “I had a feeling, when you didn’t say anything about today, that maybe it wasn’t something you typically celebrated. I didn’t want to put pressure on you, Red, but… I didn’t want you to be alone, either.”
My eyes prickle, and I have to blink several times before my vision clears. “Fuck. Did you take the night off?”
“I did,” he says, twining his fingers with mine.
“And is that a birthday cake I picked up for myself?” I ask, unable to keep the bemusement from my tone.
Trevor’s smile twists. “Might be.”
“Is that why you tasted like chocolate earlier? Did you steal a bite?”
He chuckles. “No. But I did get a cookie while I was at the bakery.”
I shake my head, feeling so much…Fuck. I don’t even know. Gratitude?
“It’s only six-thirty,” I point out. “What are we going to do until I’m allowed to unbox my cake?”
“Well,” Trevor says, getting back to his feet and tugging me with him. “I thought, maybe, you’d like to dance?”
My eyebrows pop up. “Here?”
“Here,” he confirms.
Trevor gives my hand a squeeze before heading for the row of cassette tapes beside us. In one corner is a cassette player available to be rented out. Trevor grabs it before walking down the aisle of cassettes, seemingly appraising the choices.
Finally, he plucks one free, feeding it into the player. He sets it on the ground as music starts to play from the speaker, quiet enough not to disturb people elsewhere on the floor. It takes me a second to recognize the song.
It’s an eighties hit. “Heaven Is a Place on Earth” by Belinda Carlisle.
Trevor holds out his hand, the upbeat cadence of the song putting a smile on my face. I grab his hand, and he tugs me close, his other hand holding my hip. We sway side to side in our own little corner of the library, the sun beginning to set outside the windows.
I’ve never liked celebrating my birthday. As soon as I could, I stopped. No more meaningless presents. No more wishes that didn’t seem to amount to anything.
But Trevor managed to make this day something different. Without me even realizing, he gave me memories to hold on to instead of things. The poppies I accumulated over the past several days. Him learning to make a hazelnut latte because he knew it’d make me smile. Meeting his extended family under the guise of picking up some flash drive he probably didn’t even need. Dancing with me in my favorite place. Thepoem.
I don’t think anyone sees me the way Trevor does.
