The shout came from three directions at once.
Zoey stopped short as everyone turned toward us and broke into cheers.
Nora was behind the bar, grinning like she had personally arranged the sunset. Pete raised both hands in triumph from the dartboard area. Mei clapped once, sharp and satisfied. Cris, Jamie, Morgan, and Alex were gathered around one of the long tables with drinks in hand, and all four of them looked delighted by Zoey’s discomfort. Mr. Harlan sat in an armchair near the fireplace with a mug and the expression of a man who would deny enjoying any of this if asked directly. Bobbi was crouched on the floor near the hearth with Markie.
Markie was wearing a tiny felt birthday hat balanced at a precarious angle.
Bobbi had a second hat in her lap and was apparently trying to convince him there should be more glitter involved.
Zoey slowly turned her head, looking from face to face.
The cheering got louder.
“Oh, absolutely not,” she said.
Morgan nearly folded over laughing. “That face means she loves it.”
“I do not,” Zoey said.
“You do,” Jamie called.
Alex lifted her glass. “You look hot and offended. It’s very on brand.”
Pete pointed dramatically toward the bar. “Birthday woman. I made you something.”
“That sentence has never once ended well,” Zoey said.
“It’s a cocktail,” he said. “Have some faith.”
“She doesn’t have that,” Cris said. “It’s one of her more charming defects.”
Bobbi spotted us at last and jumped up so fast Markie nearly lost his hat.
“Zoey!” she shouted. “Markie already had half a pretzel and one tiny crisis, but I handled it.”
“DOG,” Markie screeched when he saw me, which had everyone laughing.
Bobbi ran over and wrapped herself around Zoey’s side with the unselfconscious force of a child who had decided affection was happening. Zoey caught herself against me with her free hand, then automatically rested that same hand at the top of Bobbi’s back.
It was one of my favorite things about her. Care lived inside her even when she acted like it didn’t.
“Happy birthday,” Bobbi said.
“Thank you.”
“I told everyone you hate attention.”
“Doesn’t seem like your warning worked.”
“It was helpful context.”
Markie climbed onto the back of the nearest chair, puffed up his chest, and yelled, “HAPPY BIRTHDAY ASS.”
Pete slapped the bar and laughed. He probably enjoyed Markie more than any of us.
Mr. Harlan shook his head and grinned into his mug. “Bird’s got timing.”
“Bird has range,” Pete said.
