“So you learned how to cook?” Chloe asks. I glare at her again.
Brian clears his throat. “Ah, no. Still lacking in that particular skill.”
I close my eyes. This is not going how I thought it would. Although now that I think about it, I wasn’t exactly surehowit would go. Certainly not “Let’s give Jules crap for dating someone who has money and who can’t cook.”
“I think they offer classes at the community college,” Mason offers after a beat.
Brian takes a swig of his beer. “I’ll look into that.”
I pump my legs and swing as high as I can. Telling Chloe and Mason was supposed to be easy. I was hoping for congratulations and excitement and decorating ideas, I suppose. Not whateverthisis.
“It’s great, you two. Honestly,” Mason says at the same time Chloe asks, “Have you told Alex yet?”
“I think Julia was going to call her later this weekend,” Brian says.
“Well,Julia,” Chloe says, “please let us know how that goes.”
I sigh and ignore the pointed comment. Mainly because I already know how Alex will react. She’ll pretend to be happy, maybe make a joke, tell me her congrats, and find an excuse to end the call.
Mason and Chloe exchange another look.
I grip the swings chains even tighter and close my eyes, imagining I’m anywhere else but the playground in my parents’ backyard.
Instead, I close my eyes like I did when I was seven years old and pretend that I’m flying.
I’ve spent the last couple of hours hunched over my laptop, furiously trying to polish up this paper. I’m not one to procrastinate, but my part-time job mixed with grad school and trying to keep up some sort of social life has finally caught up to me. My assignment is due in two weeks, and I’ve barely put a dent in it.
It’s not how I envisioned spending my twenty-third birthday, but here I am.
Tugging my cardigan a little tighter over my shoulders, I glance out the window to stare at the flurries that decided to make an unexpected appearance. February snow is not uncommon, but by now I’m usually over it, ready for the warmer weather and the flowers to reemerge and brighten the bleak and barren city landscape. It doesn’t help that Brian’s apartment is frigid, matching the cold on the other side of the window. It’s been almost eight months of living here, and I still can’t seem to shake the constant chill.
I think about making something warm to drink, but there really isn’t a point. Especially since I have to stop in a few minutes to get ready for a birthday dinner outing that I did not ask for, nor do I want to attend. I’d much rather be curled up on the couch under a cozy blanket with a hot cup of tea and a good book. Instead, I’ll be squeezing myself into a new dress and freezing my ass off while I make small talk with Brian’s parents over an expensive meal that probably costs as much as my portion of the monthly rent.
The shower turns off, indicating Brian is way ahead of me in the getting ready to leave department, and I know that’s probably my cue to put some hustle into doing the same. If there’s one thing Brian is known for, it’s getting out the door on time. Especially when it comes to meeting his family.
A loud knock echoes through the apartment, and I stare at thedoor in a mild sense of panic, wondering if maybe I misunderstood, and Brian’s parents are coming here first and not meeting us at the restaurant.
“Hey, babe, do you mind getting that?” Brian calls from down the hall. If it really is somehow his parents and he’s making me answer the door in sweats and my old beat-up cardigan, I’ll kill him.
I peek through the peephole and am relieved to see that it’s not the Prescotts but a delivery person holding a bouquet of flowers. “Delivery for a Julia Marrow?” he says once I open the door.
“Oh, that’s me.” He hands me the bouquet nestled in a large crystal vase. It’s filled to the brim with white hydrangeas, spiral and seeded eucalyptus, and an abundance of both pale pink and dark pink peonies. While he fumbles for his tablet so I can sign for the delivery, I press my nose into one of the peonies and smile.
I’m instantly taken back to a warm spring day in my mother’s backyard. The chill from the hallway seems to fade while I imagine the swing set and cool breeze and birds chirping overhead.
“If you could just sign right here,” he says, snapping me out of my daydream. He takes the tablet back once I’m finished and replaces it with a large, fluffy, white bear. My stomach flips because all this is familiar.
Once I get the vase and plushie inside, I place them both carefully on the table next to my laptop. A small card sticks out from the middle of the arrangement, and I gently open the envelope to read the note within.
Happy Birthday! Do whatever makes your heart happy. Including singing Debbie Gibson at the top of your lungs.
A song begins to play in my mind. One with a matching music video about falling in love with a childhood friend.
“Did you get flowers?” The question makes me jump. Brian walks down the hallway and adjusts his navy sweater, smoothing it out over top of his white button-down dress shirt.
“Yeah,” I say, my throat dry.
He takes the card from my hand and reads it while I lean down for another sniff of spring. “It doesn’t say who sent them.”
