Five of Cups
ANOTHER SPOONFUL WILLdull the painful truth.
My youth is gone.
A carton of ice cream is gripped between my legs like my life depends on it not slipping from my clutches. A cool autumn breeze flits through the open window next to my whitewashed sleigh bed, and I shiver as it races up my exposed arms.
I consider closing said window but refrain, too comfy to move from under the heavy down comforter and matching gray sheets I’m currently curled beneath.
My lips wrap around a tarnished silver spoon—a wedding present from my mother—and a chill settles over me. Whether from the draft or cold dessert, I’m not sure, and I couldn’t care less either way.
Less than nine hours remain of my fortieth birthday, and I’m alone, eating my ice cream as though it’s my last supper.
My eyes are fixed on the harvest-yellow walls, a color I adored once upon a time but now resent because I’m no longer the carefree wife and mother who chose that cheerful shade.
Birthdays come and go, and the next may not be promised, but it’s just a day. Tomorrow, all the calls and messages will stop. I’ll be one year closer to my own death, with nothing but wrinkles and cellulite to keep me company.
Dramatic much?
My phone chimes from the nightstand and I ignore it. It’s been going off all day with messages commemorating a day I’d rather skip from family and friends who know this yet refuse to oblige me.
Almost immediately the phone rings, and I know that either I answer or risk a wellness check from the police, courtesy of my well-meaning friends. There’s no doubt it’s Lanie or Nina on the other end of this call. Both of my best friends are dogs with a bone, and neither will stop until I shut off the phone or scream down the line that I’m alive.
Sighing, I grab the black smartphone and push accept.
“I’m breathing. You can stop calling,” I drone, sounding pathetic even to my own ears.
“Well, that’s a relief.” Lanie’s dry tone just barely hides the irritation she works so hard to conceal. “I thought you’d managed to drown yourself in Chocolate Salted Fudge Truffle or that nasty riesling you adore.” I hear Lanie’s deep breath before she continues. “Alyssa, you can’t hide from your birthday.”
“But I’m going to give it my best try,” I say, eyeing the now-empty ice cream container with contempt, sending a thanks up to the gods that she didn’t attempt a video chat. If Lanie Anderson saw my current condition, she’d stage a full-on intervention.
All traces of irritation and worry vanish when she says, “Ava called.”
I groan, silently cursing my far-too-perceptive daughter for calling my overprotective best friend. This wouldn’t be the first time. In fact, it seems to be happening far more often than reasonable.
I know Ava doesn’t want me to be alone today, but I don’t wanther worrying when she should be focusing on studying for her exams. She’s a little over an hour away at a prestigious boarding school for the arts, and if it were her choice, she’d give up her dreams and come back home.
“She shouldn’t have done that. I told her I was fine.”
“She doesn’t think you are, Ally. You haven’t left your house for more than a grocery run this week. It’s your fortieth birthday and you aren’t celebrating, when we all know that birthdays are a big production with you.”
“I left my house,” I say indignantly, blowing a wayward piece of hair out of my eyes.
“Don’t be cranky. It’s unbecoming of a woman in her prime.” Her teasing lilt is meant to make me laugh, but I don’t.
“I’m not cranky and I’m not in my prime.”
“Sure you are!” she says far too cheerfully when moments ago it was all doom and gloom. “Forty is a prime number.”
“It’s not.”
“It isn’t? Hmm...” she murmurs, and I can see her clearly in my head, full lips pursed and one perfectly microbladed eyebrow cocked in contemplation. “Well, I guess you’re right. Nothing prime about forty.”
“I hate you.”
“You don’t,” she practically purrs.
She’s right. I cherish our friendship. Even more for her part in picking me up off the floor on numerous occasions over the last two years. Lanie has been a constant friend. One who hasn’t allowed all of me to break into the million tiny pieces it wants to. A fate my poor heart didn’t escape.
