Her brow furrows, hands lying on her chest. She lowers to her knees, watching as I light the candle, the little flame adding warmth to the room, almost as glowing as her smile.
“Make a wish, babe.”
The candle dances over her dark eyes. I wait in silence, not wanting to interrupt her thoughts, until her emotions take over and she starts to cry.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“It’s so stupid.”
“Not to me. Talk.”
“I wanted a day full of distractions, but not like this. I thought you weren’t going to be here, I had an interview where it felt like I’d die if I messed it up, then I spent hours worrying my best friend mightactuallydie,” she explains, her voice pinched by her tears. “I am so,sohappy Keisha got through that scary birth, and it is amazing to have my first niece. But . . .”
“Now it doesn’t feel like your day anymore,” I finish for her.
She shakes her head at herself. “After dreading this day for so long, it has been everythingbutmy birthday. That’s basically what I wanted, and now that it happened, I’m upset about it? Like, pick a struggle, girl.” She dabs her eyes with a laugh.
I stroke a hand against her back. “You’re allowed to feel however you feel about it.”
With a hand on my knee, she acknowledges the return of the advice she always gives me. “I know nothing’s changed because I turned thirty, but I wanted to be farther along by now. I wanted to spend tonight looking back and being proud of everything I accomplished. But there’s nothing I’ve done that’s worth celebrating.”
“That’s not true,” I say. “Even if you haven’t done everything you wanted to in the last few months, look at everything you’ve overcome in your life, all the struggles you survived in your twenties. Your strength is worth celebrating on its own.”
She stares at the candle again, frowning ever so slightly in disagreement, the flame adding a flicker to the tear that streams down her face. “My mom never made it out of her thirties,” she whispers.
Her words grip my heart like a fist. “She didn’t?”
Shaking her head, she says, “I couldn’t look forward to this birthday or see this decade as the best of my life because all I could think about is how I’m going to be older than my momma and I haven’t even lived yet.”
“You have. And you’re not out of time.”
She gives me a weak smile then grips my hand, lacing her fingers through mine. “Thank you for being here.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Now, make a wish.”
She considers for a moment, then leans down and extinguishes the flame with a small puff of air. There’s no telling what she wished for. Selfishly, I hope it had something to do with me. Because most of the birthday wishes I’ve made in my life came true when I met her.
She cuts the cupcake down the middle, the soft sponge falling away easily to reveal the mango center. Her face lights up again. We grab our forks, and I watch her take the first bite before I have mine. It is as delicious as it looks.
“Do you like it?” I ask.
“I love it. I’m regretting letting you have half.”
We sword fight with our forks, and she wins, stealing a bite of my portion. Her eyes linger on mine so comfortably, either a million thoughts or zero thoughts lying hidden behind them. “Did you fly out last-minute, or were you lying about work so you could surprise me?”
Busted. “Lying. Kind of. Workishell, but I would have quit if they told me I had to miss your birthday.” Sai wouldn’t have been able to keep me there if he held me at gunpoint. “Keisha knew. I asked her to keep it a secret.”
“You’re the best surprise ever.” She leans over to kiss my cheek. “When do you have to go back?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Babe . . .” She sighs.
“Flights are nothing. I wanted to be with you. I didn’t even want to—” I stop myself.
“Want to what?” she asks. When I hesitate, she doesn’t allow it. “Say it.”
With a breath, I finish my embarrassing sentence. “I didn’t want to leave you last time.”
