Page 201 of Mad Girl

One big, unusual family.

And that definitely included you.

Later, as we dug into our breakfasts, I stopped eating to clasp my dad’s wrist.

“What is it?” he asked.

He’d just given me the wonderful gift of you and Michael. I wanted to give him something, too.

“I guess it might be okay if—I mean, I don’t need anything. But if it’s important to you…”

“You’ll let us get you a cake?” Nic asked, his voice so soft and hopeful that it pricked my heart.

I shrugged. “Yeah. If you want to.”

“Of course I want to,” he whispered.

“Can we sing ‘Happy Birthday’?” Michael asked from across the table.

“No,” I said quickly. “No singing.”

“What about candles?” Libby asked.

“Candles are fine…I guess.”

“And gifts?” John asked.

“No more gifts,” I said. “Not today. Michael and Casey being here? That’s all I really wanted, anyway.”

John looked at Nic. “Is it too late to send her other gift back?”

“Yep,” Nic said, going back to his eggs.

John sighed. “Well, Elliot. Looks like you’ll have to put up with at least one more gift today.”

Beside me, you said, “She’s going to love it.” You bumped my elbow with yours and winked.

After breakfast, I helped you clean the kitchen before we headed out back to swim.

Another birthday treat—and undeniably my favorite one—was that I got to see you in those little black swim trunks again. It did something to me, Casey, seeing you in those shorts, your skin glistening as you climbed out of the pool.

Whole body tingling.

Stomach fluttering.

Heart thrashing.

I thought of our kiss, the feel of your tongue in my mouth, your finger hooked inside my camisole…

“You horny bitch. You’re not even trying to hide it this time.”

Tinsley. Standing over my chaise lounge. Bubblegum pink swimsuit. Big sunglasses. Wild corkscrew curls framing her face. We squealed with delight as I jumped up and hugged her.

You and Michael watched us with big grins on your faces—you, toweling off; him, hanging onto the edge of the pool. While Tinsley launched into a play-by-play of her summer in Greece, gushing over some cute guy she’d met there, a sopping-wet Michael pulled her into a hug. She scolded him for getting her hair wet.

That night, we dined al fresco under a star-studded sky. Flowers and tea lights dotted the back patio table. The smell of jasmine, climbing a trellis nearby, clung to the air. A light breeze came off the ocean, ruffling the white tablecloth and my hair. We lingered long after we’d cleaned our plates. We laughed. We teased.

But when Libby brought that big chocolate cake outside and placed it on the table in front of me, my stomach clenched, instantly reminding me why I normally said no to this. The cake made me think of my eighth birthday. Eight tall candles lit, right before a single raging moment forever altered my life—Michael’s, too. I wanted to walk away, deny myself the happiness of that moment, which felt so undeserved, still. But you grabbed my hand underneath the table and squeezed it tight. The soft look on your face said, It’s okay.