The night before my birthday, I decided to sleep over at Zach’s home.
Guess I’d become addicted to the small indulgences of his many guest rooms. The sprawling firm mattress. The plush pillows. The large dressing table. And the scent of fresh flowers and decorative candles that wafted from every corner.
The chef kept the fridge stocked, and lately, that somehow included things I loved to eat.
Zach left me to my own devices, busy hiding from me then seeking me out spontaneously.
For the first time in nearly two years, I had a long, uninterrupted sleep. No Vera to yell at me to do the dishes. Nor Tabby and Reggie to whine for me to cook breakfast.
Just… peace.
I woke up to delicious silence, blinking my eyes open.
You’re twenty-three.
Congratulations. You made it another year.
Much to your so-called family’s chagrin.
I allowed myself twenty-three seconds to mourn my fencing career. Valentina Vezzali had two Olympic medals by this age.
Every day, my biological clock ticked down. It probably didn’t matter. Showing up at a competition would be shameless.
Next, I flicked the bridge of my nose until I smelled nothing, then spent two minutes convincing myself a waft of Dad’s signature birthday confetti pancakes had drifted by.
I missed them.
I missed him.
And finally, for no logical reason whatsoever, I reached for my phone on the nightstand and checked the messages.
Disappointment tickled my tear ducts when I clicked open my last messages with Dad and found no new ones. He used to leave me a long text every birthday morning, full of affirmations.
By afternoon, I’d arrive to my dorm to a basket full of goodies.
I reread his last texts, though I already had them inked in my brain in permanent marker.
Dad:
Remember Ms. Langer?
Farrow:
My first-grade teacher?
Dad:
That’s the one.
Dad:
She finally got married. I went to her wedding last night.
Dad:
Their vows were perfect. Even the cake was in tiers.
Farrow:
BRB. Bleaching my eyes.
Farrow:
Dad jokes are the worst.
Dad:
We talked about you for a while.
Dad:
(Okay, I bragged about you, and she listened politely.)
Dad:
I’m so proud of you, baby girl. Can’t wait to see you kick ass at your competition this weekend.
Farrow:
Pick a seat in the front this time. 🙁
Dad:
Promise.
Farrow:
Love you.
Dad:
Love you more.
I sighed, exiting it out of the messages, double-checking that I didn’t accidentally delete them.
I’d grown paranoid when it came to losing tangible memories of Dad. Especially with all of his belongings pawned off.
A single tear threatened to slip down my cheek.
It was true what they said… The happiest memories eventually become the saddest.
Now, I only had one birthday wisher.
Ari:
Happy Birthday, you kick-ass woman, you.
Ari:
Don’t forget how much I love you.
Ari:
Though I’m still here to remind you every day for the rest of your life.
Ari:
Okay, that sounded hella creepy. But you know what I mean.
Ari:
Oh. Also, I sent you a check for cash. Not too much, but enough for you to book yourself a spa day.
Ari:
You know you’ve earned it.
Ari:
Seriously, don’t come at me for the money.
Ari:
I wasn’t sure about your schedule, so I didn’t want to book you anything myself.
I smiled at my phone, fighting tears of nostalgia and self-pity.
I really wanted to be with her right now.
Correction: I wanted to time travel to two years ago, to Seoul, to the moment Dad visited and treated me and Ari to hanwoo and soju.
I swiped furiously at my eyes, texting back through a blurry curtain of tears.
Farrow:
Coming at you at full force.
Farrow:
Also, you are such a sap.
Farrow:
Love you to pieces. – F
It would be so easy to fall back asleep. To shut my eyes and forget my troubles.
Zach would let me sleep in.
Andras would deal with it, in light of my birthday.
Instead, I grabbed my duffel bag and drove down to the country club for a practice session. I was on point, focused, and hungry.
Andras, however, seemed a little distracted, so I didn’t give him shit about forgetting my birthday. Anyway, he was my trainer, not my BFF.
I had no one but myself to blame for my lack of company. Most of my friends lived in Seoul, where I’d spent my formative years.
And I was too broke, chicken-shit, and disgraced to fly over there.
Once we finished practice, I retired to the locker room for a quick change before Zach’s class. But when I pulled out my phone, I spotted a message from him.
(He’d made a show of demanding my number after he spent Monday searching for me before our so-called lunch date, berating me for not making it on time. One—we both knew he already had my number, a byproduct of his hacking skills and utter disregard for my privacy. And two—who ate lunch at 11:30? Only people with an AARP card.)
For one pathetic second, my heart rose to my throat.
Did he remember my birthday?
Zach:
Raincheck on class.
Zach:
Mom is throwing a party today.
Zach:
Apparently, I need to go over the menu details with her.
My heart crumbled into rubble, scattering all over my chest.
What did I expect, though? He didn’t know my birthday. Had no indication that I’d just turned twenty-three.
I guess he had a copy of my ID somewhere on his servers from when he hired me, but why would he check it?
With shaky fingers, I replied.
Farrow:
K. Have fun.
I drowned my sorrows in a chocolate donut from Dunkin’s. The large iced coffee felt particularly glacial beneath the freezing air.
I drove to Swallow Falls to watch the river flow, stuck a candle in the donut’s hole, and made a wish.
“Dad, if you’re up there, please give me a reason to wake up tomorrow. Anything. No matter how small. Consider it my birthday present.”
A tear dropped onto the donut, painting a shimmery line down the chocolate glaze.
I shut my eyes, tipping my chin toward the sky.
“If you do, I’ll forgive you for breaking your promise and missing my last competition.”
The chilly early winter air seared through my air pipe as I sucked in a breath, reminding myself not to fucking cry.
I had no reason to.
Pretty soon, I’d bring Vera down.
You do have a reason to, the lonely, bitter chunk of my soul reminded me. You’re all alone in this world. Your best friend is on the other side of the planet, and you’ve put all your chips on a man who wants to screw you then dump you.
My phone pinged with a message, interrupting my pity party. I yanked it out of my back pocket, biting down on the donut.
Please, be someone who cares for me. Please.
Vera:
I see you got yourself shiny new legal representation.
Vera:
Just received the letter.
Vera:
And who foots the bill for this entire nonsense? Do tell.
Vera:
That’s fine, Farrow.
Vera:
I’m still going to crush you.
Vera:
Gloves off now.
Vera:
Just how I like it.
I stared at the screen.
Three little dots danced along the bottom.
My breath hitched.
Another text box appeared.
Vera:
Happy Birthday, Farrow.
Vera:
Let’s hope it’s your last.
