NINETEEN
When I said “something small” Joe and Sayo clearly thought I meant “something obnoxious.” I can barely hear myself think in this loud pub. The slow thump of music drifts around us, is muffled behind multiple, yammering conversations and laughter. Sam, it seems, has gathered his troops from the Math department and erected a large streamer with my name, each letter made up with fractions and symbols my little English nerd brain only loosely recognizes. There is food strewn around several tables, glasses of liquor and bottles of beer everywhere on their surfaces, on the bar, some littering the floor. The crowd is thick, mulling around like rats scurrying from a house fire, but the air is light, the humor vibrant and, seemingly, this is all for my benefit.
I want to run away.
I recognize the people around me in only vague and inconsistent flashes. My fellow grad students, the whole of the rugby squad sans Declan, secretaries from our department, wives and sweethearts of those in attendance; they all cluster around me, surround me until I find myself seeking out friendly, familiar faces. I see Layla draped around a guy with a shaved head who stands too straight, whose eyes do not relax as he scans the crowd. There is Mollie sitting across from me laughing at something Sayo says and, finally, Ava, arms and feet crossed as she relaxes against the bar. The compulsion to run eases when I focus on my friends, on their genuine laughter and easy manner. When Joe demands the crowd to split as the cake is brought in, I forget my discomfort and simply enjoy his smile; something that’s been lost to me for years. I’d forgotten how much I’d missed it.
“Here ya go, sweetie!” Sayo is drunk. She clears a path for Sam as he carries my cake and the entire place fills with an intolerable, tone deaf rendition of “Happy Birthday.”
There are far too many candles on this delicious looking chocolate cake but I smile when it descends closer to me. Joe’s arms wrap my shoulders when I smile and I gasp, quite giddy at the very detailed replica of the Serenity, flagship of the Firefly series sitting atop the cake—a gift from my geeky father to his equally geeky daughter.
“She’s beautiful,” I say and my smile widens when I feel Joe kiss the top of my head.
Tucker came without an invitation, something that annoyed Sayo at first and likely led to the copious amounts of Cosmos she was drinking. Now, I doubt she even notices him. He sits next to me, squeezes my knee as I take in this gorgeous cake. Despite my ex’s drunken, “I forgot you don’t want me” attentions, this has been a loud, but happy night. The drinks are flowing. Ava, my friends and Joe are laughing and enjoying the night, Mollie breaks out her turntables, my friends and colleagues surround me. So why do I feel a slight twinge of depression?
Ava catches my eye and I see her fingers toy with the charm around her neck. It’s her sorority crest. She lost the one she got in college several years ago on a cruise and last year, my mom surprised her by replacing it on her birthday. I know what Ava’s thinking and a part of me lets the sensation of loss infiltrate my mind. We stare at each other, both thinking of my mom, missing her, but then Ava winks at me and the moment is gone, replaced by Sayo’s loud voice and the flickering flames that have me squinting as the cake is pushed in front of me.
“Make a wish, sweetheart,” Joe says, rubbing my back.
“Yes, Autumn, what are you going to wish for?” Tucker asks, his hand skimming up my thigh. Joe must notice this, because before I can close my eyes to make my wish, he slaps Tucker on the back of the head.
“Watch your hands, mate,” Joe says, not smiling. His frown lowers further when Tucker laughs.
I ignore them both and close my eyes. There’s only one thing I want. Quiet. Serenity. Happiness. Well, that’s three things, but it’s my wish, no one will know. I take a breath and in one exhalation the candles go out. There is a raucous cheer from the faces around me and then the cake is being sliced, Joe is hugging me, Tucker is kissing my cheek and Sayo’s tongue is in Sam’s mouth.
Happy freakin’ birthday to me.
Presents are ridiculous. I’ve never received more gift cards, bottles of whiskey and wine and, from Tucker, a highly inappropriate set of diamond studs. Joe isn’t impressed by the gift or the man but Tucker doesn’t seem to care. He keeps his hand on the back of my neck and if I walk two feet from him, he’s right behind me. It’s quite ridiculous. He’s tried kissing me three times and in each instance, I’ve managed to deflect his advances. Joe’s presence helps, of course. I’ve never seen anyone snarl quite the way my father does. It’s impressive, and if Tucker were remotely sober, he’d probably be threatened.
But Joe, it seems, can’t stop himself where my love life is concerned. I leave the bathroom to find him waiting for me. His gaze is focused in a stare, across the room at the back of Tucker’s head. The expression vanishes when I stand next to him, but his determination does not. Before I can say a word, Joe takes my shoulders, gives me that familiar fatherly deadpan. “I wanted to speak with you about this Tucker lad.”
“What about him, Joe?”
I can’t help but smile at his chin sticking up as if whatever he will say is the end all be all and I’ll not get a chance to argue with him. “I don’t like him. I don’t like him one bit. I think you should be rid of him.”
My father is many things and I’ve called him all of them over the years, but at his heart, he is a true man. He never listens to me. He sees firsts, reacts and then considers later. I’ve explained to him more times than I can count that Tucker and I aren’t together, that we won’t ever be together again. But I get the impression he doesn’t buy that. “Joe…”
“No, listen to me, love. I have a feeling about him. He’s well rude and possessive and I’m not keen about the way he stares at you or holds on to you, like he owns you.”
“He’s a little drunk, Joe, that’s all.”
“You don’t even like him, Autumn. You said so yourself, months back. And you said he was rude to his squad besides. What then are you doing with him?”
There is a flicker of annoyance, of memory that unsettles me. I don’t like how bossy Joe sounds, how put off he is by my non-relationship with Tucker. There is nothing between us, I’ve made sure of that, but Joe doesn’t see this. He ignores my explanations and let’s his imagination get the better of him. And when you get down to it, he lost the right to his opinions on my life the day he walked out on us.
“Joe, it’s none of your business who I date.”
The familiar color of his cheek, the hard wrinkles exaggerating the lines around his eyes and I know Joe is mad. When I try to walk off, he slips his hand around my wrist and pulls me back. “It is, in fact. You’re my daughter. I care about you and this boy is no good for you.”
“It’s a little late to be dolling out advice, Joe. I’m not a child.”
“You’re still my daughter.”
But I haven’t always been. My whole life, I was Evelyn’s daughter. I haven’t been Joe’s daughter for a long time and I think he needs reminding of that. “Being a sperm donor doesn’t make you a father, Joe. Sticking around does.”
He is stricken, hurt. The automatic drop of his mouth, the flush of his skin instantly has me hating myself. But we’ve behaved like old friends ever since he returned. There have been no explanations, no defense that would help me understand why my mother and I were forgotten. I’ve gone months without a parent and I suppose I’d forgotten how they can’t seem to let go, to forget that the task of correcting, of directing doesn’t diminish over time. When Joe’s silence bounces between us, I walk away from him, annoyed at his familiarity, at my rudeness. I need air, fresh, free-from-the-crowd air and nearly make it to the door before Tucker grabs me.
“Where are you going, sweetness?” There is a stupid, sloppy grin on his face that I don’t find funny. I curse myself for letting him stick around tonight. Even as drunk as he is, Tucker has remained tight-lipped about Declan, about what he knows. Even my mild attempts at flirting with him haven’t loosened his lips. Now, he’s back to being a nuisance.
“To get some air.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No, Tucker. Stay here. I’ll be back in a minute.” I think he might ignore me. He even takes a step, as if to follow, but I jerk him around, easy to do when he’s pissed out of his head, and give him a little shove toward the crowd. Over his head, I see Sam who nods at my gesture and wraps his arm around Tucker’s neck in a playful, dude-type hug, leading him to a chair.
A gust of wind sweeps back my jacket when I open the door. The noise from inside lowers the farther I walk, and then I’m caught by the full moon above, the inky blur of darkness split only by that bright orb and the small dots of starlight. The weather has finally sorted itself and now a cold snap blankets around Cavanagh. Couples huddle together outside of the pub, holding onto one another in attempts at warmth, at closeness, and I smile as a guy uses this position to his advantage, peppering small kisses on the neck of his companion.
Layla’s loud shriek from inside diverts my awareness of my surroundings and I smile at her and Mollie seen through a window, dancing to some song I cannot make out. But they are smiling, focused on each other and part of the worry I feel for their frayed friendship lessens.
To my left, another couple passes me, slouched together, their clumsy movements and wobbled steps tells me they are drunk, but holding firm together, arms tangled, heads bend close against the cold and I think of my last drunken escapade. Declan took me home, saw that I made it safely, didn’t touch me the whole night as I lay next to him.
He took care of me and the thought chips at the doubt that lingers around his rejection; about the truth to his claim that we were not meant for each other.
“Enjoying your party?”
There should be no surprise that Declan is here, hiding in the shadows, avoiding the crowd. Of course he’s here. He’s always around, standing in the distance, watching, waiting. He works uninvited appearances like a surgeon mending the decay in a dying body.
I want to hold onto my anger. I want to cradle it until even the slightest glance at him disgusts me. He has befuddled me, played with my mind until I examine his every look, the slightest nuance in his words. But I can’t keep control on my anger. I notice his clean shaven features, the strong lines of his cheeks, the square shape of his jaw, how he’s taken care in his appearance—hair laying in perfect, gelled waves against his head, a thick wool coat free of lint and the bright blaze of his green eyes, the warmth of my anger turns cold and slips from my grasp.
Declan walks out of the dark alley and I see a gift nestled under his arm, but I try not to think too much about the idea of him remembering my birthday or that he took the time to get me a present.
I attempt detachment, not wanting him to see my pleasure, the smile I fight to hold off my face. But I fail miserably and can tell by the damnable smirk on his face that my annoyance will not last.
“I’m sorry. About our fight,” he says. His attention falls to his hand, to his trimmed fingernails. “I had no right to corner you like that.”
There are faint, red highlights in his hair that glimmer against the streetlamp. They are scattered against his dark hair, at the temples, on the crown. “You really didn’t,” I say, hoping my voice is flippant, that my tone doesn’t give away that I didn’t mind him locking me in the bathroom. Well. Now I wouldn’t mind it.
His fingernails no longer hold his interest. Two clicks of his heels on the walkway and Declan is in front of me. “I don’t mean to fuck with your head, McShane. I just can’t seem to control myself around you.” As though to demonstrate, he lifts his finger to my face, brushes the hair out of my eyes. I wish I knew if he’s angry, if he misses me, if it killed him just a bit to walk away from me. But then Sayo pops open a bottle of champagne and her squeal of laughter brings both our eyes to the window. “Not enjoying yourself in there?”
“It’s loud and I’ve just had the first fight with my dad in eight years. I needed some air.”
He takes another, closer step and I don’t back away. “He try to give you a curfew, did he?”
“No. He doesn’t like Tucker.”
“That makes two of us.”
It makes three of us, actually, but I don’t bother telling Declan that. We’re still dealing in the truth commodity and I want my bank higher. To do that, Declan has to be left to believe my little fabrication.
“What are you doing here?” I say, pulling my scarf closer to my neck. “It’s Friday night. Shouldn’t you be out with your girlfriend?”
“Yes, well, I don’t have a girlfriend.” At my expectant stare, he grins. “She was a bit clingy. I had to give her the toss. Then she went straight to the cricket field to find her next bit of stuff.”
I crinkle my nose. “Oh, God, she could have at least picked a proper sport.” Between his laughter, Declan lifts the gift from his arm and offers it to me. “What’s this?”
“I wanted to get you something…nice. To make up for our fight the other night.” He moves his shoulders. “It’s not biscuits.”
By its shape and weight, I know it’s a book. Declan has wrapped it in simple, brown paper, held closed by thin twine. In the center is a sprig of lavender. I tear the paper, let it fall to the ground and the moment I see the spine, my breath hitches, catches between my gasps of shock. The gold letters are faded, but still distinct and my eyes instantly burn when they shift across the title. First edition. He’d investigated my collection the night of our date, snooped through the bookshelves. He would know I collect them. To Kill a Mockingbird. I don’t trust myself to look at him, can’t spare a second to have him watch the way my nose moves in a sniffle, the collection of tears hanging from my lashes. But when I open the book and see then inscription inside, my composure slips, tears build, collect behind my lashes. It is impossible, precious, but the note has been signed to me.
Autumn, Remember the stories your mother told you. - Harper Lee.
The signature is feeble, as though it was made with struggle, but there are flicks at the end of the R’s and a wide loop in the top of the L that make me smile, make my chest burn with pleasure. She’s written my name. She reminded me of my mother, of the stories she always told me. It was personal, and I am so affected, so overwhelmed that I don’t notice the tears sliding down my face or that Declan immediately wipes them away.
“Declan, this can’t be.”
“It is.” He takes the book, flips the pages to the back cover. There is an envelope, a letter of authenticity that he produces with pride.
“How in the world?”
“Winchell.”
My head snaps up and I watch his expression to make sure he isn’t joking. “What?” He nods to the side, toward the window and I look inside to see Ava watching us. She offers me a wink and small grin before she returns to the party.
Declan tries to dismiss the gravity of this gift, as though there was nothing to it at all. “I went to her office and told her what I’d like to get you for your birthday. She made some calls. Has an Aunt working for some Writer’s Symposium in Alabama. She offered to call in a favor.”
His face is impassive as though this isn’t the most remarkable thing anyone has ever done for me. I can’t help myself. There is a great swell of warmth in my chest. He has done this for me. I knew the book alone must have cost him plenty, but to admit he’d gone out of his way, just for me, that is priceless. I don’t think, I just pull him down into a hug, hoping he can feel that the tremble in my arms isn’t from fear, that I am so filled with gratitude that the sentiment shakes my entire body.
I can’t stop the tears from falling and I don’t care that my nose is running. “Declan, this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.” I pull back, but his hands stay wrapped around my waist. “Thank you so much.”
“I just bought the book, McShane. Winchell did the hard stuff.”
“It was your idea.”
“Yeah, well—” he blushes and I laugh. I’ve never seen Declan blush before. I open the book and read the inscription.
“It’s priceless.” I look back up to him. “It really is priceless. Thank you.”
In the stretch of the moment, I can guess what will happen. I don’t care. His rejection, his constant mixed signals, I don’t care about any of it. He is going to kiss me and I want him to. I want him to take me back home. I want him warm against me, I want him kissing me, holding me, helping me forget everything that has happened over the past few months. I touch his cheek when he bends toward me and exhales, I feel his breath hot on my face; a rich sigh that lessens the weight of tension.
“Autumn Honor?” I hear Joe say. Declan growls, a regrettable, annoyed sound and rests his forehead against mine. Joe comes behind us and I turn, curve my eyebrow up. He has a ridiculously pleased smile on his face. “Sorry, love. I was just checking on you.”
“I’m fine, Joe. Declan was just giving me my birthday present.” At his doubting frown, I shake my head, nod it to the left, hoping he’ll get the hint. “I’ll be in a minute.” One ridiculous grin and a brief wink, then Joe disappears into the pub. “I guess I should go. I’m being rude.” I can see the hesitation, the disappointment on Declan’s face, the purse of his lips. “Do you want to come in?” He squints through the window of the pub and watches the crowd, no doubt seeing Tucker among the endless faceless.
“Best not. I’d hate for there to be a scene.” He rubs his thumb along my bottom lip. When I think he will kiss me again, I inch in closer, but then his thumb leaves my face and Declan clears his throat. “Are you lot prepared for the Dash?”
“I think so. As much as we can be.”
“Good. That’s good.” He smiles as though a thought comes to him. “We’ll back you up.”
“We?” I ask, wondering what he’s planning.
“The lads and I. Don’t worry, it’ll be fair. Captain won’t have a clue.”
The smile returns to my face and I squeeze Declan’s hand, a silent thank you for his gift, for him looking out for me. Though I don’t want to, I walk away, am almost to the door when I hear him call my name.
“Yes?”
“Happy birthday,” he says, but I don’t think that is all he means. Those green eyes are brighter now than they were just moments ago.
“Thanks, Declan.”