Aubrey
I pace the length of the darkened living room, trying to determine what warring emotion is coming up trumps. I'd long since discarded my heels, my feet padding lightly along the wooden floor in a soft rhythm.
I guess I should feel hurt. But do I? My feet stop their incessant movements, pausing briefly as I consider that thought. Hurt? No. I don't think so.
Disappointed? Yes. If I'm really honest with myself, I'm disappointed. Did I expect more? No. Not really. Coming second to his work is no surprise, but he promised. He made certain I didn't make any other plans, and I reluctantly agreed to keep the peace. He succeeded in isolating me from the people I count most important, and as he seems so apt at doing, he’s made me feel utterly alone.
I definitely feel overtaken with guilt. The shame I've been feeling for Jake. I haven't felt bad for David and I know that makes me a bad person because my guilt is for Jake, about the person I've become. The dark and twisted mess inside of me has finally turned me into someone I no longer recognize.
But more than my guilt, more than my disappointment, I feel swallowed by my anger. Blood boiling, skin itching, festering anger. Anger that here I sit, correction – pace - feet bare, when I may add, they should be encased in the shit hot heels I'd treated myself too, alone. On my birthday. Because David had unsurprisingly bailed. Canceled the dinner that he'd insisted on, a dinner he'd guilted me into, via text.
Text.
No phone call. No apology. Just a simple, Stuck at work. Can you cancel the restaurant. That's it. That is the exact extent of the message I received. On my birthday. Maybe I should be grateful I received the text. I wouldn’t have put it past him to stand me up.
Hence, the pacing, the anger and the complete disappointment in a day I should be celebrating.
Something to know about me? I love birthdays. Freaking LOVE them. Love that for one day a year, everyone wants to make you happy. That's their sole goal. It’s a day when the people you love most want to shower you with the love they have for you. For no other reason than to celebrate you existing. For being a part of their lives.
But today, for the first time ever, I resent my birthday. Resent that I feel alone when I didn't need to. I could've been surrounded by my family, my friends, with Jake. But I said no. I told them David had made plans and I'd see them another time. I feel like a fool. I knew this would happen. Deep down, I knew it. I knew his promise would break and I’d be left to pick up the pieces. I guess I’d hoped he’d surprise me.
I could call everyone. They'd be here as quick as traffic would allow. But David has succeeded in taking the joy out of my day.
I feel sad. Not to be confused with hurt, because my feelings aren't hurt by his actions. No. I'm sad. I feel low. I feel like a day I look forward to every year, a day that I enjoy every moment of usually, has been stolen from me.
Stopping my incessant pacing, I take a deep breath, holding my eyes closed tight against the sting. Tears. NO. I cannot cry on my birthday. I will not allow it. I will not let today become the first time I've shed tears on my birthday. For the wrong reasons. I won't let sadness, disappointment, and anger declare war on my emotions and release in a flood of tears.
Steeling my composure, I pull my shoulders up in a long, deep inhale of air, before dropping them on a relaxed exhale. Spinning on my heel, I move fast to the bathroom, ready to eradicate the unfulfilled and dashed plans, from my evening.
Sitting in a hot bath, surrounded by bubbles and alternating between my tequila and the melting tub of Ben and Jerry's I'd supplied myself with, I begin to relax. I let the water covering my skin remove the frustration of my day as I remind myself that the beauty of birthdays is that they come around every year. This year may have been a write-off, a blight in the history of happy memories but that can be fixed. Next year. The year after that. I've learned my lesson and going forward, I won't let myself forget that today is about me. No one else and their demanding plans.
I soak for close to an hour. Until my skin has wrinkled and the water has cooled. Insignificant reasons, but my drink is finished and my ice cream not far behind. Alas, removing myself from the tepid water is a necessity.
Throwing on my robe, I dry my feet before walking onto the wooden floors of my apartment. Let's not add a sprained ankle to the unpleasantness of my day. Trudging through the apartment, I grab my phone and dial for pizza.
Tequila, melted ice cream, and pepperoni pizza. Sounds delicious, no? Pity party for one. Check. Now I just need a tear inducing romantic comedy, and I'll be set. Who said Aubrey King didn't know how to celebrate her birthday solo? This is turning into quite the evening. Pathetic, lonely, but it could be worse. Really, I could be sitting in a stale restaurant, drinking my boredom and awkwardness away with copious amounts of booze. In turn, embarrassing my stiff and hard-hearted significant other, earning me a scorned level of criticism for the weeks following. Yay. Happy birthday, Aubrey. No, I guess when I think about it, this was the far safer option of the two. More enjoyable anyway.
Pizza ordered, I consider my bottle of tequila. Readying to pour myself another glass, I pause for a moment before shrugging and discarding it to take a deep sip from the neck of the bottle. It burns on its way down, and I shake my head against the sting, blinking widely.
Bottle clutched to my chest, I wipe my nose along the sleeve of my robe, heart breaking for Hilary Swank's character, dressed in her dead husband's clothes, accosted by her insensitive family about her wallowing and, the poor thing, the way she smells. Seriously? Who does she have to shower for? Gerry doesn't care anymore. He's dead. Assholes.
This movie breaks my soul in two. Makes my heart feel like lead in my chest with the agony of the storyline. I cry every time. No matter how many times I've seen it. Every. Single. Fucking. Time. Not a quiet sniffle either. Not a few drops of tears onto my sad smiling face. No, I ugly cry. You know the one, blotchy skin, hiccupped breathing, snot, blurred vision and puffy eyes. That type of crying. I love it. Call me what you will. I'm a sucker for it.
A soft tapping echoes at the front door, and I scurry forward, pausing my emotional roller coaster to rush and collect my pizza. Tequila bottle still clutched at my chest, I pull the door open, eyes averted in search of my wallet in the collection of things scattered across the entry table. "Sorry, just let me find your cash," I mumble, more to myself, locating it with a triumphant yell and wide smile, twisting on my heel and coming face to face with Jake.
Stumbling slightly, I lean against the open door to steady myself and save not only myself but my tequila from tumbling to the floor. "J-Baby."
Jake's bright blues eyes dart across my appearance in a worried fashion, skittish and concerned. "Strawb'ries, what the fuck happened?" Stepping over the threshold of my house, his hands cup my elbows.
"You're not the pizza guy," I announce unnecessarily. "I thought you were the pizza guy." Complete brilliance on my part. My brain is obviously firing on all fronts right now. Insert eye roll.
"Not what I meant. Why are you crying and hugging a half empty tequila bottle to your chest like it's your life support?"
I widen my eyes in a lift of my chin. "Oh. I'm watching 'P.S. I Love You'."
"I have no idea what that means," he narrows his eyes. "I thought you had dinner plans."
Stepping from his grasp, I sigh loudly. "Jake, you can't be surprised he canned on me."
"I’d hoped otherwise. But, I assumed something like this would happen. That's why I'm here," he admits angrily, leaning forward to pull the tequila from my tight grip. I struggle against his pull, not caring to hand my birthday date over.
Raising his eyebrows in challenge, he yanks hard on the neck, and I let go, regretfully and reluctantly on a dirty look. "Why didn't you call us? We would've all been here as soon as we could. It's your birthday, Aubrey."
Eyeing my bottle of tequila longingly, I shrug off-handedly. "You're right Jake, but it’s my birthday, and I couldn't stomach your pity. Not tonight."
"We wouldn't have pitied you," he defends, and I hug my arms around my chest, giving up of the notion of my tequila being returned.
"Of course you would've, Jake. No one would have meant to, but you all would've looked at me with sympathy in your eyes, and that’s the last thing I wanted. That's not what a birthday should be about."
"It shouldn't be about spending it alone, drinking yourself into oblivion either."
"Says who?" I challenge, angered by his intrusion into my pity party.
"Says me." He stabs a finger to his chest. "I, fucking say so. You love birthdays, Aubrey. You shouldn't be spending yours alone."
"I know that, Jake, but unfortunately, those were the circumstances I've been dealt. I'd made the decision to accept this as a write-off. It's just one year. Sure, I'm disappointed and yes, I'm angry, but where does that get me?" I throw my hands out in front of me, waving off his questions.
"That guy is such a fucking…. dick," he spits at his feet, his face contorted with anger, lowered so I can't see him fully. "Strawb'ries," he starts but I reach out to touch his forearm.
"Please don't. Not tonight." My eyes bore into his and I watch the battle in his shaded irises. His breathing comes harder, through his nostrils, his lips set in a thin line. Eventually his eyes close on a sigh and I exhale on a whistle of relief.
Thank you, I mouth as his eyes focus back on my face and he grins. It's not happy, more defeated, definitely no dimple and it comes nowhere near close enough to reach his eyes.
A thought hits me, and I tilt my head to consider him. "Have you really never seen 'P.S I Love You'?"
"I assume it's a film." I nod, and he shakes his head. "Can't say I'm hankering to see it after finding you in the state I did."
I laugh. It's real. It's rich, and I want to launch myself at him in appreciation for turning my whole day around with a simple sentence. "Oh, J-Baby, you have no idea. It's brilliant. It's heart-wrenching and you feel as though you've personally lost something when you watch it. Every time."
"You've seen it more than once?"
"Damn straight I have. I cry like this," I motion to my blotchy face in a circular spin of my finger. "Every. Single. Time."
His eyebrows drop heavily over his eyes and he looks stunned. "I am so confused as to why anyone would ever put themselves through something so miserable."
Grabbing his large palm in mine, I entwine our fingers, tugging him forward. "Come." We've taken two steps when I stop, pull the bottle of tequila dangling in his hand and hold it back to my chest. "We'll need this."
Two hours, six minutes later, because of course we had to start it from the beginning, Jake and I sit in complete silence. We'll not exactly silence, my hiccupped breathing echoes heavily in the room.
Turning slowly, I chance a glance toward him. His eyes slide to the side, brow furrowed. "I'm totally not down with that guy. Not cool," he declares on a snort.
Twisting my entire body, I feel personally offended. "What?!"
"Seriously, Strawb'ries, you cannot condone that guy’s behavior," he gestures toward the TV, his eyes snagging on the pizza box as he leans forward to collect the last piece. Offering it to me, I shake my head, too angry to speak. Taking a large bite, he considers me as he chews, swallowing deeply before reaching for the bottle of tequila. "Nice one, Gerry, drag her grieving out, don't let her move on. No, torture her with the memory of you, keep her waiting every single fucking day for a stupid fucking letter." His voice is loud, sarcastic and twisted with distaste.
Stealing the tequila from his hand, I drink deeply, eyes narrowed toward him over the neck of the bottle. "It's the sweetest, the most amazing gesture. EVER."
He recoils from my words on a snort of disgust. "He ain't ever coming back, Aubrey. He's dead. Holly knew he loved her. She should've been allowed to grieve in her own time, not have it drawn out, completely upturning her life while she waited for another letter."
"It was a journey, one she needed to accept and move past her grief. He helped her. He loved her."
Staring at me for a quiet second, his face breaks open into a grin, and I frown at his reaction. "Realize we're arguing about fictional characters, right?"
His smile widens, the dimple appearing and I laugh softly. Reaching up, I drag a fingertip through the indent framing his mouth and pull back on a smile.
"Thanks for completely turning my day around. This was fun. Best way to end my birthday."
"I…uh…I got you a little something," he admits quietly, reaching into his jean pocket to pull out a small box.
"J-Baby," I take the box as he hands it to me, smiling at his shy expression. "You didn’t need to do that."
"I know I don't ever need to do anything, Aubrey. I wanted to."
Pulling the bow sitting atop of the small box, I smile wide. Jake shifts restlessly beside me, radiating nerves. Opening the box, I take in the dainty chain displayed beautifully inside. "Jake," I breathe, running my finger along the gold, stopping to inspect the delicately crafted, crystal strawberry, attached. "It's beautiful." I look up at him, hoping with everything my face conveys how much I really do love it.
He smiles shyly. "You like it?"
"I love it. It's gorgeous and it means something, something really important to me. Thank you, Jake."
Pulling it from the box gently, I open the clasp. "It's an anklet," Jake advises, and I grin to myself, balancing my foot on the couch, knee to chin and I clip it around my ankle. It falls perfectly, sized ideally for me. Stretching my leg out, I twist my ankle one way and then the other, watching the soft light in the room reflect off the chain and pendant.
"Looks good," he admires, the smile evident in his voice and I turn my head to smile over at him.
I watch him for a beat and consider what it means that he’s here with me when he needn’t be. He had no obligation to travel all this way to make sure my birthday was special and not a wasted evening.
“My dad, when I was younger, really young, turning four, he forgot my birthday dinner. My mom and I waited and waited and waited, but in the end, we ate without him, and I cried through the whole dinner. Broke Mom’s heart. He wasn’t home by the time I went to sleep, and I woke up the next morning to a house full of balloons and freshly baked waffles.”
I smile ruefully. “He felt guilty, and it was the first ever day that I can remember, that he took work off and he spent the whole day with me. Mom was still mad, I could tell, but I was in heaven. My dad took an entire day off work to spend with me.”
Jake grabs hold of my hand, squeezing it tight. I look at our entwined hands and rub a thumb along his knuckles. “He never forgot another birthday. But still, the day after, I always get balloons and fresh baked waffles. No matter what. I think what I really love most about birthdays is the time I get with Dad.”
I contemplate my next words carefully, not wanting to ruin the moment, but unable to stop words falling from my mouth. “David often forgets my birthday, I don’t think he actually feels guilty, it’s not his nature. But, he’ll always try to buy my forgiveness with an excessive piece of jewelry or fabulous handbag. Funny, I’d never seen the similarity until now.”
Jake shakes his head, his brow creasing severely in disagreement. “I see no similarity. Joseph did it once, David continues to do it. Joseph made it up to you by giving you him, which is all you ever wanted. David tries to buy out of his selfishness, which shows he knows nothing about you.”
I nod, considering his words. “Maybe you’re right,” I agree half-heartedly. “But whatever the truth is in that, one thing I’m one hundred percent certain on is that no one has even given me something so thoughtful and as meaningful as this,” I gesture to my anklet, touching it once again before focusing back on him.
We stare at one another in silence, the weight of our feelings, of the hours we've just shared, dancing between us. I shorten the distance, his eyes closing in, I can't be sure whether it's relief or regret, as my lips connect with his. Whatever I saw, it doesn't stop him from angling his head to fit his lips to mine. Our kiss is soft, intimate, only our lips touching in a brush of skin. Pulling back and touching again.
Holding my chin between his thumb and forefinger, he pulls back completely, eyes scanning mine. "I should go."
Nodding softly at his words, my eyes close as his lips brush across mine once more before he moves to stand. "Are you okay to drive?"
He lifts his head once in a nod. "Yeah, only had a few swigs when Gerry really pissed me off," he smiles and I laugh, the sound kept in my throat.
"Happy birthday, Strawb'ries." He lingers at the door for a single moment before closing it softly behind him.
Falling back into the couch, I stretch my leg out once again, taking in my anklet and can't remember ever loving a gift more. He would have looked hard for this. It's personal, between us and us only. Drawing my knees into my body, I hug them tightly, my cheek pressed against them. Biting my lip, I can hardly contain the grin wanting to take over my face. Turns out this birthday was probably one of my best yet. Definitely. By a long shot.
I smile to myself as I tidy our mess, the anklet tickling my skin as I move. I wear it to bed, not giving a single second of consideration to removing it. I sleep easily that night, feeling almost as though Jake is with me.