It’s my birthday.
When I was little, my birthday was a big deal. My parents used to go all out with a cake and a party, all of it.
When I was nine, Ridge made me a chocolate cupcake and gave it to me. He licked all the frosting off, but it was a sweet gesture.
Birthdays are supposed to be fun, aren’t they? A day you look forward to with anticipation because it’s the one day you matter. You shouldn’t have to do anything you don’t want to or cook or clean. . . nothing.
You shouldn’t have to see people you don’t want to.
Sadly, when I thought of my birthday this year, I didn’t imagine the night like this, sitting on the couch across from Austin.
In fact, I made a wish this morning while blowing out my candle Grady put in my muffin that I wouldn’t see Austin today.
Guess when you’re twenty-seven wishes wished with muffins don’t come true. Who knew?
So there I sit on a Friday night, in the living room, with Austin, the boys in their bedroom.
I thought after signing the final papers last week I’d be done with these talks, but alas, I have to co-parent with this prick for another ten years. Lucky me.
“What do you want? I need to get the boys ready for bed.”
Austin stares at his hands, clasped in front of him as he leans forward on the couch. I wonder if I should tell him I fucked Ridge on that couch last night. I wonder if it’ll be satisfying to hurt him as bad as he’s hurt me over the years.
But I don’t because that’s not me.
For a moment, I can’t place the change, but there’s something off about Austin tonight. It’s still him, but different.
“I’m. . . moving to San Francisco,” he finally admits, lifting his eyes to mine, assessing my reaction. “My dad’s opening up a branch there.”
With wide eyes, I twist my head to look at him. I’m shocked, if that’s possible by anything Austin says anymore. I take a deep breath and clasp my hands in my lap, unsure how to respond. His eyes flick to mine, and I’m not sure he does either.
So he tells me he wants a divorce on the boy’s birthday. . . and he tells me he’s moving on my birthday.
Do I jump for joy? I want to, but I can’t because what about the boys?
“And the boys?”
His jaw tightens, his gaze holds steady. He doesn’t say anything right away, just continues to stare, his breaths slightly louder. “I’ll see them every other weekend.”
I’m quiet, for longer than I anticipate because I can’t believe he’d do this to them. It’s not like it’s far away, but still, he’s leaving them.
I lift my eyes. “I can’t believe you.”
A flash of anger clouds his face. “Not this again,” he groans, standing. “I thought this is what you’d want. Not having me in town to disrupt you and your fucking boyfriend.”
“You don’t even know why I’m saying that.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Why are you?”
“Because I would never be happy only seeing them every other weekend.”
He shakes his head and looks down the hall. “Where are they? I need to go. Brie’s waiting.”
Of course he throws her name out. I bite the inside of my cheek and fight the urge to turn away, exhaling through my nose. Finding my voice, I ask, “Is she moving with you?”
His head remains down avoiding my gaze, but I can see the frozen mask of uncertainty. He knows where I’m going with this. There’s a pause, and then he speaks slowly. “She is.” And then he hits me with it. “She’s. . . pregnant. I just. . .” He stops, shaking his head. “I don’t know how to tell the boys, but I’m leaving in the morning.”
The bitterness, the betrayal, it surfaces and rears its ugly face, still heavily present in my heart.
He’d planned this for a while. Maybe even since they had gotten together. And what, he just thought, I’ll tell the boys, and everything will be fine? They’ll be happy to pick up their lives every other weekend and move to a different town with people they don’t know and a house they’ve never seen?
For a brief instant, I contemplate how to reply because my heart hurts. Not because I still love him. Not because I care that they’re having a baby. My heart hurts for the changes he’s making to the boys’ life without even considering them.
I inhale a deep breath, letting the air fill my lungs. And that’s when I hear, “You’re moving?”
Austin and I turn to see the boys standing in the hallway, both with entirely different expressions. It’s Grady’s expression that catches me off guard. My usually quiet son is scowling at his father, his arms crossed over his chest.
I need air, something other than these four walls and the nervous feeling in the pit of my stomach. My feet are soundless as I stand, taking a step toward Grady.
Grady’s standing there, tiny fists balled up. His jaw is tense, and his lips press into a thin line. My heart pounds, breaths tight and constricted. He looks at me, then Austin, a jerky movement. “What did you say?”
Austin’s chest expands with his breath, and his words are gentler than he uses with me. “I’m moving to San Francisco.”
I look to Cash. He always reacts first. What feels like a thousand scenarios rush through my head, my legs feel shaky.
Cash rolls his eyes. He’s holding his anger back and sighs, walking down the hall to his bedroom with no reaction at all.
Grady, he has an entirely different reaction. “We matter!” he screams in Austin’s face, his face red, pushing him away from him. “I hate you! You’re so mean!”