Chapter Twenty-Seven
Anna
For the first time, I am not happy that it’s my birthday. I’m not in the mood to celebrate. Drew’s birthday was yesterday. And though I’m the jerk who pushed him away with both hands, somewhere in the back of my mind, I’d planned to celebrate our birthdays together. At the very least, I’d have found a way to be with him on one day or the other. Who did he celebrate it with? Will he think of me today?
Sitting on my bed in the empty apartment, I curl over on myself, pressing a hand to my chest. When is the pain supposed to end? I feel so hollow, yet so heavy with hurt that I can barely move. Sleep is no longer a comfort. Every moment I’ve spent with Drew plays in a loop in my head. When I wake, my pillow is damp, and my cheeks are tight with dried tears.
I’m walking out to meet George downstairs when I trip over the box on my doormat. It’s a present, large and square, and done up in plain white paper and a black ribbon. An envelope is tucked under the ribbon. I can’t see any writing on it, but instantly my heart is thumping so loud I hear its thud in my ears. I’m almost afraid to pick the present up.
From outside, a horn blares. Grabbing the package with clumsy fingers, I run out to the car.
“You aren’t supposed to get yourself presents, Anna,” George jokes when he sees the package in my hand.
“Ha.” I tried to laugh, but I can’t.
We drive off, the present cool beneath my sweaty palm. Staring out the window, I press my fingertip against the hard corner of the card until it bends. Should I open it now? At least see who it’s from? I think I know. But I might be wrong. I’m not sure what would crush me more, if I’m right or if I’m wrong.
Only one way to know. And I can’t wait until I get home. My fingers tremble as I pull the envelope free and rip it open. It’s a plain white card with “Anna” printed on it in hard, masculine script.
My breath seizes at the sight and a wounded sort of wheeze escapes. I don’t even know if it’s Drew’s writing. I’m only guessing. How sad is that?
Fumbling, I open the card.
I bought this before—
Seemed petulant to waste it.
Happy Birthday.
—Drew
I haven’t cried in weeks. I won’t let myself. But staring down at the wrapped present, I feel a familiar burn and tickle behind my lids. My throat constricts so hard that I struggle to swallow. I can’t bear to rip into Drew’s present. I want to keep it just as it is, in the precise way he last touched it. But something waits inside for me, and I have to know what it is.
The car speeds along the highway as I carefully pull the ribbon free and attempt to open the present without tearing the paper.
Inside is a box, and when I lift my present free, a sob wrenches out of my chest. It’s a framed Siouxsie and the Banshees album cover—JuJu, circa 1981. And it’s signed by the entire band. A rare and wonderful thing that I don’t think anyone else in the world would know that I’d love.
Like that, I’m a veritable fountain of tears, snot, and heaving sobs as I clutch the frame to my chest.
George casts me a horrified look. “What the hell? Anna, talk to me.”
I can’t. Not without dying a little more inside. “I’m sorry. I’m PMSing.”
While George’s look of horror grows, I sniffle and search for a tissue in my bag. I find a crumpled cocktail napkin that scratches my face when I use it. “The present is from my mom,” I lie. “I guess I’m homesick.”
He doesn’t look convinced. In fact, I’m sure he knows I’m lying. But he lets it go with a shrug. “I guess it’s good you’re going home for break soon.”
But my home isn’t a place anymore. I’ve realized too late that it’s a person. And I’ve torn him from my life.
I turned twenty-three yesterday. Ever since my parents died, I’ve hated my birthday. It only serves to remind me that my family is gone, and I am essentially alone. Gray is clearly doing Anna damage control. He managed to talk me into seeing a movie yesterday—a sad sack way to celebrate, in his opinion. Now he wants to drag me out to do a birthday celebration with the guys, who aren’t taking no for an answer. I’d rather pretend birthdays didn’t exist.
I think about the present I left on Anna’s doormat. Since the album cover arrived, I’d been wanting to see her expression when she opened it. Now I can only try to imagine. Did she smile in that quick and bright way of hers when she’s surprised? Or did she smile with slow, blooming reluctance, like she’s losing the fight with her emotions?
Did she even like it? Am I pathetic for giving it to her? Hell, if she ever found out how much I paid for it, I’d certainly look like a sap. But it wasn’t as if I could return it; I’d bought it at auction.
Why am I torturing myself with this? I can’t go back and beg for another chance. I have some pride. And I don’t know how to fight for her and still keep it. Giving her the present was the last thing I could do. I can only hope she understands: I’m here, if she wants me.
“Take the L,” I mutter to myself.
A knock on my bedroom door has me sitting straighter. “Be out in a sec,” I call to Gray, who is waiting for me to get my ass in gear. Shit, I really don’t want to go out. But a guy cannot tell another guy that he’d rather mope around the house. Not if he wants to survive the ribbing.
“You got a package.” Gray’s voice is muffled by the barrier of the door, but there’s something about his overly neutral tone that has my chest clenching.
In two steps, I’m at the door, wrenching it open. He just stands there, a bland look on his face, holding out a wrapped present. For a moment, I frown. Is he being funny? It is from him?
But I can’t imagine Gray using silver paper or an elaborate white silk bow. It’s too feminine.
I have to clear my throat to speak. “Where’d you get it?”
Gray does a piss-poor job of hiding his wariness. “I thought I heard something on the porch. Found this leaning against the front door.”
My entire body tenses against the need to run out of the house and search the street. It had to be Anna. Why didn’t she knock? Hell, I hadn’t knocked, maybe she thought that’s the way I wanted to play it. Not really. I’d just chickened out like a total puss.
“Well?” Gray wags the box. “Are you going to take it? Or should I toss the thing?”
Before he can move to do just that, I grab the present from his hand. I don’t look at it but hold the box down and slightly away from my body as if it might burn me. But my fingers dig into it.
Gray and I stare at each other while I remain immobile with indecision and doubt. Maybe it isn’t from Anna. And why am I dithering like some old lady? I give Gray a dirty look, because he’s starting to smirk, and shut the door in his face. No way in hell am I opening this potential bomb in front of him.
Going for the bandage approach, I rip open the package with one swipe. A card falls to the floor. With a shaking hand I grab it as I study the leather book the torn wrapping paper has revealed. Emerson’s Essays. Gold-lined pages. Pristine condition. I sink to the floor, my back leaning against the bed for support. I smooth a hand over the cover and then open the card.
What do you get the guy who doesn’t seem to want anything?
I figured a bit of the past might be good. Happy Birthday, Drew.
—Anna
My fingers clench the book so hard I hear the spine creak. Pressing my forehead into my raised knees, I take deep breaths to keep it together. Doesn’t want anything? Is she serious? I want to tear out of the house and hunt her down. Just so I can take her by the shoulders and shout, “You! I want you, you stubborn, deluded pain in my ass!”
At the same time, I pull the book closer to my chest. Emerson’s Essays. She remembered. And she’s given me back a piece of my parents. Did she know I’d be missing them on my birthday? I blink rapidly. Of course she did. Her note all but said it. Suddenly, I find it hard to breathe.
Another knock on my door echoes through my room. “Drew, man... You ready?”
Swallowing several times, I press my fingers against my too-hot eyes and find my voice. “Yeah.”
I put the book and card in my bedside drawer and leave the room. Life goes on. Even if you don’t want it to.