Chapter 2 Sad Spice #2
“Yeah,” Penn says softly. “You already said that.” His worried expression tells me he believes not one word of what I’ve said.
Still, he takes his cue. “I’ll let you two get back to it.
A pleasure, as always,” he tells Connor.
And then, to me: “Wynne, I’ll have those birthday body shots ready for you, as promised. ”
With his mouth inched up, Penn heads back inside, and Connor shoots him one last contemptuous look. Unlike me, he doesn’t have years of practice putting up with Penn’s games, but for the first time, I’m thrilled at how easily Penn can get to him. Tonight, Connor deserves it.
I force myself to face him.
“Look,” Connor starts. “That isn’t how I meant for that to go.”
He’s wearing a posture I recognize from work. He’s in negotiation mode, and I don’t like being on the other side of it.
“Connor, please. We don’t need to do this,” I insist. “It’s done, okay? You’ve already made your decision. Clearly.”
With his hands in his pockets, he hangs his head, his deep breath audible over a cursed Black Eyed Peas song. When he looks up again, eyes shiny and tortured, he shrugs. “Yeah. I guess I have. I really am sorry, Ruby. I didn’t mean…”
Connor hesitates, then reaches for my hand, and all the anger that’s pulled taut inside me loosens, just for a second.
I let him wrap me in a hug, swallowing down a lump and all the words trapped in my throat.
There’s so much to say, but then again, there’s not.
The unthinkable happened: He wants one life, and I want another. I shouldn’t waste my breath.
It feels strange to say goodbye, so instead I pull away and say, “Good night.”
His throat bobs. He nods.
I nod back and turn away, heading into the bar before I start to cry. If I had to guess, Connor’s about to call his sister, who will pick him up, agree with everything he tells her, and then set him up in her floral-filled guest room for the night.
I shake away the thought. It’s not my problem.
Sorry, he said. Like he didn’t blow up my entire life. On my birthday.
I zigzag through the crowd and make my way back to our table, where Bridget sits alone. She glances up at me while reapplying lip gloss. “Where’s Connor?”
“He had to leave. Something came up.”
Before she can question what might possibly come up this late at night, Ryan slings an arm around my neck. “Don’t hate me, Ru,” he slurs. “I had to tell him. It’s just too good.”
“What is? Who?” I ask.
But I quickly have my answers. And jelly for legs.
Penn drops onto the stool opposite me and holds up the MASH game, his cocky smirk slicing at my composure like a knife. “Well, well, well,” he chirps. “I’m so honored that you chose me.”
“I didn’t choose you. The numbers chose,” I hurl back. “And it’s just a stupid game.”
I sound petulant. Humiliatingly defensive. An awful lot like I did when we were kids.
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure we could have a beautiful life together. You, me, and our thirteen pet fish.” Penn rolls back his shoulders, relishing in my misery. “It’s funny, Wynne. All these years I thought you hated me, but there you were, pining. All along.”
I face Bridget. “I told you there’s no such thing as a good surprise.”
She pats my arm sympathetically before snatching the game from Penn and shoving it into her purse. Gently, she nudges Connor’s untouched shot glass toward me. “Perhaps now is the right time for tequila?”
I slide a miserable look toward Penn, who still seems far too amused.
Screw it.
I toss back the shot, coughing as I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand. Ryan and Bridget cheer. Penn’s eyebrows lift, and I flash him a fake smile.
But it must fade quickly as I look around and realize, with horror, that half the bar is looking at us. We’re slowly being encircled. And then, God help me, the singing starts.
The opening notes of “Happy Birthday” ring out in an earsplitting pitch that might shatter the overhead lighting. Someone’s filming. Someone else takes a picture. The flash nearly blinds me.
I despise a public serenade. I want to slither under the table and hide. Or get a sudden case of amnesia so that I can forget this entire night.
Ryan stands on one of the stools, then gestures for me to do the same. I shake my head. He pleads. Bridget hoists me up in my heels, and as I try to stay balanced, not even Ryan’s giddy grin is enough to still my twitching nerves.
I want to leave. I want to be on the train back to the city, even if it means sleeping alone on the too-soft mattress I put up with for Connor’s sake.
Anywhere but here.
The singing crescendos, wobbly and off-key, and Theo Ford slips through the circle carrying two frosted Pop-Tarts on paper plates, blue candles poked inside them at precarious angles. As I accept a plate from Theo, I lose my balance, the stool wobbling until someone’s hands grip it beneath me.
It’s Penn. He glances up at me, eyes crinkled with glee, and I grit my teeth. Something tells me he’s responsible for this chaos.
The singing stops, and Bridget shouts, “Make a wish, you two!”
Ryan and I look to each other, as we have for so many years, on so many birthdays. I see every version of him smiling back at me: age six, with buck teeth and long hair; twelve, with braces and a buzz cut; twenty-one, with glazed eyes and a euphoric laugh.
“Happy birthday!” he yells, and we both take big breaths, pausing briefly before we blow out our candles.
The sound of the crowd fades away, Connor’s voice in my head as I consider my wish: Don’t you have bigger dreams for yourself?
I’m not sure I do. But I did, once. And while I’m glad I’ve played it safe, I’m pretty sure it isn’t supposed to be this way. My birthday, or my life. I don’t want a roller-rink restaurant, and I sure as hell don’t want Penn, but some small part of me misses the daydreams.
As I stare into the flame, I wish, just for a moment, that I could meet who I might have become, if life had gone a little differently. If I’d been a little less afraid. If I’d held on to more of the me I used to be.
I close my eyes, blow out the candle, and think: I wish I was still like her.