Chapter 17
Gillian
Words I don’t hear enough of on October thirty first?
Happy. Birthday.
I actually hear the words “we’ll brush extra” more than I do the latter.
Even my friends push it to the back molar until their pre-trick-or-treating meal.
That’s when I’ll typically get a text.
Rarely a phone call.
It’s also when the “let’s do something post birthday” discussions begin.
I just accept it.
Their kids should be a priority.
For most of them, Halloween only comes second to Christmas, which has always been familiar territory to me.
Growing up, I never had a party on my actual birthday for obvious reasons, and parties post were usually rare because M had hockey games or tournaments and that’s where we had to be.
By the time college rolled around, I didn’t even see the point in mentioning it, and now that I think about it, most people never wondered when I was born or why I don’t celebrate.
And I don’t really celebrate.
My birthday typically consists of a very long, slow day at the office – most players are busy doing things with their families – a lunch convo with my parents – usually by video chat – an easy drive through meal – trying to get anything delivered is a nightmare – and watching hockey on the couch wherever my brother is playing – or coaching nowadays.
Old habits die hard, I guess.
I’ve definitely never done a big, huge blow out like we did for M’s last month.
As for the holiday, I made the mistake of being born on instead of just hanging out in the womb for a literal ninety more seconds?
I do what I’ve always done.
I simply go with the flow.
I decorate because other people want to decorate – in this case other people being a goofy teenager who didn’t want to be the only house on the street without something ridiculously oversized in their front yard.
I hand out bite sized candy – from sunset until puck drop.
And I even wear something festive in the form of a headband – because I find costume shopping a lot like costume wearing, both being much less fun and much more stressful than cocktail dress shopping.
“Happy Halloween!” my big brother joyfully clamors from the other end of the video feed, clearly already settled in the opposing team’s luxury lounge for away coaches and traveling medical staff. “And of course, happy birthday, Gillyyyyy!”
I forgo getting out of my car in Thayne’s driveway to warmly express my gratitude, “Thanks, M.”
He always makes sure to say happy birthday right after happy Halloween.
We’re talking immediately.
He did it growing up.
Hasn’t changed.
Won’t change.
Sure, today’s fun and festive, but he swears the best part of the day isn’t that it’s a holiday, it’s the fact his best friend was born.
That I was the real treat, not candy.
Thayne texted me something similar this morning about me being born – although he did wish me a happy bday before happy Halloween – which just added more guilt on top of the guilt buffet I’m just throwing back almost daily.
When Mari insisted I tell M soon, that was my plan.
It’s just so happened that when I sat down to move said plan from theory to actuality, there were a few soft spots, I wasn’t expecting.
Like having to meet with Bronny’s academic probation officer – as part of the new enrollee mandate.
Participating in the Slayer arranged Hockey Fights Cancer events which included sending the players off with “purple themed treat bags” to keep the fighting spirit on the road and delivering purple stuffed animals they’d autographed to the local children’s hospital when I got off of work.
Oh!
And let’s not forget an unannounced OSHA inspection that threw off my entire staff along with our patients as well as the new rugby patients that came highly recommended to me by Hennington who is thinking about investing in the recently established team trying to gain its footing in the city according to my brother.
Again, it’s not that I don’t want M to know.
It’s just one of those things that needs to happen face to face over a brewskie and some fries and some wings because I have absolutely had my fill of “za” for at least the next six months.
M gently pats down his green neck accessory prior to asking, “You like my new tie?”
“You look like the coach of The Lucky Charms team.”
“The sale chick said it was stylish!”
“She said what you wanted to hear so you would get that hideous shit off her shelf.”
“So cynical, aye.”
“So been in your shoes.”
“And speaking of shoes,” he gestures an open palm to me, “is the gift card Mari and the kids dropped off enough to buy you at least one decent – non sales rack – pair? I noticed you’ve been wearing heels more. Figured you might like to add to your collection.”
“I have been wearing them more often.” A tiny pause is taken. “You know. When I’m not in scrubs.”
“Noticed you’ve had a change in those too. More colors. More fun prints. Shit ton more music themed ones.”
What can I say?
Thayne loves to spoil me with music things.
Just last week he got me a coffee warmer for my desk that looks like an old record player.
“Your boy’s doing?” M slyly asks prompting me to shift uncomfortably in my leather seat.
“In regards to the shoes or the scrubs?”
“Both.”
“I’ve actually always liked wearing heels. I just recently stopped giving a shit how other people feel about me towering over them.”
“And the scrubs?”
“They’re cute!”
“But my tie isn’t?”
“Your tie is burning my retinas, Coach.”
Loud chuckles are accompanied by a headshake. “You sound like the boys.”
“I should,” leaves me in a playful tease. “I’ve spent enough time around them between being at their games and them being in my office.”
He lets the corner of lips curl upward. “What about the boyfriend?”
Fear ruthlessly grabs me by the face.
“He like hockey?”
“Yeah,” guilt lowers my volume, “he…loves…hockey.”
“He like the Dragons?”
“He…loves…them.”
“He know your big bro slash best friend slash stamp of approval holder is the head coach?” His mirth has me desperately trying to fake my own. “That why we still haven’t met?”
“He knows,” I quietly confess. “And you’ll meet soon enough.”
“Tonight, would’ve been perfect, aye?” The playful poke swells a lump of sadness in my throat. “Where’s he taking you out for dinner?”
“Why…?” skeptically leaves me. “So, you can know if you’ve got spies in the area to report back to you?”
“Well, you won’t tell me shit!”
“I tell you shit all the time!”
“Yeah, but not his name.”
“Because I don’t want you soc’ stalking!”
“Why not?” he good naturedly laughs, informing me of his truly unbothered disposition. “What’s wrong with a little pregaming to the big faceoff?”
“First of all,” snickers are exchanged, “there is no faceoff. There will not be a boyfriend vs big brother tournament.”
“I’d win.”
“Second,” my eyes roll on their own accord, “I don’t want you soc’ stalking because I want you to meet him face to face. Because I want to be the one to introduce you to the man, I’m fired up about.”
M struggles not to smirk. “How fired up?”
“Scale?”
“Like warmies brawl or bench clearing Donny?”
“Like setting a new record for penalty minutes type of fired.”
“Daaaaamn…” escapes in a dramatically airy fashion. “That’s fucking love.”
Unbridled giddiness gets me eagerly nodding.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in love.”
“I honestly don’t think I’ve ever been.” My shoulders innocently bounce. “At least not like this.”
An intrigued hum precedes his next line of questioning, “And where exactly is the mystery bud? Better not be scrambling last minute to get your gift.”
“Doubt it.” Knowing exactly where he is and where he can’t be leads me to cleverly announcing. “He has to work late today.”
Which is very true.
Just like my big brother does.
“He better not miss your fucking birthday.”
Holding in a hiccup is almost impossible.
“He better have some top-cheddar shit that you text me all about.”
I adjust the angle of the phone in hope it hides the action I’m struggling to conceal.
“Shouldn’t you be getting your head in the game and out of my love life?” I teasingly scold.
“Probably,” M lightly laughs. “Puck drops still a bit away. Shit part about playing in Cali.”
An alert cuts into the chat informing me that Thayne is trying to call prompting me to say, “Well, I’ve gotta take this call coming in, but I’ll be rooting and watching later just like always.”
“Just like always,” he adoringly echoes. “Big love.”
“Bigger love.”
Ending his chat to begin one with my boyfriend swiftly occurs as does his immediately blowing of the purple, plastic kazoo I gave him along with the singing of my favorite version of “Happy Birthday”.
I grin super wide and clap along and bounce my yellow scrub covered body to the familiar beat.
Once he’s finished, he blows the noisemaker again and declares, “Happy birthday, Gillybean!”
“Thank you, Jukes!”
“Can we agree that Stevie Wonder’s version is sticks down the best version of all time?”
“We can.”
“Can we also agree the fact that he wrote it as part of his campaign to make MLK’s birthday a national holiday is amazin’?”
“Again…we can.” An impressed expression creeps into my gaze. “And it is quite amazing for you to know that.”
“You surprised that I do?”
“Nope.”
“Because you know me.”
“I do know you.”
“And I hope I know you, Gillybean,” he mischievously states at the same time he pops a yellow jellybean into his mouth. “You jus’ get home?”
Gahhhhhh, I love that we call his house home.
My own place is actually beginning to feel less and less that way.
I will say I think Owlfonso misses me as much as I miss him, though.
“I did. I basically just pulled in the driveway.”
“Perfect.” The grin he’s growing continues to do so. “Take us inside, birthday queen.”
“Us?”
“Yeah,” Thayne proudly chuckles, frame moving around his hotel room, likely looking for one of his shoes.
Irony of course, being the yelling he does about Bronny losing his own shoes.