Chapter 20
Ellie
I’ve checked my phone at least a hundred times today. I’ve called between every class period, but it went straight to voicemail every time. I’ve sent at least twenty texts. Nothing.
Ellie: Hi, what are you doing?
Ellie: Did you get my text?
Ellie: Hello?
Ellie: Bennett, please answer me.
Ellie: Are we still doing dinner tonight?
Ellie: Bennett, what the hell is going on?
Ellie: Are you serious right now?
Ellie: Please pick up. Or call me back.
Ellie: I can’t believe you’re actually doing this.
Today is my eighteenth birthday, and I haven’t heard from my boyfriend once. He knows how much today means to me.
This would be the second birthday of mine that we spent together, but something tells me that’s not going to happen. I don’t know where he could possibly be.
What I do know is that things between us have changed recently.
He’s been distant, flaky, and seems disinterested in anything I have to say.
The number of times I’ve heard, “Sorry, what? I didn’t hear any of that” recently is making me lose my mind.
I can’t remember the last time we went on a real date.
I actually can’t even remember the last time we kissed.
I met Bennett at a book store right after the start of junior year. It felt like something out of a movie–I was browsing the fantasy section, when I looked up and saw someone who looked like he could be in an Abercrombie ad.
Bennett is the opposite of who I usually find attractive–I’m typically into boys with darker features who look a little rough around the edges.
Boys like Griffin Hart.
I shake my head, determinedly ignoring that thought.
Bennett was tall and blonde, with blue eyes like the Texas sky, and he was nothing like I’d ever seen before.
He was wearing slacks and a white polo, with expensive looking shoes and the type of fancy watch my mom got my dad for his fiftieth birthday. He looked like he had either come straight from a business meeting or the country club. Either way, my interest was piqued.
He must have felt me gawking at him, because he made direct eye contact with me from across the store.
I smiled, embarrassed that I got caught, before quickly turning my gaze back to the shelf.
A hand reached over my shoulder to grab the book I had been looking at, and when I turned around, I was face to face with Mr. Abercrombie.
“This one’s my favorite,” he said with a grin. “Have you read it?”
From there, we talked for hours about books, and he even bought me coffee at the bookstore café. It felt like a meet-cute from a Meg Ryan movie, and I went home with his phone number and the biggest butterflies in my stomach. We haven’t gone a day without talking since then.
Full disclosure–he’s twenty one. I didn’t know he was that much older than me when we met, and I certainly didn’t know that when I gave him my number. And yes, I’ve heard all the things they say about dating older men as a teenager.
And now that this is happening, I’ve officially become a cliché.
I was so flattered that an older guy was into me that I didn’t stop to consider why an older guy would be interested in a teenage girl in the first place.
Since that first meeting, everything has been wonderful. He’s a perfect gentleman, and incredibly thoughtful. They were leery at first, but once my parents got over the shock of the age gap, they were enthralled with Bennett Campbell.
The day after we met, he brought flowers to my house unannounced.
I had never seriously dated anyone before, and this man was sweeping me off my feet.
Since then, he’s made it a point to bring me flowers at least once a week, even if they are asters and impatiens.
He has the worst memory for detail, and can never remember that it’s irises I love.
He calls me every night to say, “I love you honey, sweet dreams.” The first time he called me honey romantically, I nearly spit my drink out. It’s a name I had to get used to, since my grandfather has called me honey my whole life, but I’ve learned to find it truly very endearing.
Most importantly, last year he worked really hard to curate a perfect birthday for me from start to finish.
Like I suspected, he did end up throwing me a huge surprise party.
It was a little overwhelming at first, but the gesture was so thoughtful that I pushed past my discomfort to make sure I didn’t hurt his feelings after all the effort he put into planning.
Well, he used to do those things, I think to myself bitterly. He hasn’t brought me flowers in months, and those sweet late night phone calls have turned into a simple “Night.” text sent before 9 pm, letting me know he’s done texting me for the day.
Maybe those things have never actually been sweet. Maybe he does things he feels are expected of him. Or does things to give himself the upper hand. Maybe he’s never really understood or cared about me at all.
Finally, just as I’m walking out of Larkspur High for the day, my phone starts ringing. Bennett’s name and a picture from our one-year anniversary flashes on the screen.
I answer the call, but before I can even say hello, he barks out, “I’m in Houston for the week. Stop blowing up my phone. We can talk when I get back.”
Then he hangs up. I feel my jaw drop, and tears prick my eyes almost immediately. This is the Bennett I’ve been getting lately–a Bennett that’s short, impatient, and downright mean to me.
I’ve been dreading this for weeks, but this is it. This is the moment I recognize it’s over for me. And has been for a while.
I realize I’ve been staring at my phone for a solid minute, and my hands shake with anger as I tuck it away into my bag. Walking to my car, I decide to myself that we’re over.
I may not say those words out loud until he decides he wants to talk to me again, but I’m done. Even if he calls. Even if he shows up with flowers. Even if he says he’s sorry. We’re done.
He didn’t even wish me a happy birthday.
As I walk to my car, angry tears begin streaming down my face against my will. It’s not just that my relationship is over, it’s that my entrance into adulthood feels like a kick to the stomach. I know being an adult is harder than being a kid, but does it really have to start like this?
The worst part is, this is the first birthday I had planned on spending entirely separate from my parents and Abby. My genius thought process was that since I’m turning eighteen and becoming an adult, I should start a fresh new birthday tradition, leaving my old one in my childhood.
Now I have no new tradition–unless you count celebrating alone and buying yourself a cupcake on the way home from school.
As if that isn’t awful enough, this is a year where my birthday happens to fall during Thanksgiving week–and because of the new plans I made, that means my parents and Abby made plans of their own.
My parents have gone on a cruise in the Mediterranean. Abby and her dad left for Thanksgiving break early to spend the full week with her grandma in Arkansas. It’s just me and my misery left here in Larkspur.
That’s just fantastic. I was supposed to spend not just tonight, but the entire week with Bennett and his family. Now I’m completely alone.
It’s so fantastically awful that a bitter laugh bursts out of me in the middle of the parking lot.
Embarrassed, I look around to see if anyone heard me.
But I spent so long trying to call Bennett and waiting for him to call me back, I’m one of the last people to leave the school parking lot for the day.
I get into my car–my aunt’s old Volkswagen bug, baby blue with tan leather seats–and slam the door behind me. The charm chain Abby made for me swings wildly from my rearview mirror.
I rest my head on the steering wheel, trying to compose myself, but feeling utterly empty and defeated. I sigh, turning the key and bringing the engine roaring to life. I put the car in drive, and when I look up, I find Griffin standing across the parking lot, eyebrows drawn together in concern.
We do actually have an elective class together this semester, but we don’t acknowledge one another–I don’t know if it’s worse or better than when we didn’t see each other at all.
He’s even taller now than he was when I first met him.
Has it really only been three years? It feels like a lifetime ago.
He’s got to be pushing 6’3” at this point. It seemed like overnight the lanky boy with the boyish grin turned into…well, a man. His shoulders are broad, his jawline more defined. Not to mention the biceps constantly trying furiously to break free from the sleeves of his t-shirt.
Not that I’ve been looking.
Hastily looking away, I pull out of the parking lot without a second glance at him. I don’t want to think about how much of that he saw–I’m too busy thinking about how the most anticipated birthday week ever has turned into an utter catastrophe.
***
Griffin
November, Age 18
My heart dropped into my stomach when I opened Instagram this evening. The first photo on my feed was a picture of a cupcake with a single candle on it.
The caption read, “18 today. Happy birthday to me.” with a pink heart emoji. No smiling face, no friends and family, no presents–just a basic cupcake that was obviously bought last-minute from the grocery store, and a candle that seems left over from the ones pictured on her cake last year.
To anyone else, this might seem like a normal, lowkey way to end a birthday. But I know better.
I could tell something was wrong when I saw Eleanor in the parking lot. I’ve never seen her unhappy on her birthday, even last year when Mr. Hawkins sprung a surprise chemistry test on us.
I desperately wanted to sprint across that lot and ask her what was wrong and how I could fix it. She looked like she needed to be held, and even though we haven’t been friends in nearly two years at this point, I wanted to be the one who was there for her.
So much has changed since that God awful day. My parents got divorced last year after my mom freaked out and decided she wasted her youth on me and dad.
I don’t think my dad saw it coming–he'd been divorced before after getting married really young, but the way he described my mom, it was like no other woman had ever existed to him. They had a whirlwind romance, and have been happily in love ever since.
Or at least I though they were.
I used to ask my mom why they never had more kids.
“Because we got it right the first time, my sweet boy,” she’d always say, sealing it with a kiss on my forehead.
Hearing her say that never got old. My chest would always puff out, so proud to have been so good and right that they didn’t need anything else.
That illusion was shattered the day she stormed out.
I don’t think she meant for me to hear, but I swear the whole damn neighborhood heard as she yelled, “I never wanted any of this!” She might not have directly said “I never wanted you or Griffin,” but the message was loud and clear.
As a kid, I always wanted a love like theirs. My mom’s midlife crisis ruined that, I guess. I thought they were the blueprint–now I have no idea what love should look like.
David and Jack still come over every day like nothing’s changed, but the house feels almost haunted now. When things were normal, dad used to come shoot the shit with us in the basement sometimes, but mom barely acknowledged my friends then, and she definitely doesn’t acknowledge them now.
Even though mom is the one who blew up their marriage, dad ended up moving out so she could stay in the house. He’s in an apartment across town now, and even though I see him two nights a week and on weekends, I still miss him all the time.
Which made it even worse when my mom met her new boyfriend, and they decided to up and leave me too.
The day I turned eighteen, she told me I was old enough to fend for myself and left me alone in this house.
They still make sure the bills are paid and I have money for groceries, but it’s been lonely.
My dad offered to move back in, but I know being here would kill him—she’s still the love of his life, even after everything. I can handle a little loneliness if I don’t have to put him through any more pain.
So I’m here, alone, sick to my stomach at the idea of Eleanor being alone too. After going back and forth with myself for the better part of an hour, I decide to send her a text.
I don’t even know if she still has my number saved.
I try not to think about it. I’ve worked too hard to climb out of the self-pity hole I fell into when I realized she wasn’t going to forgive me.
Don’t go back there, Griffin.
Griffin: Happy birthday, darlin’. Thinkin’ of you tonight.
I set my phone down, not expecting her to respond. I walk away to grab myself a drink from the fridge, when my phone dings unexpectedly.
With a slightly embarrassing speed, I snatch my phone up and see a reply.
Ellie: Thank you, Griffin.
Simple, formal, straight to the point–but a reply nonetheless.
Trying to tamper down the feeling of hope kindling in my chest, I text back as quickly as possible, as though if I could just send something back soon enough, she might reply to me again.
Griffin: Did you have a good day?
I should have said something more interesting. Something that might keep the conversation going longer. Before I have time to continue kicking myself, she writes back.
Ellie: Yeah, it was fine. Can’t believe I’m technically an adult now.
I know the feeling–I turned eighteen eight months ago, and there was a weird bittersweet feeling about it. After everything went down with my parents, it felt like childhood was really over.
After my mom moved clear across the country, I started spending most of my time alone.
I go over to my dad’s on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and I join David for Sunday dinners now, but there’s still a lot of empty space.
The nights I spent with Eleanor and the guys feel like a different universe at this point.
Shaking those memories from my head, I send back my reply.
Griffin: Just fine? That doesn’t sound like the birthday girl I know.
She takes so long to respond that I worry I’ve overstepped– after all, she hasn’t wanted me to know her in a long time.
Right as I’ve given up, she sends one final reply.
Ellie: I guess I’m just a birthday adult now. Thanks for remembering. Goodnight Griffin.
I set my phone back on my nightstand, and lay in bed without bothering to change into pajamas. Staring at the ceiling, I wonder if there’s still a chance I might get to celebrate with that birthday adult again someday.