Thirty-five
Liem
Beautiful but disheveled, Bri looks like she’s been through the wringer, walking out of the hospital doors in a suit and tennis shoes, her curls pulled up in a pile on her crown. She sees me and stops, covering her face. The bouquet of flowers in my hand seems to have done the trick.
I close the rest of the distance, her eyes staying on me rather than the expensive, out-of-season peonies in my hand.
She nudges them aside to wrap her arms around me, her chest against mine, her head in my neck.
All the stress of making her believe I wasn’t coming—then almost not coming for real when my flight time changed—fades away.
“You came,” she says in a tearful voice.
“Of course I did.” I hold her tight, feeling a little guilty that she fell for my ruse. As if I would ever skip something as important to her as this day. “I wanted to surprise you, but it looks like you’ve had a lot of those already.”
“Only a few.” She lets out a sad-sounding giggle, sniffling right after.
Her grip on me hasn’t loosened at all. I’ll hold her as long as she needs and be thankful for every second. “If you’re here, I guess that means you didn’t get sushi.”
“Or cake,” she says with a pout. I’ve got her covered on that part too.
“Let’s fix that.”
~
“I smell like a hospital. Can I borrow some clothes?” she asks the second we step into my rental.
“Go for it. My suitcase is in the bedroom.”
She leaves the room, giving me the perfect opportunity to get everything together.
During the ride over, I ordered sushi from the restaurant we were meant to go to, but she won’t complain about having her cake first. I get it set up on the coffee table, pour some wine and dim the lights, Bri walking in right when I strike the match.
“You brought me cake,” she says. My sweatpants and T-shirt are too big for her but give her the effortless sex appeal of a nineties R&B music video. She looks damn good, but she’d look good in anything.
“It’s your birthday.”
Her brow furrows, hands lying on her chest. She lowers to her knees, watching as I light the candle, the little flame adding warmth to the room, almost as glowing as her smile.
“Make a wish, babe.”
The candle dances over her dark eyes. I wait in silence, not wanting to interrupt her thoughts, until her emotions take over and she starts to cry.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“It’s so stupid.”
“Not to me. Talk.”
“I wanted a day full of distractions, but not like this. I thought you weren’t going to be here, I had an interview where it felt like I’d die if I messed it up, then I spent hours worrying my best friend might actually die,” she explains, her voice pinched by her tears.
“I am so, so happy Keisha got through that scary birth, and it is amazing to have my first niece. But . . .”
“Now it doesn’t feel like your day anymore,” I finish for her.
She shakes her head at herself. “After dreading this day for so long, it has been everything but my birthday. That’s basically what I wanted, and now that it happened, I’m upset about it? Like, pick a struggle, girl.” She dabs her eyes with a laugh.
I stroke a hand against her back. “You’re allowed to feel however you feel about it.”
With a hand on my knee, she acknowledges the return of the advice she always gives me.
“I know nothing’s changed because I turned thirty, but I wanted to be farther along by now.
I wanted to spend tonight looking back and being proud of everything I accomplished.
But there’s nothing I’ve done that’s worth celebrating. ”
“That’s not true,” I say. “Even if you haven’t done everything you wanted to in the last few months, look at everything you’ve overcome in your life, all the struggles you survived in your twenties. Your strength is worth celebrating on its own.”
She stares at the candle again, frowning ever so slightly in disagreement, the flame adding a flicker to the tear that streams down her face. “My mom never made it out of her thirties,” she whispers.
Her words grip my heart like a fist. “She didn’t?”
Shaking her head, she says, “I couldn’t look forward to this birthday or see this decade as the best of my life because all I could think about is how I’m going to be older than my momma and I haven’t even lived yet.”
“You have. And you’re not out of time.”
She gives me a weak smile then grips my hand, lacing her fingers through mine. “Thank you for being here.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Now, make a wish.”
She considers for a moment, then leans down and extinguishes the flame with a small puff of air. There’s no telling what she wished for. Selfishly, I hope it had something to do with me. Because most of the birthday wishes I’ve made in my life came true when I met her.
She cuts the cupcake down the middle, the soft sponge falling away easily to reveal the mango center. Her face lights up again. We grab our forks, and I watch her take the first bite before I have mine. It is as delicious as it looks.
“Do you like it?” I ask.
“I love it. I’m regretting letting you have half.”
We sword fight with our forks, and she wins, stealing a bite of my portion. Her eyes linger on mine so comfortably, either a million thoughts or zero thoughts lying hidden behind them. “Did you fly out last-minute, or were you lying about work so you could surprise me?”
Busted. “Lying. Kind of. Work is hell, but I would have quit if they told me I had to miss your birthday.” Sai wouldn’t have been able to keep me there if he held me at gunpoint. “Keisha knew. I asked her to keep it a secret.”
“You’re the best surprise ever.” She leans over to kiss my cheek. “When do you have to go back?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Babe . . .” She sighs.
“Flights are nothing. I wanted to be with you. I didn’t even want to—” I stop myself.
“Want to what?” she asks. When I hesitate, she doesn’t allow it. “Say it.”
With a breath, I finish my embarrassing sentence. “I didn’t want to leave you last time.”
Her eyes search mine for a moment. “I didn’t want you to leave either.”
My heart pounds in my chest. It’s now or never. “Do you want me to be completely real with you?”
“Always.”
I swallow down my fear. “I love you so much, Bri. Maybe I’m not in love with you yet, but I’m not far away. You make me feel seen and protected. You push me to be the best version of myself—to care for myself the way I wish others would. The way you do.”
“Really?” she asks.
“Yeah,” I say, and I mean it. “I talked to May and was open with her about the animosity I feel toward Dad. She told me she felt the same. Not that she was upset with him for leaving her but for never trying to make up for leaving me too. I confronted him at Thanksgiving. Told him I don’t care to be in his life if he only keeps me there out of obligation. ”
“That’s amazing, babe.”
“I wouldn’t have done that if not for you giving me permission to protect my peace. Maybe I’ll never have a lot of friends, but I’m more at ease when I know I can—and will—choose who gets to be around me.”
Her tears build again. “I’m so proud of you.”
My emotion mimics hers, sympathetic tears burning at my eyes. “The feeling’s mutual.”
Avoiding my gaze as if she is embarrassed to admit it, she asks, “Do you know what gift I really wanted for my birthday?”
“No. What?”
“You.”
I’m not sure I heard her right. “Me?”
She nods. “Keisha asked me what I wanted for my birthday and I said I didn’t know because all I could think of that would make me happy was being in the Brooklyn apartment with you, drinking wine in the little kitchen, sitting on the floor by the coffee table, taking a walk around the neighborhood, and going to another movie in the park,” she says.
My heart pounds so loud, I’m afraid she’ll hear it.
“All I wanted was to slow down and have one day where I felt . . .
okay again. I haven’t truly felt okay since we left.” She’s speaking the words that have been in my head for months.
“I haven’t either.”
“Do you miss it too?”
“All the time.” But I miss you more.
I ache to kiss her, to close my eyes and feel nothing except her, imagine we are wherever we want to be, together. She either reads my mind or reads it on my face, because she pulls me by the back of the neck, crashing her lips against mine.
I see stars. A galaxy of our own creation, my whole existence meant only to share time and space with Bri. Her lips leave mine, but I steal one more. Then another. And another.
“Do you know what else I wanted for my birthday?” she asks against my lips.
I guess the obvious, “Sushi?”
She chuckles and shakes her head, her nose brushing against mine. “No. Birthday sex.”
“Yeah, I’d want that too.” It takes me a moment. “Wait, with me?”
“Yes, goofy.” She laughs then kisses me again.
Hands on my cheeks, she stares into my eyes while she straddles my lap, lowering her hips onto mine. She means right now.
I take my glasses off and set them on the couch cushion beside me. “No, no,” she says, handing them back to me. “Leave these on.”
I do as she asks. “Yes, ma’am.”
We kiss again. Lush lips, sweet tongue. She tastes like fresh cream, smells like marshmallows.
My hands explore the familiar curves of her hips, waist, and her perfect ass.
If I could kiss her the rest of the night, I would be happy.
Having her unfasten my fly and slide my hand into the front of her panties is a nice bonus.
Our kisses grow deeper, hungrier, moving from passion to pure lust. She strokes me while riding my fingers, my hand drenched by the time she pulls away.
“Give me the birthday girl treatment,” she says.
I’m too drunk on her to make sense of her words. “What’s that?”
She climbs off my lap and turns around, pulling her pants slowly off her hips. “Spank me,” she says. “Then fuck me. Hard.”
Bri, bending over the coffee table, grinning at me while sliding her panties to the side. Her attention, her smile, her undeniable invitation . . . Feeling desired by someone as breathtaking as her, it takes everything in me not to come in my pants at the mere sight.