In The Between

✧･Chapter 37 Birthday Girl

I barely have time to make one stroke across the canvas in front of me before my phone starts blaring from the other side of the room.

I pause, paintbrush hovering over the canvas, and glance toward it. My eyebrows lift when I see June's name lighting up the screen.

That's strange. I quickly set my paintbrush down and reach for my phone, answering it and putting it on speaker.

That turns out to be my first mistake.

"Happy birthday, Aunty Mae!" Lucia's scream practically rattles the walls of my studio.

I immediately close my eyes, a laugh escaping me as I lean back against the edge of my worktable.

"Good morning to you too, sweetheart."

"Aunty!" Faye screams right after her, followed by a fit of giggles that makes it obvious she is nowhere near as innocent as her voice sounds.

I smile despite myself. "My girls, thank you so much."

"Hold on-" Lucia says, and I hear a muffled shuffle through the phone. "Mommy says happy birthday."

"Tell her I said thank you."

I pick up my paintbrush again, turning it between my fingers even though I've already accepted that I'm not getting any more painting done this morning.

"Did you steal her phone just to call me?" I ask.

"No!" Lucia immediately protests. "Mama is at work. Mommy said it was your birthday and I wanted to call you."

"Mhm." I hum, then laugh softly.

"Are you having a party? Is there going to be cake? What kind of cake? Can we have chocolate? Faye wants chocolate."

"I do!" Faye shouts in the background.

I laugh. "You two aren't even invited to the cake discussion."

"Cake!" Faye squeaks again, somehow managing to make the word sound like a life-or-death emergency.

"Yes, cake," I assure her. "We're all going to dinner later, and there will absolutely be cake for you two."

The response is immediate. Both girls erupt into cheering, and I pull the phone slightly away from my ear while laughing.

"You both are very easily pleased."

"Because cake is good!" Lucia says, like I'm an idiot for even suggesting otherwise.

"I can't argue with that."

My phone suddenly starts ringing again, the second call coming through over the first and I glance down. The smile that spreads across my face is completely involuntary when I see Claire's name.

"Girls, I have to go," I say, already feeling that little flutter in my chest. "I'll see you all later, okay? And tell your mom I said thank you."

"Bye, Aunty Mae!"

"Bye!"

I quickly switch over to Claire's call.

"Hey, birthday girl." Her voice comes through the speaker, warm and familiar, and something inside my chest squeezes at the sound of it.

At this point, I don't even bother pretending I'm going to get any painting done. I set the brush down completely and wipe my paint-covered fingers against the front of my shirt.

"Hey, you," I say softly, unable to keep the smile out of my voice.

"What are you doing?"

I glance around my studio, at the half-finished painting in front of me, the scattered brushes, the cups of cloudy water, and the paint that has somehow ended up on nearly every available surface.

"Painting."

"Really?"

I narrow my eyes at the phone even though she can't see me. "Well, I was painting."

A quiet laugh comes through the speaker.

"The girls called me to scream happy birthday at me, and then they demanded cake later."

"That sounds about right."

"They have very important priorities."

"Clearly."

I smile, walking toward the small window beside my studio door. "How's work?"

I hear her take a breath. "Busy. Like always."

There's something about the way she says it that makes me smile. Claire always sounds like work is some unavoidable force of nature that she's personally offended by.

"But," she continues, "I wanted to hear your voice."

My smile softens.

"And I got you a little surprise."

I raise an eyebrow. "A surprise?"

"It should've been delivered to your studio by now."

My curiosity immediately gets the better of me. "You got me something?"

"Mhm." She hums.

I start walking toward the studio door, glancing down at myself as I go. My shirt is covered in tiny smears of paint, my hands aren't much better, and I suddenly feel very aware of the fact that I've been working all morning without bothering to make myself look remotely presentable.

"Where is it?"

"Go outside."

I pause. "Why?"

"Just go outside, Mae."

I laugh softly. "You're being suspicious."

"I'm always suspicious."

"That isn't reassuring."

"Outside."

I shake my head, but I'm smiling as I reach for the doorknob and I pull the door open. My eyes immediately drop toward the ground, expecting to see a box or flowers or some kind of package sitting on the step.

There's nothing there, and I tilt my head, confused.

"You look cute with your paint-covered shirt."

My heart stops, and I slowly lift my head. Across the street, Claire is leaning against her car with her phone pressed to her ear, watching me.

And she's holding a huge bouquet of flowers in her other hand.

For a second, I just stare at her.

She's dressed for work, but somehow she still looks completely unfair. Her dark blouse is tucked neatly into her tailored pants, her hair is down and moving slightly in the breeze, and her sunglasses are perched on top of her head.

She gives me that small smile I swear she saves just for me.

I can't stop myself from smiling back.

"You lied to me." I call out, ending the call on my phone.

She shrugs innocently, and I laugh, shaking my head as I step down onto the sidewalk.

"You're ridiculous."

"And you're covered in paint."

"You like it."

"I do."

That answer makes my chest flutter. I slowly walk toward her, and the closer I get, the harder it becomes to hide how happy I am to see her.

"I thought you were at work," I say softly once I'm standing in front of her.

"I took an early break."

"For me?"

She smiles.

"Always for you."

She holds the flowers out toward me. I take them carefully, my fingers brushing against hers, and the sight of the bouquet makes something warm spread through my chest.

They're beautiful. I look down at them for a moment before looking back at her. I swallow, suddenly feeling much more emotional than I expected to.

It's such a simple thing.

Flowers.

A birthday.

Someone remembering.

But Claire knows me well enough to know that it isn't really about the flowers. Before she can say anything else, my free hand reaches for the collar of her blouse.

I pull her toward me.

Her surprised little breath makes me smile against her lips as I kiss her. She recovers almost immediately, her hands coming up to cup either side of my jaw as she kisses me back, soft and warm and familiar.

When we finally pull apart, she stays close, her forehead almost touching mine.

"Happy birthday," she whispers.

I smile, looking into her eyes.

"Thank you."

She brushes her thumb gently along my cheek.

"You deserve a good one."

I don't know why those words affect me as much as they do. Maybe because some small part of me has been afraid that this birthday would feel different.

It is different. My parents aren't here. There are still pieces of my old life that hurt when I think about them for too long. But standing here with Claire, holding the flowers she brought me because she remembered, I don't feel as though I'm missing anything.

Claire glances down at her watch, and I immediately know what she's going to say before she even opens her mouth.

"I have to go back to work."

I make a face. "Already?"

She laughs softly. "Unfortunately. Apparently, being one of the bosses means people expect me to actually be there."

"You could quit."

"I could."

"Then you could spend the entire day with me."

She pretends to consider it, her lips twitching into a smile. "That does sound significantly better."

"See? I've already solved all your problems."

I smile, looking down at the flowers in my arms before looking back at her. "So I'll see you tonight?"

"At six," she says. "I'll meet you at the restaurant."

"You better not be late."

Her eyebrows lift. "I'm never late."

I stare at her and she holds my gaze for a second before sighing. "Fine. I'm rarely late."

I laugh, and she steps closer, reaching up to brush her thumb over the small smear of paint still sitting on my cheek.

"You're a mess."

"You like me messy."

"I sure do." Her voice is softer this time, and my smile fades into something warmer.

"I love you," I whisper.

She doesn't hesitate.

"I love you too."

She leans in and kisses me softly, just once, before pulling back enough to look at me. Her hand stays against my cheek, her thumb moving gently over my skin.

"Now go finish your painting."

"You're bossy."

"You love it."

"I really do."

She laughs under her breath and finally steps away, but I catch her hand one more time before she can turn around.

"Claire?"

She looks back at me.

"Thank you. For the flowers, and for coming."

Her expression softens immediately. "Of course I came."

Something about the way she says it makes my chest ache in the best possible way.

She squeezes my hand before letting go. "I'll see you at six, birthday girl."

"Six," I repeat, smiling.

She walks toward her car, and I watch her the entire way. Before she gets inside, she turns around and blows a kiss to me and I laugh softly.

She smiles, climbs into her car, and gives me one last wave through the window before pulling away.

I stand there until she's gone, still holding the bouquet against my chest, then I look down at the flowers again, smiling so hard my cheeks start to hurt.

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By the time I finally look at the clock again, several hours have passed.

I hadn't meant to spend the entire afternoon painting, but once I picked up my brush again, everything else seemed to disappear.

The studio slowly filled with the familiar smell of paint, sunlight shifting across the floor as the afternoon slipped toward evening.