Chapter 35
Alice
I yawn and force myself to wake up. It’s August twenty-eighth, but the one person I want to celebrate with is no longer here. My birthday is the day I miss my mom the most.
It takes me a hot minute to drag myself away from the warmth of my bed. When I open the door, my eyes need a few seconds to adjust to what I’m seeing. There’s a balloon tied to my chair and a single cupcake with blue icing sits at my place at the table. The walls are covered with heart-shaped sticky notes. There must be hundreds of them.
I turn to see Jake standing next to my dad in the living room.
“Happy birthday, Alice.” Dad nods at me. His beard is trimmed, and I think he actually ironed his shirt.
Jake’s wearing a small, bashful smile, waiting for me to take it all in. There are so many little hearts in every color imaginable. Each one has something written on it, and in the center of them all is a banner that says “Things We Love About Alice.”
They did this for me? I blink and walk slowly to the wall and start to read.
Your smile.
Your pranks.
The way you push me to be better.
I recognize Jake’s handwriting as I take a few hearts down to hold. The ones from him have hand-drawn cartoons next to the words.
I also recognize Danielle’s Your amazing advice. And My beautiful, resilient bestie. I finally told her about Owen the other day, and we had a tearful look through the boudoir photos while I told her how Jake’s idea helped me heal.
Even Honey has a note on the wall that says My favorite book club partner.
My dad added some of his own, too. I notice his shaky chicken scratch.
You’re a good daughter.
Thank you for making my lunches.
But what shocks me the most are the ones I haven’t seen for years. I gulp in a sob and my eyes are immediately filled with tears that make it hard to read my mom’s handwriting.
“You found them?”
Jake nods and takes a step closer, but he still gives me enough space to have this moment for myself. “Your mom kept all of them. Earl had the box in the attic.”
“Guess there are a few perks to never throwing anything away.” Dad shrugs, but his voice is gruff with the emotion he’s clearly trying to contain.
I run my fingers along the edge of each pink and purple heart as I stare in disbelief at my mother’s words.
You can read!
Such a big helper for Mommy.
I love your knock-knock jokes. So funny!
I can’t believe you have your driver’s license.
They’re all here . Every one of my mom’s notes from nineteen years of birthdays. The sticky backs have long since lost their tack, so they’re attached to the wall with little dots of poster putty. Somehow, I know Jake didn’t want to risk using tape and ripping them. Such a tiny, thoughtful gesture brings even more sobs. I had no idea my parents kept all of these. My face is wet with tears and snot while I full-on ugly cry.
“Dad, this is amazing.”
My dad walks over and wraps his arms around me. The hug is stiff. It’s the first one we’ve exchanged in a long time, but he’s trying. He’s working so hard to get better. I squeeze back tightly before he pulls away to make space for the other man in my life.
“Jake.” My voice breaks as he comes up next to me.
He cups my cheeks with both hands and uses his thumbs to brush some of my tears away. I must look like such a mess. I’m still in my pajama pants and Jake’s old tee. I haven’t even brushed my hair or my teeth, and now there is a river of liquid flowing down my face.
“Happy birthday, Alice.” He pulls me against him for another hug before he says, “There’s one more thing.” He puts a small green paper heart in my hand. I look down and read the words in his handwriting. You were right. I do love you.
I blink up at him. My heart is so full that I’m vaguely worried I might explode. “Do you have a pen?” I manage to rasp.
He quirks an eyebrow, amused, and reaches down to grab one from the coffee table. I lean against his chest and write my own message underneath his words. I love you, too. I press the heart back into his hand. He laughs when he sees I also circled the part where he admitted I was right, and I added another word above that sentence: Duh.