Chapter Forty-Two Aurora / Joshua
Chapter Forty-Two
Aurora / Joshua
Aurora
My birthday came by like a flash.
Nineteen now. Feels the same, which isn’t surprising. Eighteen and nineteen aren’t so different.
I rolled over and stared at the ceiling for a long moment, the early morning light spilling across the sheets. My phone buzzed against the nightstand, making me turn to the side, arms stretching out to grab it.
It was the group chat.
Silverwood Girlies:
December 26th, 11:59 p.m.
Aly: HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AURORA!
Aly: oh shit, early. Wait.
Aly: a few more seconds.
Jennie: LMAO!
Aly: wait! No! me first!
December 27th, 12:00am
Layla: HAPPY BIRTHDAY RORA.
Jennie: HAPPY BDAY RORYYYY!!!
Aly: HAPPY BIRTHDAY AURORA! <3
Aly: Fuckkkkkkk!
Aly: I WAITED FIVE MINUTES.
Aly: AND CHECKED LA’S TIME ZONE.
Jennie: loser.
Layla: Well, I was patient and waited until it hit 12.
Aly: *eye roll emoji*
Aly: I hate you all.
Jennie: *sparkling pink heart emoji*
December 27th, 9:07 a.m.
Layla: New York is freezing, might die.
Jennie: Utah’s quiet and pretty! My aunt’s cat loves me.
Jennie: Also Layla, please don’t die.
Layla: We’ll see.
Aly: France is perfection. Mom and Dad have gone on a date every day since we arrived.
Aly: they’re going strong.
Jennie: *smirking emoji*
Layla: JEN!
Aly: for real.
Aly: Ohhh! My Babygirl is up!
Aly: Birthday girl!
Jennie: Rory!
Layla: Hey Rora!
I smiled a little, a tired curve of my mouth.
They were all off with their families, wrapped up in warmth, laughter, and love and still remembered me.
Me: Thank you, girls.
Jennie: Our baby is 19, she’s growing up.
Jennie: *tearing up emoji*
Aly: and you’re old.
Jennie: RUDE! I’m 20!
Aly: 21 in a few weeks.
Jennie: you’re also 1999!
Aly: but I’m September, you’re January.
Aly: AND in the year above me and Layla.
Aly: TWO years above Aurora.
Aly: so old.
Jennie: shut up Alyssa Faye Ambrose!
Aly: NO YOU DIDN’T!
Layla: ohhh full name got pulled out.
Me: Alyssa?
Jennie: She didn’t tell you?
Layla: She doesn’t tell anyone, we found out the hard way.
Aly: THEY ASKED MY MOTHER! And she betrayed me.
Me: It’s a beautiful name.
Aly: Haha thank you. I just prefer Aly because it’s more friendly. Not many people know about Alyssa.
Alyssa. Suits her.
I wonder why she kept it such a secret all this time—not just from me, but from everyone. I get wanting to be friendly, but why did Alyssa have to be a secret? Am I looking too much into this?
Maybe.
Layla: @aurora I mailed the gift already! Wait for it.
Aly: oh! Mine too! You’ll love it *winking emoji*
Jennie: mine is the best!
Me: Oh, you guys didn’t have to. Wishing me on midnight is already the best. I never get that.
Jennie: no! you’re our girl! You deserve it.
Aly: send pics when it arrives.
Layla: Have a really good day today rora, let’s celebrate when we get back, okay?
Aly: on me!
Me: okay.
Me: Thank you.
Aly: Of course! Miss you! LOVE YOU!
Jennie: Love you! And missing you loads.
Layla: Love you, missing you more!
Layla: *Kissing emoji*
I chuckled, burying my cheek into my pillow as I typed back.
Me: I miss you and love you all too.
Me: have a nice holiday and see you soon <3
I was glad they were happy and having fun…
And me?
I was here. Alone.
Except… not really.
Because even if it felt wrong to admit it, having Joshua these past few weeks had been enough.
No. More than enough.
He’d done so much without ever having to say the words.
Took care of me the weekend after the pool, when I couldn’t stand on my own.
Helped me search for a job when I lost mine.
Cooked for me. Took in a stray kitten so I wouldn’t starve myself to feed it.
Made a roast dinner just because it was Christmas.
Even got me a gift, a book, because he remembered.
Every memory of him pressed gently against my chest, and the warmth it left there was impossible to ignore. It was the kind of warmth that made breathing feel different, easier and heavier all at once.
I curled deeper into the blanket, pressing my face into the pillow to hide the smile that tried to creep up.
My birthday wouldn’t be spent alone this year.
For the first time since Dad passed, I’d have someone to share it with. And even if I knew it couldn’t last, even if I knew that when my cast came off, I’d have to walk away to protect myself…
Right now, it didn’t matter.
Because for once, being around someone like him, someone who’d broken me, then tried to piece me back together with shaking hands, it felt good.
Too good.
And that terrified me.
My phone buzzed again.
Another message, this time not from the girls’ group chat.
Miles: Happy birthday, brainiac. Don’t party too hard without me.
Miles: Meaning don’t nerd out without me.
Miles: but still, happy birthday.
Miles: have a good day, doll.
I just stared at the screen for a second.
Then smiled. Small. Genuine.
But not the way I used to.
There wasn’t that familiar flutter in my chest anymore, that nervous excitement I’d always got whenever Miles’s name popped up. The kind that made me check my reflection before answering his messages or rehearse what I’d say so I wouldn’t sound too awkward.
That version of me, the one who used to blush over his jokes and hope he’d look her way in class, felt far away now. Like someone else entirely.
He was still lovely, though. Still kind and soft and funny in his easy, golden-boy way. But he wasn’t mine, and I wasn’t that girl anymore.
I typed a small reply back.
Me: Thank you, Miles :)
Me: I won’t party or nerd out without you.
Miles: Good.
Me: have fun wherever you’re going, stay safe.
Miles: Thank you!
And then I set my phone aside, the quiet wrapping around me again.
The smile stayed, faint but steady.
Not because of Miles. Because for once it didn’t hurt to let go.
Because somewhere upstairs, there was a boy who’d once been the storm in my life and now, somehow, without even trying, he’d become the calm after it.
—
Joshua
The kitchen looked like a goddamn warzone.
Flour everywhere: on the counter, on the floor, somehow even in my hair. Honey was perched on the stool, her tiny paws dusted white as if she’d been helping, when really, she was just making it worse.
“Yeah, yeah,” I muttered, swiping at my forehead with the back of my hand. “Don’t look at me like that. You’re just as bad.”
She meowed, innocent as hell, tail flicking as if mocking me.
I turned back to the disaster in front of me. The cake. Her cake. Half-mixed batter splattered across the marble, measuring cups scattered as if I’d performed surgery instead of baking. The oven timer blinked at me: seven minutes left.
Seven.
How hard could this be?
Apparently, really fucking hard.
I went out to buy everything, even stuff I’d never use again. Like the damn stand mixer I didn’t know how to use.
Useless. But I ended up mixing with a damn whisk with my own fucking hands, and my arms are about to fall off my—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Shit.”
I froze, turning to look at the door as if it had personally betrayed me. The oven ticked again. The smell of half-baked vanilla hit me, too sweet, too early.
Honey jumped down from the stool, landing in the flour and leaving tiny white paw prints across the floor like some festive crime scene.
“Perfect,” I groaned, wiping my hands on a towel that was already filthy.
Knock. Knock.
“Okay, okay—”
I darted to the oven, peeking through the glass. Not burnt. Yet. Good enough. I shut it quickly and ran to the door, heart hammering, covered in more flour than dignity.
When I opened it—
There she was.
Soft sweater, hair down, eyes bright as if the world outside hadn’t touched her. And her small smile, God.
She blinked, staring at me, then at the mess of flour dusting my hoodie.
“Hi,” I said, breathless.
Her gaze flicked down to the flour, then to Honey, who proudly meowed at her feet as if she’d been the mastermind behind whatever chaos this was.
I scratched the back of my neck. “…Don’t ask.”
Her lips curved higher, and I swear my chest fucking melted.
“Happy birthday,” I said quietly.
And behind me—
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
The oven timer screamed.
“Fuck.”
Her small laugh followed me as I sprinted back to the kitchen like an idiot, trying to save whatever half-baked mess I’d made before her birthday cake became her birthday funeral.
I yanked the oven door open, heat blasting in my face like hell itself.
Fourth attempt.
Fourth.
The first one had sunk like a crater.
The second one came out raw in the middle and burnt on the edges.
The third… Honey had stepped in. Literal paw print in the middle.
But this one, this one actually looked like a cake.
Golden. Even. Not collapsing in shame.
“Holy shit,” I muttered, setting it down on the counter like it was some rare artefact. “Thank fuck.”
Aurora stood a few feet away, still by the doorway, clutching her bag with wide eyes, as if she wasn’t sure whether to laugh or call the fire department.
Honey meowed beside her as if she wanted credit.
“Don’t you dare,” I warned the cat, grabbing a toothpick and poking the centre. Came out clean.
I blinked. Then laughed under my breath. “It’s actually done.”
Aurora tilted her head, and I caught the way her lips twitched, as if she were fighting a smile. As if she hadn’t been laughing at my mess earlier.
“Fourth time’s the charm,” I said, half embarrassed, half proud, wiping the sweat—and probably flour—off my forehead.
She looked at me, surprised, “Four?” she asked, and I nodded.
“Yeah,” I exhaled, leaning against the counter, heartbeat finally slowing. “Four. You’re lucky nineteen is a big deal, Campbell. Other numbers wouldn’t get this.”
She blinked at that, cheeks tinting faintly pink.
Honey sneezed.
The kitchen still looked like a goddamn snowstorm of sugar and failure. But the cake was perfect.
I turned the cake over onto a cooling rack and carefully lifted the baking pan. It came out clean. Smooth. Whole.
Thank fuck.
Without thinking, I carried it straight to the sink to cool the bottom, the steam hitting my face as I twisted the tap slightly. The sound of running water filled the silence.
Aurora stood beside the counter, her good hand tucked close, eyes curious. I glanced at her, then at the little tub of icing I’d panic-bought at the store this morning and grabbed a spoon.
“Here,” I said, setting them down in front of her. “Make it pretty, birthday girl.”
Her eyebrows rose a little.
“I make a mess,” I shrugged. “You might as well make it a prettier mess.”
Something flickered behind her eyes: surprise, maybe. Then, slowly, she reached for the spoon. She dipped it into the icing, hesitant at first, before dragging it across the top of the cake in uneven strokes.
Messy.
Crooked.
So damn adorable.
I turned away, pretending to focus on cleaning, but my eyes kept finding her.
Her small hand worked carefully, spreading the icing as if it were the most important job in the world. Her lips pressed together in concentration, her lashes lowered, Honey sitting nearby on the counter, watching like a tiny orange supervisor.
Flour still lingered in the air. My hands were sticky, my clothes ruined, my kitchen a mess. But the sight in front of me, her smiling quietly to herself as she smeared a little too much icing on one side and laughed under her breath, made it all worth it.
She glanced up suddenly, catching me watching. I froze, half mid-wipe with a damp towel.
She pointed at the cake, slapping the spoon gently against the icing. Her way of saying: am I doing okay?
I shook my head, looking away, because the way she smiled after that, soft, bright, real… it did something to me.
Something I couldn’t name.
Something I didn’t want to lose. Ever.