Chapter Seventeen ~ Nathan
Birthdays are always bittersweet for me.
While I’m grateful for each one I get to celebrate, they’re also a reminder of all I’ve lost. My mom didn’t have a lot of extra money when I was growing up, but she made my birthday special every year, whether it was a small party at home with a few of my friends, some pizza, and a bunch of rented movies and video games, or an outing to the movie theatre or bowling alley.
Even though I was an adult when my mom died, and didn’t need or want to have my birthday marked with any fuss, Mae and Murph picked up the birthday baton. Despite my protests, they would throw me a party every year, complete with a feast of my favourite foods, a homemade cake, and gifts.
Until the other day at Sweet Escapes, I expected my birthday to pass quietly this year. Liam must have anticipated the same thing because last week he mentioned grabbing pizza and beer on the night of my birthday, either just the two of us or with a few guys from work.
I should have known better, though. Even in the depths of grief, Mae is always thinking about other people.
There are still days when it’s a struggle for her to function, and yet here she is, hosting a house full of people and putting the finishing touches on dinner.
If the lemon and vanilla scent lingering in the air is any indication, she even baked my favourite cake.
“She’s something else, Murph,” I mutter, lifting my beer in salute toward Murph’s picture.
When I arrived an hour ago, someone had set up a table beside Murph’s chair with a bottle of Jameson and an array of shot glasses next to a framed photo of Murph, similar to the day of his wake.
I drifted over here a few minutes ago for a moment alone, and I’ve been contemplating taking a shot.
I become aware of a presence beside me. For one absurd moment, I think I’ve conjured Murph’s spirit. I’ve never been much for either the spiritual or the supernatural, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t hoped to sense Murph somehow over these last few weeks.
Instead, it’s Liam, and he’s smiling in a way I can only describe as self-satisfied. “I know your secret,” he says in a conspiratorial tone.
Something clenches in my gut. My thoughts veer straight to what happened last night with Fiona.
I don’t know what I’d been thinking. It was like nostalgia commandeered my hormones, causing all logical thought to flee my brain.
For years, Fiona’s touch and taste, paired with the sounds she made while I pleasured her, haunted both my waking hours and my dreams, and all I wanted was to be in the moment where it was reality again.
That teenage feeling had been cemented when I came in my jeans.
As someone who prides himself on self-control, the fact this is the second time in less than six months that I’ve given into my baser instincts around Fiona isn’t something I’m proud of.
“You know just about all of my secrets, so you’ll have to be more specific,” I say. Giving in to the call of the whiskey, I set my beer on the table and open the bottle of Jameson. Liam puts his beer beside mine, a silent signal to pour him a shot too.
“Happy birthday, man. Your mom and Murph would be really fucking proud of you. I’m proud of you.” He raises his glass in my direction. “Sláinte.”
I murmur my thanks and echo his Irish toast before downing the shot of whiskey.
My gaze lands briefly on Fiona across the room.
I was worried things would be awkward between us today and had prepared myself to avoid her as much as possible, but she was the one who answered the door when I arrived.
Apparently, my concerns were unfounded, because she welcomed me with a quick hug and an enthusiastic birthday greeting before ushering me inside.
Giving myself a mental shake, I refocus on my best friend. “So, this secret?”
“Right.” Liam sets down his empty shot glass and picks up his beer once more. “You grumble about not wanting a party and hating to be the centre of attention, but I think you secretly love it.”
With a grunt, I cast my gaze around the room.
Fiona, Mila, and Joss are helping Mae set up the buffet.
Thea and Aneesha are playing a board game with Rex and Aaliyah.
Joss’s friends and co-stars, Natalie Huang and Selma Melissa Graham, are crammed into an armchair together, flipping through one of the Murphys’ old photo albums. Joss called me this morning and asked if it was okay if she invited them; she already checked with Mae, but wanted to clear it with me since Natalie and I dated briefly earlier this year.
Things ended amicably, and I like the sassy, outgoing actress, so I said it was fine.
With the exception of Natalie and Selma, these are my people.
My chosen family. It feels strange having a party without Murph, but I expect it always will.
I keep listening for the familiar melodic lilt of his voice and that unmistakable laugh.
I keep expecting him to round the corner and motion for me to sit with him at the piano and play a song to entertain our guests.
And I keep waiting for him to come up behind me, clap me on the back, and say something like, ‘My Mae sure can throw one hell of a party, eh, boyo?’ before planting a noisy kiss on my cheek and telling me he loves me.
He’d slip me some cash, despite my protests and the fact he and Mae not only threw me a party, but also bought me a gift.
Even though Murph’s absence hurts like hell, Liam is right. I do secretly love this—looking around at everyone, hearing their chatter and laughter, knowing memories will be made tonight. It reminds me, not for the first time, that life goes on in all its beautiful, painful, messy, wonderful glory.
I swallow past the lump in my throat and refocus on Liam. His eyes hold a hint of sadness, as if he knows where my thoughts went.
“You got me,” I say. “I don’t imagine I’ll ever actually enjoy being the centre of attention, but I’m grateful to Mae and everyone else. Especially this year.”
We stand in silence, surveying our loved ones.
Despite my best efforts to look literally anywhere else, my gaze strays to Fiona every few seconds.
There was always something magnetic about her, something that caught my attention and drew me in.
Something that made me want to be in her orbit, on the receiving end of her bright smiles, listening to her speak, feeling that inexplicable thrill when her hand landed on my arm whenever I made her laugh.
“Things seem to be going well between you and Fi,” Liam says, exhibiting the uncanny ability he’s always had of reading my thoughts.
Or maybe it’s not so much psychic abilities as the fact I can’t stop staring at her.
She looks beautiful tonight. The soft yellow of her knee-length dress makes me think of both spring days and summer nights lit by fireflies.
Damn, that shot of whiskey must have gone straight to my head if a yellow dress can evoke a lifetime of memories.
“When we were all together for dinner last night, it felt almost like old times,” Liam adds when I remain silent.
I take a sip of my beer, hoping my voice comes out casual when I speak.
“It’s nice to have her home,” I say. Liam can’t quite hide his surprise at my words.
“I know, I know, not something you ever thought you’d hear me say.
Mae needs her, though, and she’s been a big help around here and at the café.
Murph’s death showed me how foolish I’ve been for holding a grudge for so long. ”
“And you’re okay with knowing she’s going to leave again?” Liam asks.
I swallow a sigh. Liam and I tell each other everything; there are no secrets between us.
Usually, anyway. I have no intention of telling him what happened between Fiona and me last night, or that I have to be okay with her leaving because that’s just how it is.
Fiona isn’t meant for a small life in a small town, which means she’s not meant for me.
“That’s what she does,” I say. Liam quirks one eyebrow, and I add, “I don’t mean that in the way I used to. That’s just who she is. She’s meant for more. We all know she’d never be truly content staying in Honeywell.”
Liam tilts his head back and forth. “I bet there was a time when Mae said the same thing about Murph, but he gave up his wandering lifestyle to settle down here with her. Didn’t stop him or them from travelling while building a life here. A beautiful life.” His voice cracks on the last word.
It hits me suddenly that we haven’t talked as much as usual lately or spent time together outside of work and family gatherings.
I guess I assumed he was okay because he seems okay, and he has Joss to lean on for support.
Then again, I’m sure I seem okay too, even though it feels like an act most days.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Mostly.” I expect him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. After a couple of hard swallows, he asks, “You okay?”
“Mostly,” I echo, giving him a half-smile that he returns. “I think we should do the beer and pizza night we talked about before Mae took over birthday plans.”
“Definitely. Pick a night next week, and I’ll make it work,” he says.
Joss calls to him from across the room, and he motions to her that he’ll be there in a minute.
He taps his beer bottle against mine and starts to walk away, but stops almost immediately.
“Joss told me recently that it’s okay to not be okay.
We just spent months watching the man who was like a father to us die.
We were both literally there when he took his last breath.
You already went through that with your mom, and…
I never fully understood the toll it can take or how the effects linger. ”
I make a hum of acknowledgement, not trusting myself to speak.
“I want you to know I’m here if you need anything. We all are.”