Chapter 14 Hazel
HAZEL
First, the spammers get my number, now they have my birthday? When will it end?
I add Logan’s new number to my contacts.
A: It needs to be low key
B: It needs to be low effort
C: It needs to be low cost
D: It needs to cost a lot
E: I’m open to a surprise, just this once
F: I’m not open to anything, but thanks
I’m not in a festive mood—let alone an acknowledging one—yet I’m smiling as I scan the list. I have my box of De Cecco spaghetti, my résumé, and a list of potential questions the hiring manager might ask me in my interview in a few days.
I’ve decided to go for the manager role, since I’ve basically been managing people my whole life. But hey, this job pays more.
I’m about to send option F. I stop myself before I do.
Every year I’ve spent my birthday with pasta and a movie. Those were plans I could count on.
You want something else, a voice in the back of my head supplies.
It’s the same unhelpful voice that drove me into my ex’s arms that night we met. The night filled with impulsive decisions that led to a short-lived marriage with someone I hardly knew.
But Logan is not my ex.
And this year, my same old plans don’t give me butterflies.
I’ve prepped so much that I have my interview answers memorized. I can spend a couple hours acknowledging that I’m one year older.
I have no idea what Logan has in store. But just the thought of doing anything with him is enough to make me excited in a way that doesn’t instill fear. It inspires hope.
I delete F and retype my answer.
Logan sent a cryptic text in the late afternoon with a time and place: the Battery, 8 p.m. By the time I arrive at the corner he specified, he’s already there waiting.
Located at the very bottom of Manhattan, the Battery is surrounded by water and, therefore, wind.
A gust whips off the Hudson River, sending my hair flying as I wave hello.
“Surprise!” he says, opening the door to a glass, shell-shaped structure.
Inside is a sea-themed carousel with thirty or so glass fish figures with seats.
The ceiling and walls are bathed in cobalt and teal, the swirly patterns giving me the feeling of being in a handblown glass paperweight.
He’s brought me to the human equivalent of a fish tank. This must be how Goldie and Kurt feel.
“Where is everyone?” I ask, looking around. Every square inch of the floor is covered in balloons. On the other side of the glass, people walk with purpose in their hunched-over post-work-drinks commute.
“It’s just us,” Logan says. “And Sam, who will operate the ride, but he’ll be outside until I text him that we’re ready for a spin.” He spreads his arms. “Welcome to the SeaGlass Carousel!”
“I said I was okay with a surprise. I should’ve also said low cost,” I say, hesitation bubbling inside me.
First, the firehouse. Now this. I step away from him.
“Why did you do all this?” I’m not even trying to hide the emotion coming through in my voice.
I try to swallow it down, which just makes my throat tighter.
“I didn’t think you’d want to spend your birthday with strangers and screaming children,” Logan explains. “I wanted to do something nice.”
“Are you doing this because I’m helping you? Because you don’t have to.” I shake my head. “This must’ve cost you a fortune.”
“Good thing I kind of have one?” he says. “This is what I want to spend my money on. You.” He tilts his head. “I’ve also been eyeing a nice, custom Japanese chisel set, but still. Mostly you.”
I’m still lingering near the door. If I step in, I commit to this… present? Gift? Those words don’t quite capture what this is. Extravagance? Overindulgence?
I don’t know what my face is doing, but Logan must sense my reluctance. He steps closer and says, “Birthdays are supposed to be big.”
I cross my arms. “That’s not how my birthdays have been.”
“Maybe that needs to change.”
“Let me pay for half.”
“Half of what?”
“Half of this,” I say, waving toward a giant, glowing fiberglass fish.
“Seriously? No,” he says. “This is part of your gift.”
Part of ? I don’t want to be this way or ruin tonight. But I also don’t want Logan spending all his money on me. I tell him this.
The excitement in Logan’s face dulls. I hate to be the one who caused it.
“I understand,” he says, “and I’m sorry if this is excessive. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“This just… it isn’t why I’m spending time with you. I don’t need fancy things.”
“I mean, I’m glad you’re not into me for my money,” he says, shifting to his other foot, “but I don’t know, it’s the first time I’ve had excess money in a while. I mostly prefer to spend my money on other people and experiences, not stuff.”
It is his money. He can do what he wants with it. Even if that means spending it on me.
“And if it wasn’t your birthday, I’d be some random, lonely guy renting out a carousel for himself,” he adds.
I imagine it and a very small laugh escapes. “No, you wouldn’t.”
Logan’s eyes brighten. “No, I wouldn’t. Because this is for you.
It’s all for you. And that smile right there is exactly why I’d rent a hundred more carousels a hundred more times.
” He shuffles closer to me, balloons bouncing off his legs.
“But I do hear you, and I’m going to cool it on the big gestures. ”
Now I’m full-on smiling at him. I don’t know how he does that. How he turns my mood around and works through what it is I feel. He gently pushes back, but ultimately, he listens.
“Thank you,” I say, deciding to go with whatever it is he’s planned. The money’s spent. There’s no use wasting a perfectly good carousel.
Logan grins and opens his arms for a hug. “Happy birthday, Hazel.”
I can’t get into his arms fast enough. I squeeze him back as I continue to take it all in. Against the curved far wall is a table with candy boxes shaped like a cake next to three chocolate pizzas covered in M&Ms.
Logan notices me looking. “Since I burned dessert the last time we cooked, this time I made several but set them at different bake times, just in case.”
I open my mouth in surprise. All that comes out is a puff of air. I’m actually speechless.
Logan takes my hand and guides me through the river of balloons to the setup. There’s spaghetti in glass containers, premade tomato sauce in a Mason jar, and a block of Parmesan.
“You mentioned something about noodles, so I went in that direction,” Logan says, shaking the jar and twisting off the lid. Steam rises from the top. “And it’s red for, you know, good luck.” He lifts his arm, showing off the cast I picked out that night he fell.
He looks a little nervous, like in a way where there’s some percentage of doubt in him that thinks I might not like this. Like in a way where he wants this night to be special for me.
As he stirs, the veins in his forearms swell. Tonight’s shirt is dark green and blue. It’s like he’s worn his fanciest tie-dye for me. The fabric hugs his chest and back in all the right places.
It makes me want to do the same. I come up beside him and wrap my arms around his waist, my cheeks squished against his chest. “Longevity noodles symbolize a long life,” I say. “It was something my dad taught me when I was a kid.”
It’s only now, in my first day of being thirty years old, that I realize how superstitious that tradition is.
“In that case, you get more,” Logan says, transferring noodles from his container into mine.
I never got stuff like this for my birthday. These big gestures, it’s exactly what Dad made promises about. The ones that never came true. I needed Dad in the small ways. To make us dinner, to keep the heat on. Flashy gifts don’t mean much when the important things are forgotten.
But Logan didn’t just do flashy. He also cooked.
The way he’s looking at me heats all of me up, my adrenaline, and anticipation, and desire a slow simmer bubbling just below the surface.
I don’t want to feel this. It’s too happy. Happy things like this don’t last.
I glance around, looking for something, anything, that will make this experience less shiny.
But it’s not cold in here, it’s not noisy, and the carousel is so artfully done I can’t help but be mesmerized by the scene.
In fact, the underwater sounds are set so low that it’s peaceful.
As is the shimmering light flickering across the space to make it feel like we’re underwater.
And there’s Logan wearing his usual—navy hat included.
Strands of hair stick out from behind his ears, windblown from standing outside.
It’s a perfect visual. One that I can’t believe is happening in my real life.
I wait and wait some more for the crushing low to hit after feeling so high.
The sensation never comes. Instead, I feel warm inside. And then a tear has the nerve to roll out of my eye and down my face.
Logan brushes his thumb against my cheek to wipe the tear away. Being with him, it feels right. All I want to feel is this.
“Hey,” he says in a soothing tone, “what’s wrong?”
My throat is dry as I swallow. “Every single thing about this, about you… it’s too good. Too nice.”
Logan frowns. “And that’s bad?”
“No,” I say, remembering that his ex had made him feel bad about that exact thing. “No.” I say it twice, so he knows I mean it. “I’m just not used to it.”
“Does it have something to do with why you hate birthdays?” Logan asks.
I look over at the noodles all tangled together in the containers and cross my arms. “Why are we celebrated for being born anyway? I didn’t do anything. I just came out.”
Logan gives me a look that tells me he’s not buying it. In past relationships, if I was dating someone and my birthday happened to come around, no one’s ever questioned my requests for no presents, no celebrations.
Then Logan came along…
I sit in a blue angelfish that’s double my height and lit from below. Logan picks the butterfly fish closest to me.