Chapter 14 Hazel #2
“Truthfully, it’s the day after birthdays I hate,” I share. “Birthdays themselves were like a giant PAUSE button. They were days my dad had something else to focus on other than gambling.”
I immediately wish I could take back the words. I’ve always kept this part of my life hidden from everyone. Then I realize Logan already knows so much. Too much, probably.
But he doesn’t budge an inch. He waits patiently as I spill my guts inside the fish’s.
“Birthdays were generally fine days,” I continue.
“Not amazing, but good enough. Better than the others. There’d be cake sometimes.
I’d even get a present on years when my dad had a recent winning streak, but usually he’d just promise something extravagant.
My brother and I didn’t fight.” I release a humorless laugh.
Just a soft puff of air, really. “But the day after? Everything that had been held back came rushing forward like the previous day had never happened. It just made me wish birthdays never came around.”
“That’s a mind trip,” Logan says, nodding in a way that makes me think he can relate.
“They were. I haven’t heard from my dad today.
” It tells me as much as I need to know about how Atlantic City went.
This is always how it is when the games don’t go his way: His mood plummets, plans get canceled, and I have to tiptoe around him trying to figure out how to fix it.
I did, however, receive an animated card from Jerry in lieu of a daily check-in.
It featured dolphins wearing party hats singing Happ-eee-eee-eeee Birthday.
Logan makes a face. “Seriously?”
“Not that I want to talk to him,” I mumble without thinking. “I feel bad for feeling—and saying—that.”
Part of me expects Logan to reply with something positive or for him to point out the silver linings, the way he has the entire time I’ve known him. But what he says next surprises me.
“Parents tend to be people we want to love and connect with, even when they disappoint us.”
I nod. “Birthdays were especially hard after my mom died. They were her favorite,” I say, feeling safe in the privacy of the fish.
The sea glass–colored fish soothe me, sparking a distant memory.
It was my birthday at the aquarium. The last party Mom organized for me.
The last birthday party I ever had. “She once made me a mermaid cake. Twisted streamers to look like seaweed. She set up bowls with gummy sharks and Swedish Fish.”
The rest of the details are fuzzy, but the memory itself is the color of deep-sea blue. From the massive tanks we were surrounded by, probably. Still, to this day, the color calms me.
I had forgotten until tonight how much Mom loved celebrating birthdays. Any major event, really. I don’t remember much about her, but I do recall her being a celebrator. Just like Logan.
“I think she would’ve loved this night you planned,” I say. Another tear springs out of the corner of my eye.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Logan says, jumping out of his fish, squeezing beside me in mine. The seat’s so small I end up on his lap, my arm draped around his shoulders. “Use my shirt.”
It reminds me of when we met. As he gently dabs my cheeks dry with his sleeve, I say, “These are happy tears, I think. I’ve never talked about this with anyone before.
” It’s uncomfortable to share about my family.
It exposes the underbelly of the vulnerable and messy sides of me.
But this moment has also made me realize something else.
For a long time, I haven’t trusted others.
And maybe even myself. “I like talking to you, though. This was the best present you could’ve gotten me. ”
Logan takes my hand in his. “Well, I did get you a physical present, too.”
We step out of the fish so Logan can grab a bag he’s hidden under the table. I push past the blue tissue paper and remove eight small boxes, piling them in my arms. I use the carousel seat as a makeshift table, opening the first box. It’s a gold charm of a wrapped-up flower bouquet.
“They look like bodega flowers,” Logan says. “You didn’t want them, but that day we met, I wanted so badly to buy you flowers.”
I open the next box, which is a gold cat charm.
“Toffee. So you always remember him,” he says.
“I’ll give the bird charm some distance from him,” I joke.
The rest of the boxes hold more charms: a four-leaf clover (“because we couldn’t find any”), a turtle (“so we don’t go to jail for stealing one”), a ladybug (“they’re even harder to find than clovers”), a lightning bolt (ha-ha), and a horseshoe (“in case Pancakes doesn’t need his shoes repaired next time we see him”).
The last box is a charm of Mickey Mouse.
“I was inspired by your tattoo,” Logan says, pleased.
For a split second, I’m confused. Then it clicks. A delighted laugh bursts out of me.
Logan lets out a velvety, low one that stops when he realizes we’re not laughing at the same thing. “Wait, what’s so funny?” he asks.
I pull my sweater sleeve up and point to my tattoo. “You thought this was Mickey Mouse?”
“Isn’t it?”
“This was the tattoo I got BAFG. Before Alleged Good Fortune,” I say.
“For something so permanent, I really should’ve had a plan.
A visual, at the very least. My brother was supposed to visit but bailed last minute.
So I took the money I saved up for us to go to a few restaurants and museums and got a tattoo instead.
Midway through, the guy started telling me how excited he was for his upcoming family trip to Disneyworld.
Clearly, this”—I gesture to my arm—“is what he had on his mind. So instead of a water molecule with covalent bond lines connecting the oxygen atom with each hydrogen atom, I got a Mickey Mouse head.”
“You’re telling me that’s a water molecule,” Logan says, biting down on his fist.
“It’s my way of bringing water to me when I can’t get to it,” I say. “I haven’t been able to afford swimming here. But yeah, when life gets hard, add water.”
“You really could’ve saved me at Central Park Lake then?”
“I was a competitive swimmer in college. So, if it came down to it, yes. You really would’ve needed to have been flailing, though.”
“Noted. Next time, more flailing,” he says.
“This is just a little taste of what my luck looks—looked?—like,” I tell him as he adds the charms to my bracelet.
“Tattoo artists going rogue. And I’ve never been to Disneyland or World so I can’t even tie it to any kind of memory.
” I look down at the Mickey Mouse charm. “Actually, that’s not true anymore.”
Logan’s smile is so big it sets in motion a fresh ripple effect across his cheeks.
Like a stone skipping across a still pond.
Before I know it, I’ve flung my arms around his shoulders, tipping up on my toes to meet him.
“Thank you for these. Thank you for this night. I love y—them,” I say, a flush of heat rushing my face. “I love them.”
I cover up my embarrassment over that near emotional miss by kissing him. As though that’s really any better.
Thankfully, Logan doesn’t seem to notice my flub. Or he did and he’s just nice enough to let me kiss my way out of it.
Logan’s blue eyes are the same shade as my happy childhood birthday memory. “Thank you for letting me spend today with you,” he says.
And then we’re both done talking.
I smile against his mouth at the thrill of being this close to him. And not just physically. To kiss Logan, to let my feelings run wild for him, these aren’t spontaneous responses. These are conscious decisions.
Logan lifts me up against the side of the giant fish.
“Your arm,” I mumble against his neck.
He doesn’t seem concerned. “You might be surprised by what I can do with one hand.”
I tighten my legs around his waist. As he drops kisses down my throat, I run my hands through his hair, knocking his hat off. I grip the strands gently, pulling him closer to me. I can’t get Logan close enough. Still, I try.
The pressure of his body against mine sends millions of little zaps of electricity up and down my skin. I burrow my face into his neck, inhaling the faint scent of wood shavings and basil. I’m there for a few seconds before needing his mouth on mine again.
I nip greedily at his bottom lip as I feel my way under his shirt.
If I’m honest, I’ve never particularly cared much for muscles on a man.
His are incredible, yes. But they’re nothing compared to his eyes.
Those I care very much for. And Logan’s are so warm and expressive.
Maybe subconsciously, that’s what got me that very first day.
It’s those same eyes that do me in now. The crinkles around them from the smile that forms whenever he sees me.
It’s the way he looks at me—now, any other time—that has always told me what I need to know.
I have seen from the very beginning that Logan is a good guy.
Decent. Honest. Mine, my brain adds last minute.
“Hey,” Logan says below me. “Where’d you go?”
“Into your eyes,” I whisper.
He grins and sets me down, propping his arm up against the fish.
I turn toward his uncasted forearm and give it three kisses.
He bends down to cut me off, taking my bottom lip into his mouth.
As he kisses me, all my thoughts and worries about the past and future melt away.
I’m only focused on this present moment. With him.
It’s a rare kind of quiet I only experience when his mouth is on mine. To test the theory, I kiss him again. The noise of my overcrowded, loud brain dulls to a peaceful, low hum.
Since day one, we haven’t known normal things about each other. Who meets a random stranger and learns what their future holds? I finally get what Logan was saying about how we’re connected in this inexplicably bizarre way. Because of the fortunes. Because I did something out of character.
Something Maxwell said stops me. Lucky people try new things.
And I guess I did.
For the first time since all of this started—and since everything awful that has happened in the past few days—I feel lucky in this moment.
Lucky to know Logan. Lucky to be here with him tonight.
Lucky to remember happy moments from my childhood.
The ones that got pushed down under the crushing weight of all my responsibilities.
I want Logan to feel what I do.
Past Logan’s shoulder, I spot a pack of long, glittery candles. Nothing about me screams glitter. Yet I love them. And somehow, he knew that.
“Make my wish,” I blurt out.
He balks. “You’re off luck duty tonight. And I’m not stealing your birthday wish.”
We can talk like this, I find. Picking up pieces of conversation that we left off. Communicating without having to say too much.
Look at you two having inside jokes, Gloria had said. I’ve never had inside jokes with anyone.
“It’s not stealing if I give it to you. In fact, I wish you would take it,” I say. “Seriously. Blow out my candle.”
Logan kisses my palm as he wraps his hand tighter around me. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”
“My birthday candle,” I say, nudging him. “You should blow it out and make a wish.”
“Are you seriously trying to fix my luck right now?” Logan says, arching an eyebrow. “Because I’m feeling pretty damn lucky.” He trails his hands down to the waistband of my jeans, tugging at the loop until I’m pressed up against him.
I bite down a smile. It’s like he’s just read my mind.
Little fireworks explode along my skin. As we kiss, the intensity grows. I want this. I want him. So, so much.
Too much. I’ve overheated, my emotions reaching a dangerously high temperature.
It’s too good. You’re too good. It won’t last.
I try to break the feedback loop. But this night is as close to perfect as it gets, and the only way to go from here is down. Things between Logan and me have spun too far out of control. There’s an overflow of happiness. Instead of rising with the waves, suddenly I’m drowning in them.
But before I do, Logan pulls back.
“I want this. I want you,” he says, our chests rising and falling in perfect sync. “But you matter too much to me to rush this. We met fast, and we won fast, but I want to be with you nice and slow.”
I press my lips together as I nod quickly. I don’t want us to flame out before we’ve had a chance to light up. “Yes. Please.”
Logan touches his forehead against mine. “Great. Also, we’re surrounded by glass. I build the sets. I’m not the one putting on the show.”
He diffuses any lingering tension with this joke. I’m grateful for the warm release of laughter.
He grabs the charm boxes and pats the seat. “Get comfy.”
Logan texts Sam, who comes back in and powers up the ride. For three and a half minutes, we slowly rotate, rising and falling in a waterless current. Balloons bounce off the fish and each other, floating around us, like bubbles in a bath.
It’s the best birthday acknowledgment I’ve ever had.