Chapter 25 Ava
AVA
Happy birthday to me.
Nothing says “Welcome to Your Thirties” like cheap wine and carryout pizza.
I drop my haul on the breakfast bar and hang my bag on the back of a stool.
I ducked out of work early to beat the traffic, which, in retrospect, seems a bit depressing.
You know, since I’m going to be sitting around drinking alone.
Maybe if you’d told someone it was your birthday, you wouldn’t be celebrating alone.
It’s fine. I’ve never been one to make a big fuss about my birthday, and that’s doubly true this year. After all, who was I going to tell—my dad?
I snort-laugh at the absurdity.
Wait. Should I have told him? No, that would’ve been weird.
Things between us are getting better. He’s been less over-the-top about my safety and he hasn’t mentioned dating or sex or anything of the sort—thank God—since the disaster dinner with Arlo.
Still, the idea of announcing my birthday feels strange. Like I’d low-key be asking him to shower me with gifts and attention.
No, it’s definitely better this way. If he wants to know my birthday, he’ll ask.
I grab a corkscrew from the utensil drawer, and I’m just about to open the wine when my phone vibrates. I check the screen and swipe accept on the FaceTime video.
Mom and Nana appear on the screen, their smiling faces in separate boxes.
I grin. It’s just like them to plan a joint birthday call.
Some things never change.
“Happy birthday!” they say in unison, their accents identical.
It’s been years since I’ve lived in Texas full-time, but hearing that Lonestar twang always gives me a twinge of homesickness.
My chest squeezes, the longing twice as strong today since I’m already in my feelings.
“Thank you.”
“So,” Nana says. “What did you do today? Did your father give you the day off?”
Leave it to Nana to get right to the heart of the matter.
“Adam isn’t technically my boss,” I say, sidestepping the question.
Mom frowns. “But you told him it’s your birthday?”
“It’s really not a big deal.” I hold up the wine bottle. It’s the same kind I took to my father’s house all those weeks ago. “I’m just going to enjoy a quiet night in. Maybe stream a movie.”
“Baby, you’re thirty. You should be going out to celebrate,” Mom says. “It’s a big deal.”
I shrug. “Age is just a number.”
“Well, since you’re staying in, make sure you do a face mask too,” Nana says matter-of-factly. “Now that you’re getting older, you can’t afford to be lax about skincare.” She gives me a pointed look. “Unless you want to look like a prune when you get to be my age.”
Like it would be such a bad thing to bear the evidence of a life well-lived.
“I’m counting on the Washington genes to keep me young,” I tease. “It seems to be working just fine for you and Mom.”
I prop my phone up on the counter and set about opening the wine.
“Have you given any more thought to Thanksgiving?” Mom asks, a hopeful note in her voice.
My fingers tighten on the corkscrew, and I yank the stopper from the bottle. “I’m sorry. I told you I can’t make it. The team plays the day before and the day after. I need to be here.”
She frowns, and my stomach twists. “You can’t spend Thanksgiving alone.”
I hate disappointing her, but this is the reality of my job. Nights, weekends, holidays. We both knew it when I applied to grad school.
“I won’t be alone,” I say, pouring myself a glass of the pinot. “The team is having a catered dinner, and all the players and staff are invited to attend. I’ve heard it’s actually pretty nice.”
Mom’s mouth pinches. “So you’ll be spending the holiday with your father.”
My shoulders tense. It’s a statement, not a question.
“I imagine he’ll be there, but we haven’t actually spoken about it.”
Is this why she’s upset? Because she’s worried I’m going to spend the holiday with him instead of her?
“I don’t like it,” Nana says, shaking her head. “You belong with your family during the holidays.”
“Adam is my family too,” I say, choosing my words carefully.
Nana makes a dismissive sound. “That man may have contributed to your DNA, but he’s not family. It’s your mother and I who raised you. We’re the ones who made sure you had everything you needed growing up. That man hasn’t shown up a day in your life.”
And whose fault is that?
I don’t want to argue, but I can’t ignore the fact that my father missed twenty-nine years of birthdays, holidays, and everyday moments thanks to the decisions my mother—and let’s be honest, Nana—made.
Maybe he would’ve been absent, maybe he would’ve chosen the game over me, but I’ll never know because he was never given the choice.
But I can’t say that. It would crush my mother.
You’re doing it again, putting other’s needs first and making yourself smaller to avoid conflict.
Guilty as charged. Might as well tattoo “Good Girl” on my forehead and get it over with because I’m no closer to breaking out of the trap than I was when Emerson gave me the book.
I sip my wine, not even tasting the berry notes advertised on the label.
What would Emerson do if she were here?
No, that’s the wrong question. I read the book. Devoured it, actually. Only I can decide what’s right for me. Only I can set my boundaries.
It’s easier said than done.
My stomach tightens, and fear gnaws at my conscience as I try to find the words for what I’m feeling. I don’t want to hurt my mother, or Nana, but we can’t keep on like this.
I can’t keep on like this.
“Nana.” My voice shakes on the lone word, but I push forward. “You can’t blame Adam for being absent when y’all never told him I existed.”
“I did what I thought was best,” Mom says, eyes glassy. “He wasn’t in a good place, and I didn’t want you to have a drunk for a father.”
“I know, Mom. And I don’t blame you for that.” I swallow. “Or maybe I do, just a little. But I understand. And I don’t know. Maybe I would have made the same choice in your shoes. What I do know is that Adam is here now, and he’s made it clear that he would like to be part of my life.”
Nana’s mouth tightens into a thin line, and I brace for impact, but it’s my mother who speaks first. “I just don’t want to lose you, Ava.”
My heart squeezes at the admission. “You’re not going to lose me.
You could never lose me. I love you, Mom.
And you, Nana. Nothing can change that fact.
But I can love you and still want to know my father.
To have a relationship with him.” I inhale deeply, my chest expanding to its full capacity, and stare straight into the camera.
“You don’t have to like it, but you need to respect my choice. ”
Nana’s eyes widen. “Well, I never—”
“Mom, stop.” My mother’s tone is firm, and she nods slowly, as if coming to terms with this new reality.
The one where she and Nana don’t make all the rules.
It can’t be easy for her, not after all this time, but she’s trying.
“I made my choice thirty years ago, and I don’t know if it was right or wrong, but Ava’s a grown woman now, and this is her choice to make. ”
“Thank you.”
Tears sting the backs of my eyes, and I blink them away. I am not going to cry. This is a good thing. She may not like it, but she’s recognized my agency and my boundary.
I spoke up for myself, and the world didn’t end. I’m still here. Mom and Nana are still here.
Granted, Nana looks miffed. I can’t remember the last time someone had the audacity to cut her off. Certainly, my mother and I have never.
Maybe this is the start of a new era for the Washington women, or, for me at least.
Advocating for myself was both harder and easier than I expected, but I’m proud of myself for finally doing it. Maybe it was a baby step, but it’s still progress. Who knows? Maybe someday I’ll have the gumption to be as bold as Emerson.
We chat a bit more about the weather and work, and they catch me up on the town gossip. As we talk, Nana’s temper cools, and by the time there’s a knock at my door, I don’t think twice about telling them I have to go, because I know we’ll catch up again soon.
I disconnect and make my way to the front door. When I peer through the peephole, I nearly lose it, exploding like a champagne cork. I yank the door open, squealing—actually freaking squealing—as I fling myself into the arms of my two best friends, pulling them in for a tight hug.
Kayla and Lexie shower birthday wishes upon me, and when they pull apart, I’m lighter than air, the discomfort of my earlier video chat all but forgotten. “What are you doing here?
“We flew in to surprise you,” Lexie says, beaming.
“You didn’t really think we were going to let you celebrate thirty alone, did you?” Kayla laughs. “Girl, it’s a milestone. We’re going to do it up right with dinner and drinks and the whole nine yards.”
My chest squeezes, full to bursting with love and gratitude. “You flew all this way just to surprise me?”
Kayla smirks. “Did you expect anything less?”
“In case I forget to tell you later, you’re literally the best friends in the world.”
Despite our many differences, they’ve always been here for me, and I hope they feel the same way, because I’d charge Hell with a bucket of ice water for them.
Waving them inside, I step back so they can pass by easily. They haul their bags up to the living room, and while they check out the open-concept space, I grab the bottle of wine from the breakfast bar.
“I was just having a drink. Join me?”
“Hell yes,” Kayla says, eyes bright. “Let’s get this party started.”
Lexie shakes her head, but she’s grinning. “We’re going to need an Uber.”
“It’ll be just like the old days.” I pour them each a glass of the pinot and then lift my own to make a toast. “To best friends.”
“And birthdays!” Kayla adds as she and Lexie raise their glasses.
I take a long sip of the wine and lean against the counter. “So how long are you in town?”
“We fly out Sunday afternoon,” Lexie says. “I couldn’t get more than one day off from the clinic.”