“Paige Hudson?” she asks, looking down at her clipboard.
“Yes, that’s me, but the only baby here is a boy, and he’s only six months.”
Her head tilts. “This is for you, dear.”
“For me?” I say. “Unless you have a number twenty balloon somewhere to add to that one, you’re at the wrong house.”
She hands me a folded notecard, and I see in Slade’s handwriting:
For all the birthdays you missed.
*
“You gonna tell me what’s going on?” Catrine asks, hitting the balloons with her hands.
Every day for the past week, Slade has sent three deliveries—morning, afternoon, and evening. The first morning was an entire birthday party for a one-year-old little girl. Noon that day was a two-year-old party, then dinner was for a three-year-old. You get the picture.
All the birthdays I’ve missed. That’s what he said.
He’s kept his word, delivering to me every birthday I’ve ever missed.
The six-year-old party was puppy dog-themed. The ten-year-old party was a horse theme. Fifteen was for the popular boy band the year I turned that age. I have no idea how he found that one.
Other than his first note, there are no cards, but each birthday comes with a gift—a stuffed animal, a gift card, music. For my sixteenth, he sent me the title to the Mercedes.
I promptly sent each gift back, but he’s relentless. Today, at least by his timing, I’m turning twenty-one, which is my actual age, so hopefully, this will finally end.
I haven’t said a word to Catrine or anyone about what happened the night of my actual birthday. I don’t have it in me to trash-talk him, although I secretly wonder if it would make me feel better. I haven’t talked to Slade since then either. Clearly, he’s waiting for me to make the next move, but he doesn’t get it.
I’d be lying if I said his gesture didn’t melt my heart a little. It’s sweet. Most women would probably kill for a grand gesture like this, but not me. In my world, a man bearing gifts is a man who wants something.
I’m not the whore he thinks I am. No present or party will make me forgive him. That’s not what I want. I refuse to allow myself to be treated like that by him or any man. I’m just going to do my job, keep my head down, and stockpile the money I make for school.
“Paige,” Catrine says, “you’ve got to tell me what’s going on. And you’ve got to eat some of this cake. Chewie and I are actually getting sick of cake.”
“My birthday was a few days ago, and Slade ruined it,” I say, pushing the latest cake aside.
“Happy Birthday!” she says. “I wish I would’ve known. What did he do?”
I just shake my head as the doorbell rings. “Would you mind getting it? I just can’t see another clown or magician.”
Sitting on the sofa, I lower my head to my hands, hoping the doorbell doesn’t wake Finn. Perhaps I was blessed by never having birthday parties. Catrine walks over, sitting beside me. She places one single chocolate cupcake, a bottle of champagne, and an envelope in front of me. Cake is typical of Slade’s speed birthdays. And the alcohol makes sense since I’m now legal age, but the envelope scares me.
“Do you want a minute alone?” Catrine asks.
Shaking my head, I reach for the envelope. It could be anything—airline tickets, a letter of apology, a letter of eviction, notice I’ve been fired. All I know is that it won’t be good. Slowly, I pull it out, unfolding it.
My heart sinks. He’s giving me something I really want. “Damn him.”
“What is it?” Catrine asks.
Gently, I toss the paper in her lap. Her eyes widen, and she looks up at me. “Paige, you have to accept this.”
“He can’t buy my forgiveness.”
“But this is him saying he’s sorry in a big way.”
“Please return it to him,” I say.
“Paige, this is saying something more than he’s sorry. He’s paid off the next two years of your college tuition.”
It’s tempting. The most tempting thing he’s tried to give me, but some things can’t be bought. My heart is one of them. It’s the one piece of me that hasn’t been stolen or taken from me. I had to give up my education. I’ve had my body used and abused, but no one ever got to my heart. No one could take that from me, and I’m not about to sell it to him. It’s not for sale. It has to be earned.
“All of this is,” Catrine says, waving her arms in the air. “He obviously cares for you.” When I don’t respond, she grabs her purse. “But I’ll take it with me.”
As soon as she leaves, a slow rain begins to fall, marking the end of my birthdays. Any man would give up after this, and I’m not sure why my forgiveness means so much to him. He knew I was falling for him, and instead of just letting me know he’s not interested, he chose to hurt me, to do something so crass that killing any feelings would be a guarantee. It worked, so why all the regret?
Maybe he’s trying to force me to quit now. It’s not that I haven’t thought about it, but I have no other options, and nothing is worse than living the way we were before. My phone rings, Slade’s name flashing. I should answer—he’s the boss—but I doubt he’s calling about work. So I just let it ring. A roll of thunder ripples through the house as it’s really starting to pick up outside.
I hear Finn’s cry even over the storm and rush to get him from his crib. Picking him up, Finn’s baby chunk trembles in my arms. “It’s okay,” I say, cuddling him close.
He sticks his hand in his mouth as drool runs down his arm into the folds at his wrists. I thought crawling would thin him out, but no luck with that yet. He’s still my little butterball. I try to place him in his high chair so I can prepare our dinner, but he’s having none of it. I’m not sure if it’s the rain or maybe that he’s cutting a tooth, but he wants to be held.
He stays that way all afternoon and through dinner, so it takes me a little longer than usual to get him fed. Plus, Slade’s been blowing up my phone. I know I’ll have to talk to him eventually, but I need a clear head for that. I prefer not to have a cranky baby attached to my hip during that conversation either.
The lights flicker a little. I start opening cabinets to look for a flashlight but come up empty. Maybe in the garage? A huge bolt of lightning flashes through the window, immediately followed by a rumble of booming thunder. I remember as a kid counting the time between when the lightning flashes and the thunder hits. I’m not sure if it’s true, but we used to say that every second between was one mile. This storm must only be about that distance from us. It’s closing in.
I look out the window toward the horses, the stables, knowing they must be going nuts, but there’s nothing I can do for them right now. The sky is dark except when lightning spreads across the sky. It looks like the gates of hell are about to open.
This time the lights flicker, then they turn off altogether. Finn starts crying even harder. Clutching him to my chest, I struggle to move around in the dark, waiting for flashes of lightning to guide my way. A loud alarm fills the room, my phone buzzing on the counter. I grab it, seeing a weather alert. More specifically, a tornado warning, and it looks like it’s heading right for us. The last sentence says take shelter immediately. Another streak of lightning and crash of thunder hits right on top of each other.