totes_tasha: at the end of the semester, right? save me a copy — i want to see this masterpiece.
EMLewis: Will do!
totes_tasha: so any plans for your big birthday?
EMLewis: How did you know about that?!
totes_tasha: lil thing called the global exchange info pack :-)
totes_tasha: so, any crazy parties planned? i bet morgan will fix something awesome.
EMLewis: Actually . . .
EMLewis: I sort of haven’t told her.
totes_tasha: ??
EMLewis: She was threatening something about State Street and tequila for Lexi’s birthday, and I don’t really want any of that.
totes_tasha: ha smart move. i don’t remember half of what happened on my 19th.
EMLewis: I’ll be keeping things low-key.
totes_tasha: just b sure 2 have fun!
EMLewis: Will do.
EMLewis: Listen, do you know if . . .
totes_tasha: ?
EMLewis: Never mind. I better get going. I’m due for class.
totes_tasha: xoxo
EMLewis: Bye!
20
I told Natasha the truth; with the whirl of classes, filming, and Morgan’s hectic social calendar, I barely notice my birthday until the day arrives. March 5. Nineteen years old. I didn’t give much thought to how I’d celebrate this year, but I would never have pictured being here, doing any of this. In fact, if anyone even mentioned film studies, blond hair, and denim miniskirts, I would have classified them as clinically insane.
“You got some packages.” Morgan wanders in with the mail. She’s still dressed in her nightwear of ultra-short shorts and a skintight vest, but that doesn’t seem to stop her roaming around our apartment block. “Anything special?”
“Probably just books from home,” I answer breezily.
“Oh.” Her face falls, and she drops the parcels on the counter. “God, I wish I didn’t have to go home this weekend.”
“Mm-hmm,” I murmur noncommittally, speed-reading a textbook.
“I mean, it’s just their twentieth wedding anniversary.” Morgan keeps whining as she pulls on a jumper. “And everyone knows my dad has had, like, tons of affairs.”
I try not to roll my eyes. After the Psi Delt man-snatching show, I’ve tried to keep a little distance from Morgan. With our shopping trips and tanning sessions, I’ve been lulled into thinking we could be friends; now I see how she treats Brooke, I’m not so certain that’s something I want.
“OK, so I’m heading out now.” The announcement demands attention, so I look up from my book.
“Have a wonderful time.” I try to smile. Morgan beams back, pulling on a baseball hat and clutching her pillow. Apparently her “wandering around the apartment” outfit is also suitable for travel.
“Call me with gossip,” she demands, hugging me good-bye, then hoists a huge duffel bag out the door.
“Will do!”
I wait by the front window until I see her convertible drive away before I turn to my presents. Soon the brown paper and padded envelopes are peeled away: Mum sent money, Elizabeth sent a concise legal dictionary, and my dad has given me an expensive-looking fountain pen set, complete with calligraphy nibs and ink. I lay them out on my desk. Looking at them — sitting beside my sunscreen and a stack of DVDs — I feel a strange pang I can’t quite decipher.
My mobile rings, and I answer to find an unfamiliar American squeal echoing down the line. “Happy birthday!”
“Who is — wait, Natasha?” I ask, pushing the gifts into a drawer.
“Who else!”
“Oh, wow, hi!”
“It’s weird, talking in person, right?” She laughs. “You sound just like I thought!”
“You mean, English?” I tease.
“Hell yes, though I can hear some American coming through . . .”
“No way!”
“See?” I hear background noise of people and traffic, and picture Natasha freezing outside a library. “So,” she continues as if she’s known me forever, “has Morgan sprung a party on you yet?”
“No, it’s all still top secret. I don’t think anyone but Carla knows.”
“Even so, you’ve got to do something special. Remember your whole plan — loosen up, have some fun? I’d say your birthday is the perfect time.”
“Maybe . . .”
“Definitely! Anyway, I’ve got to run, but I wanted to say ‘Happy birthday’ in person.”
“That’s so sweet,” I say, touched. “What about you, how are you doing?”
“I’m great. I’m just heading out to meet Will; we’re going on a quest.”
“Really? That sounds . . . adventurous.”
“Seriously! If you don’t hear from me again, send search parties, OK?”
“OK.” I laugh. “Have fun!”
“You too!” She rings off, no doubt to embark on her wild adventure. I can’t help being slightly envious. Of course, the reasons for her trip to England are awful, but Natasha has taken to her new identity in Oxford with such ease, it makes me feel a little pathetic. She’s off saving the women’s health center and winning over Carrie and Co. while I’m just trying to relax.
A small noise makes me turn back to my computer. I click through to my email, wondering if it’s more birthday wishes and —
Sebastian.
I don’t move for a moment. I just sit there, frozen in front of my screen. I can’t believe it. Now he chooses to get in touch? After all this time? Now, when finally the emptiness in my chest has gone, when I don’t replay everything he said?
Now, when I’m over him?
I click through to open the message and scan the few short lines.
Happy Birthday, Emily — remember how we celebrated last year? How are things? I’d be really glad to hear from you.
— Sebastian
No apology, no “I miss you,” just a clutter of words that strip away all that wonderful time and space I’ve put between us. I haven’t thought of him in weeks, but those few lines take me right back to a year ago, before we were a couple, when he and I held our own private birthday party. He copied me the whole series of West Wing for my gift, and we’d stayed up all night in the student common room, snuggled deep into the old armchairs. It was the most fun I’d ever had on my birthday, and the first time I began to think we could ever be more than just friends.
I stay frozen for a moment, until a voice breaks through my thoughts.
“Hey, what’s up?”