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One
Ellis
My grandfather had a stroke during my fifth birthday party.
I mean, he was fine.
He still is.
In fact, he currently lives in upstate New York with my grandmother and spends nearly all of his retirement hunting and trying out new recipes.
I would be lying if I didn’t admit that watching my family sob while my grandfather got carried off on a stretcher didn’t spark a new core memory. And this memory was certainly painted blue. I would also be lying if I said I didn’t think about it every year around my birthday. It’s like the ghost of birthdays’ past decided I had cute shoes, then followed me around for the rest of my natural life, thinking we were destined to become best friends.
We were not.
Destined to become friends, that is.
The pencil scratching across paper draws me back to the present. The sounds of coffee grinding and gentle murmurs remind me I’m in full control of the ghost. It’s only allowed to haunt me when I say it can, despite what my approaching birthday says.
I pause, looking at the composition of lines and shadow on the page–the way the values build into something recognizable–somethinggood.
My eyes flick up to the old couple sitting by the window of the coffee shop, sipping espresso and smiling in a way that says they’ve lived a long, full life together. I can’t help the way the corner of my mouth turns up at the image, and I glance down at my sketchbook again. I’d like to think I did them justice.
“I hope you told that sweet couple you were doing that first. I’d hate for my best friend to be thrown into prison for stalking strangers.”
I slam the sketchbook shut, finding Lennon hovering above my table of choice with a coffee in her hand. She smiles, her freckles bunching, before she slides into the seat across from me.
“I didn’t ask them,” I admit as she takes off her coat and drapes it over the back of the chair, leaving the heathered gray beanie on her head.
“Pity,” Lennon muses, one eyebrow cocked. “I won’t visit you in prison, you know. Our friendship will cease to exist. I simply hate talking on the phone, and that would be the only way we could communicate.” She takes a sip of her coffee before picking up each braid to analyze the split ends of her red hair. Finally, her blue eyes meet mine. “I simply can’t do it. It gives me anxiety.”
I chuckle, tapping the pencil on the pine surface of the table. “I’ll think of you often, while I’m gone.”
Her smile cracks wide, a true testament to my best friend’s actual heart–the one she hides beneath hurled insults and sarcasm. “I would hope.”
Lennon and I met in college and trauma bonded over having the worst roommates in the history of all roommates ever. I would argue that my roommate was, objectively, worse than the girl inhabiting Lennon’s dorm room. She would argue the opposite.
Now, some six years later, we still live in the same city and spend most of our time hanging out. You know what they say about trauma bonding.
Well, I’m not actually sure what they say, but regardless, we are still friends. And I still invited her for coffee after work.
“So,” she begins, pulling her legs up onto the chair. “I heard something important is happening in six days.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah?” I question, knowing full well where this conversation is headed.
“Oh yeah. Winter solstice. It’s a very important day for fantasy readers.” She rolls her tongue along her cheek, trying to suppress her amused expression, but it doesn’t work. Her shining blue eyes give her away. “For witches, too.”
“Thank you for the reminder,” I say, trying to keep the fabricated look of annoyance plastered to my face. “I nearly forgot to add dancing naked in the winter forest to my planner.”
Lennon huffs out a laugh before leaning down to grab a small box from her backpack. “No, but really,” she starts. The red bow decorating the gift wrapped in black paper reveals the truth. Despite her quips, Lennon cares.
Tapping the outside of the package once, she slides it across the table toward me. “Happy early birthday, Ellie.”
I grab the box, carefully pulling at the ribbon and slowly peeling back a corner of the paper. “I’d say you shouldn’t have, but considering the fact that you leave tonight for Minneapolis, and you won’t be back until after my birthday–”
“Yeah, yeah,” she says, waving a hand. “I owe you for missing your twenty-fifth birthday. It’s not like you’re eighty-two, dude. We still have time.”
I halt my assault on the gift, deadpanning. “I could die at any moment,” I say. “A piano could fall from the sky as soon as we leave this coffee shop.”
