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“That’s pretty terrible,” I whispered, cheeks burning.
“Yeah, well, sometimes things aren’t all rose-tinted,” he grumbled. “Sometimes fucking is just fucking.”
“You can stop talking about it now,” I whispered, pushing my bowl away.
“You’re right,” he groaned, dropping his spoon back into his bowl. “You don’t need to be listening to this. You’re only fifteen, for Christ’s sake.” He shook his head. “The fuck am I thinking talking about this kind of shite with you?”
“I’m sixteen,” I informed him. “And I’m not a child.”
Johnny’s head snapped toward me, expression wary. “You’re fifteen.”
“No, I’m not,” I corrected. “I’m sixteen.”
Johnny frowned. “Since when?”
“Since today,” I replied.
Johnny gaped at me. “It’s your birthday?”
I shrugged.
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged again. “Slipped my mind?”
“Shannon, come on.”
“Because it isn’t a big deal,” I hurried to dismiss. “It’s just another day.”
A bad day. A terrible day.
Brightened only because I’m with you…
“No, Shannon,” Johnny argued, looking like he was at a complete loss. “It is a big deal.”
“Johnny, today’s my birthday,” I reeled off, embarrassed. “There you go.”
“I wish I’d known earlier,” he grumbled. “I would have bought you a present.”
“I don’t need a present,” I strangled out, heart fluttering. “Don’t be silly.”
Johnny shook his head and muttered, “Yeah, well, if you told me, I could have given you something better than a bowl of bleeding Cheerios.”
“And a toasted sandwich,” I offered weakly.
Johnny sighed heavily. “And a toasted sandwich.”
“Shouldn’t they be ready by now?” I asked.
“Shite!”
Shoving his stool back, Johnny hurried over to the sandwich maker and pulled them out. “Not quite cremated,” he announced with a frown. “But they’re well on the way.”
“It’s fine,” I assured him as I jumped down from the stool. “I like them crispy.”
Lifting both of our bowls, I moved to the sink to clean up.
“Don’t even think about it,” Johnny warned as he plated our sandwiches.
