“It feels like it is.”
The honesty in his voice cracked something inside me.
He stood up quietly, grabbed his tablet, and climbed onto his bed. Headphones slid over his ears. A train documentary started playing loudly enough that I knew he didn’t want to talk anymore.
I cleaned up alone.
I carried the leftover cake into the kitchen, wrapping it in foil, staring at the uneven frosting smear where Eli had cut the slice. I felt stupid for thinking sugar and icing could glue broken things together.
.....
Cal didn’t come home until after midnight.
I was wiping crumbs from the hallway console table when I heard the front door swing open.
Laughter floated in first. A girl’s voice, high, tipsy, careless.
Then Cal’s lower murmur.
They stumbled into the foyer together. She was tall, red hair cascading over her bare shoulders, short dress barely covering her thighs. Hanging off his arm like she belonged there.
She glanced toward the kitchen. Saw the cake on the counter. The crumpled wrapping paper. The single candle I’d stuck into one slice even though Eli said he didn’t want candles.
“Oh,” she said, blinking slowly. “Is it someone’s birthday?”
Cal followed her gaze. Shrugged.
“Yeah. The teen’s. Whatever.”
Whatever.
He didn’t look at me.
Didn’t ask how it went.
Didn’t even pause.
He just kept walking toward the stairs while she giggled against his shoulder.
Something inside my chest collapsed inward so quietly I wasn’t sure if it was breaking or simply disappearing.
I waited until their footsteps faded before I moved.
I went back to my room. Shut the door gently. Sat on the edge of the bed and cried so silently my ribs ached from holding thesound in. I wiped my face with the sleeve of my shirt and kept telling myself it was hormones.
It wasn’t.
It mattered.
.....
I saw Cal again the next morning in the kitchen.
He was pouring coffee, sunglasses still on like he hadn’t bothered to face daylight yet.
I stood by the fridge, gripping the door handle harder than necessary.
“You forgot Eli’s birthday,” I said.
