“They’re from Alex,” I say, the smile still present.
Memories of spring shift into ones where we’re thirteen, singingalong to Debbie Gibson’s first album in my bedroom after my parents showed us how to use their old record player. The lightly used vinyl spins, and the cover stays propped against the wall, a young Debbie on the cover and the same white bear lying by her feet.
“Who’s Debbie Gibson?”
Only the teenager I wanted to be about three decades too late.
“And a teddy bear?” he asks, picking it up by its arm and letting it dangle in front of him. “Aren’t you a little old for stuffed animals?”
Okay, not knowing Debbie Gibson is one thing, most people our age don’t—sorry, Debbie—but telling a girl she’s too old for a plushie? I snatch the bear and hold it close to my chest. “You’re never too old for stuffed animals, Brian.”
He laughs and holds up his hands. “If you say so.” He carefully puts the card back into the envelope and props it against the vase. “Not to interrupt your cuddle session, but if you don’t get dressed soon, we’re going to be late.”
Oh yeah. Dinner.
“Just give me a minute to call and thank Alex.”
He kisses my cheek. “Okay, but remember what happened the last time we didn’t arrive on time.”
I shudder. It was an evening filled with snide quips and a not-so-subtle speech about the importance of promptness. All directed at me.
With the bear tucked safely under one arm, I start a video call with Alex. Three rings in and her face appears on screen. She’s wearing her favorite Reds ball cap, her breath coming out in white bursts as she breathes. “There’s the birthday girl.”
“Debbie Gibson, huh?” I say through a grin.
“Ten years ago to the day she became your yearlong obsession. I thought, what better way to celebrate?”
The infatuation wasn’t just me. “Like you didn’t have a great time watching old videos of her.”
Alex laughs. “Of course I did. She was my gay awakening.”
“Your gay awakening was Kate Winslet when you were nine, don’t even start.”
“That’s right,” she says as if just remembering, “Debbie wasyourgay awakening without you even knowing it.”
“You might have a point,” I mutter. She was the first girl I plastered all over my bedroom walls. Hindsight is a funny thing.
She pushes through a door, and I realize then that she’s on her way into work. “You got the flowers, then?”
“I did. They’re beautiful.”
A satisfied look crosses her face, and I wonder how long it took her to find them. She reaches the bar where she works part-time and holds the phone close as she presses through the scattering of people and toward the back. “Any plans this evening?”
“Dinner with Brian and his parents.”
Her nose scrunches. And, yeah, I get it. It’s not my ideal way to celebrate, either. “I hope he has something else planned for you this weekend. Maybe an evening out with the guys so you can stay in and read?”
I sigh because that sounds perfect. “A winery, I think.”
If I thought she looked disgusted before… “In the fucking winter?”
The bathroom is still warm from when Brian showered, and I turn on the water to get it going while snagging a towel from the linen closet. “Wine is wine, no matter the month. Besides, there’s such a thing as indoor seating.”
She shakes her head and shrugs off her jacket, revealing a low-cut, long-sleeved shirt. It makes me wonder if she’s wearing it for tips or for phone numbers. I hope it’s the former.
“I have to go get ready. I just wanted to thank you for the bear and for the flowers. They remind me of spring. And Debbie. And you.”
She smiles. “I’m glad.”
