Mara waited patiently.
Finally, I pointed to something near the middle of the page. "That one."
Her eyes followed my finger.
A whiskey sour.
"Good choice."
Relief flooded through me.
I had no idea whether it was a good choice, but at least I hadn't accidentally ordered something that came with a candy cane and an umbrella.
"I'll be right back."
As she walked away, I leaned back in my chair and glanced around the room again.
Twenty-one. One legal drink. One table. One person. Not exactly how I'd imagined spending my birthday, but it would do.
I pulled out my phone from my pocket. Three notifications waited for me. One was from the college. Happy Birthday, Kieran! Wishing you a wonderful day and a successful year ahead. — Student Success Services
I huffed out a laugh.
The email had almost certainly been generated by a computer somewhere on campus, but at the moment, it was still one of the few birthday messages I'd received.
The second was a text from a guy in one of my education classes.
Darius: Happy birthday. Professor Bobcombe posted the practicum schedule for January.
Not exactly heartfelt, but useful.
The third message made me pause.
Janelle: Happy Birthday, kiddo. Hope you're doing well. Proud of you. —Janelle.
I stared at it for a moment.
Janelle had been one of my foster moms. One of the good ones, but not permanent.
Me: Thank you, Janelle.
Then I rested my phone on the table.
The conversations around me swelled and dipped like waves. Laughter from one side of the room. Someone arguing about whetherDie Hardcounted as a holiday movie.
I smiled despite myself. A week from now, most of the people in this room will be surrounded by family. Parents. Siblings. Holiday traditions.
Meanwhile, I still hadn't decided whether I was spending Christmas Eve in my apartment or volunteering to cover somebody else's shift somewhere.
Neither option was particularly festive. Then again, I'd learned a long time ago not to build holidays into something bigger than they were. Birthdays. Thanksgiving. Christmas. Any day that came with expectations usually ended better when I didn't have any.
The trick was treating it like any other Thursday. Go to class. Finish assignments. Pick up an extra tutoring session if somebody needs one. Keep moving.
It worked most of the time.
I thought about a lesson-planning assignment that awaited me. One more step toward graduation. One more step toward becoming the kind of teacher I'd needed when I was a kid. Thekind who noticed when someone was struggling. The kind who stayed.
The image of that kid—the one I used to be—stayed with me.
