Page 29 of True Colors

“That’s damn good work, Anouk.” I give her a reassuring smile. “If this is what you can do in one morning, I can’t wait to see what you deliver throughout this project.”

Her head snaps up.

She looks…relieved?

Surprised?

Beautiful.

Fuck me, where did that come from?

CHAPTER 7

Anouk

Finn’s chosen birthday lands on a Saturday this year, and he’s not on shift.

We go to Pier 23, one of his favorite restaurants for lunch, because no place on earth beats a plate of fish tacos on a sun-drenched deck overlooking the bay.

It’s a perfect San Francisco spring day. There’s music floating from somewhere, people are walking the pier, the sky is blue, the sun is shining, and there’s a light breeze that carries the smell of saltwater.

He grins at me over the rim of his beer. “To surviving another year.”

“To another fabulous year,” I correct, tapping my glass to his.

We think Finn’s a year or two older than me, but we aren’t sure because we don’t know his exact birth date—the result of not being able to find a birth certificate or hospital records that could tell us. He was abandoned as a toddler at a bus station in Yuba City. For years, he didn’t have a birthday. When we became friends at the state home, I decided that wasn’t acceptable.

So, I gave him a birthday.

I picked this date—April tenth—because it was Miss Helen’s birth date. She was one of the few social workers who treated us abandoned kids like humans. She sneaked Finn extra snacks when he was going through growth spurts, she sat with me during panic attacks, she told us we deserved the world even when the world kept saying otherwise.

She died the year I graduated high school, but at least she saw Finn take his first step on the long path to becoming a firefighter when he got accepted into the Advanced EMT and Paramedic program.

So now, when we celebrate Finn, we celebrate both him and Miss Helen.

And just now, when he blew out the candles the restaurant put on a slice of chocolate cake, he did it for both of them.

“You think Miss Helen would be proud of us?” he asks solemnly.

“Absolutely.” I rest a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a firefighter. I’m a data analyst. And we’re still best friends.”

Miss Helen used to tell us she hoped we’d never stop taking care of each other.

Finn looks down at his beer and smiles sadly. “Yeah…you’re right.”

“Hey,” I nudge him. “No cry-cry on a birthday.”

Another Miss Helen rule. And since, in the group home, it was always someone’s birthday, we learned early how to find joy even on the hardest days.

He cups my cheek with a rough, warm palm. “I wouldn’t have made it without you, Annie.”

I choke on my tears because there’s no cry-cry on a birthday.

“Well, of course not. You’d be arrogant and insufferable if I weren’t there to manage your ego.”

He laughs—loud, the kind of Irish belly laugh that makes strangers turn and smile because Finn shines like that. He lights up rooms without trying.

Leaning back in his chair, sunlight catching his copper-brown hair, he asks, “Annie, do people like us get happy endings?”