Page 97 of Doomsdate

All these voices of survivors, of people I would’ve never met, lifting sweetly to sing me “Happy Birthday” off-key, send tears rolling down my cheeks. They don’t know that the reason I’m crying isn’t because of all the people who aren’t here with me to celebrate, but because of all the people who are. That it took the world ending for me to have my first birthday party. To hear this song sung with my name, eyes pointed in my direction, for the first time. Mom didn’t celebrate our birthdays—she never saw the point of celebrating life on this earth. But here I am, thirty years old, and I’ve never been so happy to be alive as I am right now. Everett’s smooth voice is the loudest of all because of his proximity by my side, his arm still wrapped around me like I really am Maisie Shenandoah. His eyes are on mine as he sings, “Happy birthday, dear Maiiiiisie…”

Like I really am his wife.

Here, in this moment, on my birthday at the edge of humanity’s existence, I let myself believe that I am. That these people are my friends and family. That my life is full and wondrous and not controlled by fear any longer.

And my heart, oh, my heart.

It throws open every window, every door, and the love comes streaming in. Fresher than morning air, brighter than the sunrise, sharper than the sharpest knife.

Because how on earth will I ever survive letting this go?

The answer comes barreling forward, from the deepest parts of me.

I won’t. I can’t.

And if that means laying my heart on the table and telling Everett exactly how I feel, even after I swore I wouldn’t fall for him, so be it. I’m going to take my cat’s advice and ask Everett to stay together, and yes, I know exactly how crazy that sounds. But Chicken’s right. My fear of rejection doesn’t compare to the fear of living my life without them. And if all else fails?

Maybe I really will Misery him.

“Make a wish!” they all say as I lean over to blow out thirty flickering candles, with one to grow on.

And I do.

Chapter Twenty-one

Everett

After the surprise birthday party in Maisie’s honor, we sit and drink wine and talk with the other survivors late into the night. I’ve never seen Maisie so animated. Laughing, crying, even telling stories of her own, regaling the group with descriptions of Zombie Ranger Phil and how our cat (our cat, she said, our cat) woke her up to warn that zombies were near. Thankfully, she left out the part about my never-ending battle erection, but the sly, shy smile she directs my way tells me she hasn’t forgotten and will privately tease me about it for the rest of my life.

And god, I hope she will.

Back in our hotel room, Chicken curls up in the armchair and promptly begins to purr. Maisie sways silently on her feet, her arms draped loosely around my neck.

“Happy birthday, sweet Maisie.”

“It’s been the best birthday of my life,” she says, then laughs soft and wistful. “Zombie pigeons and all.”

“What did you wish for?” I lean down and press my forehead against hers. “Maybe I can make it come true.”

“But if I tell you, it won’t,” she says, in little more than a whisper. I feel the uncertainty in her words against my lips. “Right? Isn’t that how it works?”

“Hmm. I’ll just have to guess, then.” I back away enough to lift the tattered I NY shirt over her head and throw it to the side. Next, I work the heavy zipper of her space suit down. She watches me as I slip it off her shoulders and down her hips until she’s standing in her underwear, all silver skin and shadows and big, piercing eyes. The most beautiful thing in my world.

“Is it…this?” I step forward and wrap my arms around her, then place a soft kiss against her neck.

“Mm. Part of it,” she murmurs into my shoulder as I brush my lips against her jaw.

“What about this?” I lift her into my arms like a princess and carry her to the big, king-size bed, lowering her gently until she’s lying there in a sliver of moonlight. “Is this what you wished for?”

“You beside me? Yes.” Her voice comes out breathy as my hand trails up her side. “Not in a space suit, though.”

I quickly leap off the bed and all but tear the sky-blue piece of history off my body to her laughter. I crawl back onto the bed, one knee at a time, hovering over her. My Maisie. A beam of pure light. “Is that better?”

“Much.” She nods, her small smile lighting up the darkest parts of my heart. “But you still haven’t guessed it. Not all the way.”

Slowly, I lower myself until I’m lying over her, my forearms resting on either side of her pillow. She is all I can see, and I know that if I lived the rest of my life this way, narrowing my vision to just her in my arms, I could be happy no matter what the other circumstances are. “I think I know what it is, Maisie.”

“You do?”