Page 55 of The Quiet After The Fall

Sawyer

Irene dismisses us five minutes early with a parting message to finish our case studies or we shouldn’t bother coming back next week. Man, she’s intense.

I step into the hallway, about to beeline for the coffee shop, when my phone buzzes four times in a row. Students nudge past me, so I move closer to the wall and check my messages as I walk.

Mom: Don’t forget dinner tomorrow night. I made a reservation at Marcello’s.

Mom: 7:00. Don’t be late.

Mom: I know you’ll be late. Try not to be.

Mom: I love you. My baby’s going to be 25!

Gia falls into step beside me, craning her neck. “Someone’s popular.”

“Just my mom.” I shove the phone in my bag. “Tomorrow’s my birthday.”

“Wait, seriously?” She stops walking and grabs my arm. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because it’s not really a celebration kind of year…plus, I’m turning twenty-five, not twelve. I don’t need a big thing.”

“Everyone needs a thing,” she says like it’s a fact. “Even a small thing. Especially turning twenty-five. You’re a quarter century…that’s way longer than you’d have lived if we were in ye olden times.”

“Thanks for making me sound ancient.” I laugh and push the door open. The late afternoon heat engulfs us, muggy and hazy, making the parking lot seem miles away.

“I’m just saying. Medieval Sawyer would’ve been thrilled to make it this far.”

“Medieval Sawyer wouldn’t have had the impending doom of Irene’s case studies.”

“True. She’d have the plague instead.” I shake my head and let out a dry laugh. Gia keeps up pace next to me, hands in her pockets. “So what does your mom have planned?”

“Dinner at Marcello’s.” I dig my keys out of my bag. “Just the two of us this year.”

“Oh. That’s…nice.”

“Yeah. It’ll be good.”

When I glance over at Gia, she’s making a face like she wants to push for more, but thankfully, she doesn’t. We stop at her car, an ancient Jetta with a crack that looks like a road map across the windshield, and she leans against it, not quite ready to leave.

“My family’s always made a huge deal about birthdays.” She twirls a keychain around her finger. “Huge parties with too much food and even more drama. Someone usually leaves in tears, or at the very least, we have enough gossip to last us months.” A smile breaks out across her face. “God, I miss them.”

I laugh, imagining what that must be like. “Sounds chaotic.”

“It is. I love it.” She shoulder bumps me. “What were your birthdays like growing up? Always this boring?”

“Hey,” I say, playfully narrowing my eyes. “A nice quiet dinner isn’t boring. It’s…” I think for a second but can’t come up with another adjective. “Okay, it’s boring.”

“See,” she says with a laugh. “All your birthdays couldn’t have been like that, right?”

Her question has my mind going, but I don’t answer her right away. Instead, I watch a group of teenagers pile into a car a few spots over, laughing. God, I miss laughing like that.

“We’d always be up at the lake,” I start. “My family and the family I grew up with. We’d spend the whole day by the water, either in the boat or picnicking on the shore.” I can picture it so clearly my chest aches—Mom and Victoria in their wide brimmed hats, laughing together. Richard and Dad bickering over who got to drive the boat. Knox and Owen pushing each other off the dock. “Knox and Owen used to have these breath-holding contests. Every single year. Knox always won and Owen always demanded a rematch. My mom said they were trying to impress me, but I never thought so.” I smile without meaning to. “Then we’d always go to our favorite burger place, still in our bathing suits, coated in sand. Mickey’s. It had those wooden benches that would give you splinters in your asscheek, Christmas lights all year, and the biggest ice cream cones I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“That sounds really nice, Sawyer.”

“It was.” I clear my throat. “And the next day we’d all go to—” Wonder World. I stop myself, and look down at my keys. “Somewhere else.”

Gia doesn’t pry and I couldn’t be more grateful, even if the look on her face is asking the things she’s not saying.