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Chapter 21
Becky
I woke up on my birthday like I did any other day—because no one was supposed to know. I thought no one did, but when I opened my bedroom door, a dozen pink balloons hit me in the face. On the floor lay multiple paintings and cards. There were three animal paintings—one of a llama, the other two of unicorns—all displaying two words:Happy birthday.
My heart expanded as I picked them all up and brought them to my chest. After pulling the balloons into my room and placing the paintings and cards on my desk, I skipped downstairs to get the girls’ breakfast ready.
As always, Charles was there, with my coffee ready, another balloon floating above his head. After handing me my coffee, he pulled the balloon over by its string and gave it to me. “Happy birthday.”
I was cheesing so hard that my cheeks hurt. “Who told you?”
“Patty told us. And you …” He playfully narrowed his eyes. “Don’t even try it. We make the birthdays big and grand for the girls. And they like to make it big and grand for each of us. So, we’re celebrating today. Two years ago, the girls wanted to take Patty to Disney World, so we did.”
When my eyes widened, he said, “Don’t worry. Patty said you wouldn’t enjoy that too much. You’re more low-key.”
I nodded. “I am.” Though I’d love to go to Disney World one day. The day I wasn’t afraid to go out of my house in general.
“But we’ll be doing dinner tonight. All of us. Mary has picked where we’re going.”
My excitement could not be dimmed, and there was a little hop in my step.
We fell into our normal morning routine, me getting breakfast ready and him getting the girls’ lunch ready at the kitchen island.
“What was your most memorable birthday?” Charles slapped some mayo on a piece of bread.
I inhaled and exhaled as memories came back. There were some memorable ones but only ones that I wanted to forget.
I thought he sensed my reluctance to answer because Charles rephrased his question. “Your happiest birthday.”
“Hmm.” I laughed without humor. “My mother did actually remember my birthday one year.” I swallowed down through the pain of the memory. “I forget how old I was, probably a little older than Mary. But I remember it was also the same day that social services had a scheduled visit.” I flipped the pancake on the pan. “I don’t know how I remember that, but I do.” A heaviness spread throughout my body, and I forced myself to focus on the task at hand before the hurt and pain from my past came rushing back and crippled me into a state of sadness.
Silence followed my response, so I peered over my shoulder and forced a smile on my face. “It’s okay though.” I pushed out the words, trying to focus on the positive before the negative took me under. “There are so many other memories, happier ones that replace that.” None of them when I was younger, but more with the families who had adopted me, like Patty’s family.
“I’m sorry you had to go through all of that, Becky. I am.” There was true sincerity in his tone.
I shrugged. “’Tis what it is.” I let my past slip from my memory, forced it back down into a box I hardly ever opened anymore. I continued with the pancakes, placing the cooked one on the plate and pouring more batter on the pan. “It isn’t any different from how you function. You haven’t been dealt the best cards either, but you don’t just lie down and die.”
I watched a flash of pain cross over his face.
“I wanted to. Trust me. If it wasn’t for the girls, I would have,” he admitted. “Didn’t your boyfriend ever celebrate your birthday?”
My whole body stiffened. My mind went into panic mode, searching through all the things I’d told him.When did I ever mentioned my ex-boyfriend?
“You mentioned dating a guy for a while. Someone who kind of enjoyed gambling.” His voice was light, but I knew he was fishing.
I flipped the pancake while my heartbeat thrashed in my ears.How much did I want to share without sharing too much?
“He must have celebrated your birthday. What kind of boyfriend doesn’t celebrate his girlfriend’s birthday?” His voice was softer this time, more cautious.
“My ex-boyfriend.” I turned off the stove and walked straight to the kitchen table with my stack of pancakes. “Let’s just say, he wasn’t the best boyfriend.”
When I passed him to get the milk and orange juice from the fridge, he reached for my forearm. “Becky …”
My breath caught at the intensity of his stare, the concern in them.
“Is that who you’re running from?”
His words were like a dose of cold water in my face, a slap against my cheek. I jerked back, unprepared.
