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Lucky me.
Hoping to soothe my nerves, I grab the tablet I’d been using to read earlier. As I flick open an article from my favorite tech publication, my phone buzzes.
Bonnie’s name pops up.How’s the birthday girl?There’s a pause, then,You’re reading that awful technobabble, aren’t you?
I snort, fingers flying over the keyboard.I’d almost managed to forget about my birthday. I still think it’s creepy you know it without me ever telling you. And don’t judge my reading material.
That technobabble is the only thing that makes me feel connected to my old life. Articles and tech publications are one thing I allowed myself after severing every connection I had to the old me. If I can’t be one of the people on the leading edge of tech, working in a lab or a design office, then at least I can read about it.
Three dots appear, and I find myself ignoring the article while I wait for Bonnie to respond. She’s checked up on me every day—much like the way she hounded me for friendship after we met over a year ago. She’s the one who introduced me to her sister and persuaded Linda to pay for my training and certification in childcare.
When we met, I was working at a fancy cocktail bar where Bonnie used to bring her fancy clients for fancy business meetings. Bonnie took a liking to me and decided we’d be friends when she witnessed me kicking out a patron who took it upon himself to pinch my butt cheek. My boss nearly fired me that day—apparently that patron was a regular who spent a stupid amount of money on overpriced drinks. The butt-pincher was some high-flyer at a snooty, soulless investment banking corporation that churned out cardboard cutouts of men in suits, but apparently didn’t teach said suits how to leave a decent tip. I said as much, and my boss’s face turned purple. Bonnie nearly fell out of her chair laughing. She said she hadn’t heard someone say something honest in years, and told me she wasn’t leaving until I gave her my phone number.
A part of me thinks I’m a project to her—a lost little puppy with aggressive tendencies in need of some food, shelter, employment, and a bit of love.
I have my sources, Bonnie responds.A birthday is sacred, and I’m insulted you wouldn’t warn me ahead of time.
I snort and snap a picture of my sad dinner. Sacred, huh?
Bonnie responds in an instant.Just you wait. I have a surprise for you.
I groan. I hate surprises, a fact that delights Bonnie to no end. Six months ago, she showed up at my apartment on my only night off and told me she had a surprise. It turned out to be a disastrous speed-dating event full of people stinking of desperation and blind lust. Neither of us found what we were looking for romance-wise, but I did end up putting a particularly handsy man in a headlock while she threw a pitcher of water at his head. We both ended up roaring drunk, and Bonnie deemed the night a success.
The next morning, I was forced to grudgingly admit I’d enjoyed myself. Bonnie hasn’t let me live it down.
She keeps typing.You need to let loose, and I have just the thing for you. It’s on the way to the apartment right now. Might encourage you to dust off the old hoo-ha and take her for a ride.
My hoo-ha is just fine, thank you.I slump down in the sofa, sliding my empty plate onto the coffee table as I grin like an idiot.You take way too much interest in my sex life.
What sex life?I can almost see Bonnie’s arched eyebrow, the bone-deep snark permeating through her text message. How she manages to fool people into thinking she’s a professional at her Wall Street job is beyond me.
She’s typing another message when the buzzer sounds. I frown, heart suddenly thumping. I haven’t celebrated my birthday in four years. Haven’t had anyone to celebrate itwith. Haven’t had anyone who cares about my birthday, about my sex life, about anything relating to me.
In fact, I’ve gone out of my waynotto celebrate my kick-to-the-head anniversary.
Bonnie cares, though. And she’s my friend. She planned a surprise for me. So, against my better judgement, I press the button on the intercom. “Yeah?”
The voice that comes through is muffled. “I’m looking for Danika Jen—” The end of the name cuts off, but my heart thumps. No one but Bonnie knows I’m staying at her apartment. This is obviously her birthday surprise.
I hesitate. Even though Bonnie does things like birthday surprises and speed dating, she still understands my boundaries. She knows there are some things I don’t talk about. Parts of my past I’ll never divulge. But the thought of having strangers coming up to this apartment, this sanctuary…it makes me nervous. I left my old life behind and vowed to never be weak again. To never be in a position where I’d have to steal something for leverage. To never feel so powerless that I’d have to arm myself with a sledgehammer, destroy my life, then walk away.
My heart beats against my ribs, a painful, violent warning.Don’t let them in, it says.Take your things and leave. Bonnie’s gotten too close. Forget about the job tomorrow. Run. Run. Run.
I suck in a deep breath to settle my raging thoughts. Those instincts are what had me bouncing from small town to small town for years. What had me changing my phone number every month, looking over my shoulder at every turn, heart stopping every time I saw a tall man with midnight-colored hair. My instincts brought me to New York, where I hoped the big city would let me slip into anonymity.
I’m safe, I tell myself as a ragged breath saws through my throat.I’m okay. It’s the truth, too. My ex hounded me for a few months, but once I ditched my email and phone number and got my name changed, the pestering stopped. I haven’t heard from him for years.
Still…
One more breath, and the fear subsides. I can do this. It’s a birthday present my one and only friend planned for me. She’d be upset if I refused. She let me stay at her house for a week, rent-free, and I owe her this. I can shake off my demons and be normal, for once.
“I’ll buzz you up.” I press the button to unlock the front door of the building, then scoop my plate off the coffee table to deposit it in the kitchen. By the time I’m done, a knock sounds on the apartment door. I take a deep breath. How is this related to my sex life? Bonnie better not have hired a male escort for me. I swear she would. She wouldn’t even have to see the expression on my face to pee herself laughing at me.
But when I open the door, four women stare at me from the other side of the threshold. The one in front is a tall, lithe woman with shiny brown hair that looks professionally blown-out, her slim body clothed in a tailored pantsuit. She looks me up and down. “Are you Danika?”
I nod.
She arches an eyebrow, taking in my sweats, my fuzzy socks, the old t-shirt with the hole in the armpit that I’ve had since middle school. Her eyes flick to the floppy, slightly greasy mass of brownish-blond hair plopped on top of my head. “I was told you’d be ready and showered by the time we got here.”
