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Of course, just thinking that made me feel guilty. We had a full-time nanny, but we usually took care of Olivia when she was miserably ill. I’d canceled plans because of her more than once as a result.
“That sucks.” I was so glad we were past that nonsense with Olivia. “I’ll miss you guys. You know you’re always welcome to bring zir.”
“And dump zir on your nanny?” Holli said dryly.
“We’re not monsters. We’d call the agency and get another sitter.”
Holli sighed. “Thanks, but zie’s so miserable. It just wouldn’t feel fair. And it’s such a long car ride.”
I would have offered the helicopter, but I didn’t want to be too pushy. “I’ll miss you. But take care of that baby.”
“Nah, I thought I’d leave zir on the side of the road.” Holli sighed. “I really am sorry.”
“Don’t be!” I forced some cheer into my tone. “It’s not a big deal.”
“It’s your thirtieth birthday,” she protested. Just when I’d thought we’d had enough arguments over my lack of party, she launched into another. “I can’t believe we aren’t doing anything to celebrate it.”
“I am doing something. I’m having a perfectly lovely dinner with my family.” And my husband’s best friend. So...basically, we were having a regular old dinner with one of our occasional, ordinary guests.
I glanced at the clock. Yeah, five-thirty on the day of was the wrong time to decide I wanted to overhaul my plans and have some epic birthday blowout.
“Anyway,” I continued, “Aren’t you happier that you’re not missing out on an awesome rager?”
She scoffed. “Please, we haven’t had a real rager in years. Unless we count your bachelorette party. And even that was tame, by Vegas standards.”
“And Neil’s fiftieth doesn’t really count, does it? It was a little too…” I hated to say the word. “Posh?”
“Yeah, no, I’m talking the old days. I’m talking pushing furniture off the fire escape,” she said wistfully. “And I wasn’t at your husband’s fiftieth. The Dark Time, remember?”
My stomach clenched. Holli and I had been best friends since our second year of college, but a few years ago, we’d had a nearly friendship-ending fight over her wife’s involvement with the competition for one of Neil’s publications. Things had gotten considerably better, though, especially since Neil had retired, and work didn’t take up ninety percent of his life.
“Well, you didn’t really miss anything,” I lied.
“Prince Harry was there,” she responded dryly. “I could be the Duchess of Sussex right now.”
“But you’re the princess of my heart,” I consoled her.
I could hear her eye roll.
“Seriously, though, I’m sorry I’m missing your birthday. I’ll make it up to you by taking you out for dinner somewhere fancy that you pay for,” she said.
I laughed. “I love you. Kiss the baby.”
“Will do.”
We hung up, and I gave myself a second to feel bad before I went to the kitchen, where Neil was already working on dinner. I’d requested my favorite dish that he made, a standing rib roast with a béarnaise sauce that was like something out of a fancy renaissance painting. Even though we had a housekeeper, Neil preferred to cook most of our dinners. It gave him something to do, which was necessary for a guy who’d taken early retirement but still desperately needed to have something stressful going on. He’d always been a good cook, but now that it was a serious hobby, he’d really leveled up.
He pushed some buttons on the oven as I entered. “Now it just needs to rest for two hours…” He checked his watch. “Aha! Timed it just right.”
My mouth watered at the savory aroma coming from the slightly-open oven door. “That smells so good. Are you a witch?”
“No sorcery involved.” He glanced over at me and grinned.
“Holli and Deja aren’t going to make it,” I said with a sigh, joining him at the island. “Teething.”
Neil grimaced in sympathy.
“Yeah.” I leaned over the counter. “So, it looks like tonight is going to be just—”
“You, me, Rudy, Tony, and your mum,” Neil finished, looking up to the ceiling and blowing out a long breath. “Oh, Sophie. I’m so sorry your birthday is turning out this way.”
I traced spirals on the countertop. “It’s okay. Really, I didn’t want to make this a big thing.”
“Thirty is a milestone,” he protested. “It should be a ‘big thing.’ But joyfully. You’re ready to climb into a coffin and pull the dirt on top of yourself.”
“That’s kind of dramatic.” I was getting a little sick of being told how to feel about my own damn birthday. “Besides, it’s just not that important to me to celebrate.”
“It’s important to me. It’s the day you were born. I want to celebrate it because even though I didn’t know it at the time, it was one of the most important days of my life.” He reached for my hand and stroked his thumb along my knuckles. “I know you don’t want anyone to make a fuss over you because you view things differently. But I hope you understand that this day is better than Christmas and Le Mans to me.”
