Delectable (Sinclair Bryant)

Birthday Boy

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAR SINCLAIRRRRRRR, HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU!!"

The table of diners broke out into cheers and raucous laughter as Sinclair Bryant blew out the 43 candles that adorned the chocolate cake he had picked out for himself. It was large enough to share with the other four diners at the table and then take home for him to devour daily. Optimistically he hoped it would last him four days, realistically it would last him two.

Sinclair ran his hands through his dirty blonde hair, which over the past few years seemed to gain more and more unwanted greys. God, did he feel old sitting there by himself. Technically he wasn't by himself of course, but he was alone. His four guests were made up of two couples, which in hindsight was awful planning on Sinclair's part but he really didn't care at the time. Now he did. 6 months post-divorce felt very rough.

His friends had hoped bagging a table at the City's newest up-and-coming restaurant would be perfect for the food lovers' birthday and would hopefully bring back the smile and chatter that they missed. It was a very nice eatery, he thought, as he splayed his hands on the rich cotton of the table cloth. There were only about 20 tables in all, of varying sizes, and most of the clientele looked like Sinclair and his friends with a few older couples dining in the far corners, away from the livelier crowd in the middle of the dining room. There was a small mahogany topped bar through a set of double doors, where diners could relax both pre and post-meal as it was well furnished with cushy red stools. All in all, it was pleasing to Sinclair.

"Right, all hands on deck, there's a lot of candles to remove here before we can dig in," David Fife, joked as he nudged his wife's arm. Jessica Fife, having listened to her husband's awful jokes for the past 12 years, didn't even crack a smile. She did however shoot Sinclair a sympathetic look as she pulled back her auburn hair, then began picking the little blue candles out of the cake.

Sinclair hated people looking at him like that. Hated the pity. He did, however, remain his charming self and tried to entertain the table as best he could, even though he wasn't feeling quite up to scratch. It didn't matter much anyway at that point, the wine had flowed far too easily all night and his guests were all very merry. Sinclair was too but wasn't a heavy drinker, so it hadn't taken much.

The cake sliced beautifully. Sinclair licked his bottom lip, eager to try the ludicrously expensive sponge. It had better be worth it, he thought, as he handed the first slice to Jessica; her green eyes shone in delight. As a mother of two boys, and the wife of a stocky investment banker, who did nothing but pick at food all day, she often didn't get the first slice of anything.

David was next, followed by Sylvester and Jane, who were the power couple of the group. Sylvester worked in the same field as Sinclair while Jane was a solicitor for a well-known firm in the city. They were almost carbon copies of each other with their dark brown hair, whiskey eyes and tortured artist fashion sense. Sinclair was a bit freaked out by how much they had morphed into one but equally jealous of them, too. They loved each other fiercely, he could see that in everything they did together. The looks, the laughs, the touches. He wasn't sure he'd ever had that.

Often, Sinclair's birthdays would run into the early hours of the morning but with it being such a small affair, the evening wasn't heading that way. And besides, they were all hurtling into their mid-40s now. It was time to hang up those days.

"I think...I'd quite like to compliment the chef," Sinclair suddenly thought out loud as he poured himself the dregs of the last bottle of wine.

"God, are we that pretentious now, Sinc?" Sylvester asked.

"What's pretentious about it? I took a risk with my order, unlike you two," he pointed at Sylvester and Jane, "And you, David, don't even get me started. Fancy restaurant and you order your steak well done. You should be ashamed of yourself."