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Chapter 150

Man, oh man, you're my best friend
I scream it to the nothingness
There ain't nothing that I need

— Edward Sharpe & The Magnetic Zeros, Home

. . . .

I can feel something being planned for my birthday tomorrow. I've had the hunch ever since my dad kept dropping questions here and there about what I'd like for dinner or specific plans for me to do such as staying away from the house.

I'm currently driving back home after my last class of the week with George, who is around nine months and is already so big, sitting beside me with his head out the window. He's the biggest sweetheart and has never snapped at neither me nor anyone else. When someone takes his toy, he thinks of it as playing, not punishment for disobeying. I ask him if he wants to go see Harry or Lilly, and he perks up and starts tilting his head side-to-side like he's comprehending what I'm saying.

When I pull up outside of Harry's house, George starts whimpering for me to let him out but I make sure to hold tightly onto his leash before he has the chance to take off and possibly run onto the road. He drags me towards the front door and jumps up against it. I hear the locks twisting and clicking and a second later, Harry opens the door with a beautiful smile on his face.

George jumps up and starts licking Harry all over. His tail's wagging back and forth, repeatedly smacking my leg.

"Easy, George," Harry says and pets my dog's head when he finally sits down. "Damn, he's gotten big."

"I've missed you," I tug him by the waistband of his work trousers and kiss him. His lips are soft and slick.

"I've missed you more."

"So," I begin, "Are you going to forget about my birthday tomorrow like you did last year?"

"Hey, I didn't forget!"

"I woke up at what seven—seven-thirty? It took you nearly fourteen hours to tell me 'happy birthday'."

"Like I said last year, I wanted to be the last person to tell you. Saving the best for last, but not this year, my love; I'll be the first. I figure I'll spice it up each year."

"I should've 'forgotten' yours this year, too. You already know how I feel about my birthday."

The lighthearted, comedic jokes subside and our expressions, as well as the overall aura between us, change. His eyes hold concern and his hands hold my biceps, his thumb ever-so-gently grazing my skin.

"How are you, by the way?"

My well-being had dropped drastically several days ago when it became the anniversary of my mother and baby brother's passing. I had locked myself in my apartment—ignoring texts, phone calls, or knocks on my door from anyone I knew. It was a day of despair, and since the day it all happened, I have treated it as such. If two people that meant the world to me, who met such an unfortunate end in the delivery had been slapped with such harsh endings, why did I deserve to go about my day trying not to think of it? They both deserve to be remembered.

All my focus remained on them and the pictures I had been given from my father that contained photos of her in her childhood growing up in the eighties to her teens in the nineties to then right around the time she got pregnant with me in 1999 to my birth in the year 2000. She was such a vivacious, photogenic person in these photos. She was so beautiful with her curly auburn hair and dimples that appeared in every photograph.

I wish she was here with me now to see how wonderful my life is turning out. I'm at an incredible school. I'm dating the most amazing and loving man who has the most lovely child. I have great friends and phenomenal family members.