See Dot Smile

Hail Mary

Dot: Hey guys. It's Bud's birthday today. He doesn't want us to do anything for him. But if you could at least wish him a happy birthday, it would mean a lot to me. And to him.

Kendal: You bet.

Tom: Definitely.

Marcus: Yes.

Lilliana: If I'm not totally buried in graduation committee bullshit, yes.

Joshua: I promise I will.

I reflexively scoff at Joshua's use of the word promise. At least everyone knows and will make something resembling an effort for Bud today. Even though he insisted he didn't want anything done for him. He more than insisted. He demanded I do nothing. When I tried to get him to open up about why he was being such a poop, he told me to mind my own business.

So, I'm minding my own business. And my business is making sure Bud has an awesome eighteenth birthday. Even if it's just pancakes and haircuts level awesome. 

I make him dairy-free cupcakes with maple frosting. They're very lumpy, but I put a crap ton of love into them. I send him a YouTube video of a wedding party that recreated the last scene in Dirty Dancing at their reception. He will LOVE it. I also text him thirty heart emojis in all the colors of the rainbow. And one poop emoji, for fun. 

And I got him something. A real present. I hope he's ready for it. But if he's not, it's okay.

I wait for him at his locker until the homeroom bell rings, but he doesn't show up. I poke my head into his English Lit class second period and he's not there. I text him and he doesn't respond.

I'm worried.

I give him five minutes to show up at lunch before I grab my things and head for the parking lot without telling anyone where I'm going. My stomach is in knots all the way to his house. His mom answers the front door and pulls me in for a perfume scented hug.

Now I'm really worried.

"Is he okay?" I ask into her wavy hair.

"Oh, yes," she flusters. "His dad gave him a hard time this morning." She growls to show her disapproval of her husband's lack of birthday etiquette. "Now I can't get him out of his room." She pulls back and looks me in the face. Her eye makeup is smudged. "Will you try to talk to him, Dot? He just adores you. It's his birthday. He should be happy today." Her voice catches and her eyes start to shine with tears.

"I'll see what I can do," I say, waiting for her to let me out of her vise grip.

My impulse is to run full sprint up the stairs to Bud's room, throw my arms around him and kiss him loopy, but I try to show a little restraint in front of Bonnie. I'm certain she doesn't know Bud and I have been smooching on the regular--or that Bud is coming to terms with his asexuality--so I play the platonic friend with vague potential role until I'm down the hall and outside his door.

I knock twice, but he doesn't respond. I take a deep breath and venture into his room. He has every window blocked out and his bed curtains are down. I tiptoe across the floor, in case he's asleep, but something tells me he isn't.

I fumble around for an opening in the curtain, a little more than necessary, hoping it will make him laugh. It doesn't. I climb inside and head right for the lump at the pillow end. I locate the switch for the string lights and snap it on, then slip my shoes off and crawl under the covers. He's warmer than usual and I wonder if he has a fever. I scooch closer and try to spoon him, but our bodies don't line up, so I shift myself a little higher on the pillow and prop up on my elbow.