When I wake, Ella is missing from my arms.
My body, though exhausted, immediately protests. I've become so accustomed to her soft curves against my contours that I feel oddly empty.
"Ella?" I say, sitting up.
I hear a muffled rustle of paper — or what I'm assuming is paper — coming from the next room over. When I call her name again, the rustling pauses.
Curiosity getting the better of me, I slip out of bed. One glance in the bathroom mirror confirms my messy hair. My pajama pants, I notice, are sitting too low on my hips for comfort. As I make amends with my reflection, my wife appears in our doorway, flustered.
Although Ella is still wearing an oversized t-shirt that masquerades as a nightgown, her eyes are awake. Frightened, even, by the sight of me.
"Aaron," she says cautiously. "Why are you awake?" Her eyes stray to the grandfather clock resting on the far wall of our bedroom. I too, seem alarmed by us both being awake at 2:37 A.M.
I join her in the doorway, resting my hands on either side of her waist. "I could ask you the same question, love."
"I'd prefer if you didn't," she says, a blush blooming on her cheeks.
I have to laugh. "I have the story of your life memorized," I say, "word for word. And I know every inch of your body like the back of my hand. There is nothing," I emphasize, "that you can say that will shock me."
"It's your birthday."
And just like that, I'm rendered speechless. I realize, then, that I've lied to her. She has shocked me.
Has an entire year passed since I entered my twenties?
"I suppose it is," I murmur more myself than to her.
I've vaguely been aware of April looming over us. But Ella and I have been so busy helping rebuild our world that, well, I'd lost track of the days.
Ella is smiling. "You're twenty-one today."
I hold her against me. "Forgive me, sweetheart, but birthdays have rarely been worth celebrating for me."
"Today will be." She lifts herself up on her tiptoes and kisses me. "I'll make sure of it."
Running my hands up and down her back, I say, "Does this mean you're exiling me to our bed?"
"Yes." Ella laughs softly. "I need to wrap your presents."
I stare, uncomprehending. "Presents?"
"Of course, silly."
"Ella . . ."
She ushers me back into our bedroom. "Go back to sleep."
"I sincerely doubt," I say, "that I'll be able to sleep now."
"Try. Please?"
Begrudgingly, I agree. Excitement in her eyes, she tucks me in as though I were a little child. But the notion is comforting, considering my parents were incapable of doing such.
Ella sits on the side of our bed. For a few minutes, she rubs my back with gentle fingers.
I'm nearly asleep when she whispers, "Aaron?"
"Yes, love?"
"Happy birthday, handsome."
When I fall asleep, I'm smiling.
