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But that can wait until tomorrow.
Yeah, how long until you’ll be here? I write.
I dig through the dresser and grab a blue sleeveless shirt that Hardin once told me looks nice on me. I’ll have to wear jeans; otherwise I’ll look like an idiot sitting in this bedroom in a dress. I wonder what he’ll be wearing. Will his hair be pushed back like it was yesterday? Was his party boring without me and he wanted to see me instead? He really is changing and I love him for it.
Why am I so giddy?
Thirty minutes.
I rush to the bathroom to brush the popcorn kernels from my teeth. I shouldn’t be kissing him, should I? It is his birthday . . . one kiss won’t be so bad, and let’s be honest: he deserves a kiss for all the effort he’s put into this so far. One kiss won’t hurt anything I’m trying to do.
I touch up my makeup and run the hairbrush through my hair before pulling it into a ponytail. I clearly have no sense of judgment where Hardin is involved, but I’ll scold myself tomorrow. I know he doesn’t do much for birthdays, but I want this one to be different—I want him to know that his birthday is important.
I grab the gift I bought and begin to wrap it quickly. The paper I bought is covered in music notes and would make a good book cover. I’m getting nervous and sidetracked even though I shouldn’t be.
Okay, see you soon, I send, and head downstairs after scribbling his name on the small gift tag.
Karen is dancing to an old Luther Vandross song, and I can’t help but laugh when she turns around with flushed cheeks. “Sorry, I didn’t know you were there,” she says, clearly embarrassed.
“I love this song. My father used to play it all the time,” I tell her, and she smiles.
“He has good taste, then.”
“He did.” I smile at the somewhat decent memory of my father twirling me around the kitchen . . . before the sun fell and he gave my mother a black eye for the first time.
“So what are you up to tonight? Landon’s at the library again,” she tells me, though I already knew.
“I was actually going to see if you could help me make a cake or something for Hardin. It’s his birthday and he’s going to be here in about a half hour.” I can’t help but smile.
“He is? Well, of course, we can make a quick sheet cake . . . or actually, let’s do a two-layer circle cake. What does he like better, chocolate or vanilla?”
“Chocolate cake and chocolate icing,” I tell her. No matter how much I feel I don’t know him sometimes, I know him better than I think I know myself.
“Okay, get the pans out for me?” she asks, and I jump to it.
Thirty minutes later I’m waiting for the cake to cool the rest of the way so that we can ice it before Hardin gets here. Karen has dug out some old candles; she could only find a one and a three, but I know he’ll find humor in that.
I walk to the living room and look out the window to see if he’s here yet, but the driveway is empty. He’s probably just running a little late. It’s only been forty-five minutes.
“Ken’ll be home in an hour or so, he had a dinner with some colleagues. Being a terrible person, I claimed to have a stomachache. I just hate those dinners.” She laughs and I giggle as I attempt to smooth the chocolate icing along the edges of the cake.
“I don’t blame you,” I tell her and place the numbers on the top of the cake.
After arranging them to say thirty-one, I decide to have them say thirteen instead. Karen and I laugh at the corny candles and I struggle with the thick icing to write Hardin’s name below the candles.
“It looks . . . nice,” she lies.
I cringe at my terrible icing skills. “It’s the thought that counts. Or at least it better be . . .”
“He’ll love it,” Karen assures me before heading upstairs so Hardin and I can have some privacy when he gets here.
It’s now been an hour since he texted, and I’m sitting in the kitchen alone waiting for him to show. I want to call him, but if he isn’t coming he should be the one to call me and tell me.
He’ll come. It was his idea to come, anyway. He will come.
Chapter one hundred and six
HARDIN
For a third time, Nate tries to hand me his cup. “C’mon, man. Just one drink, it’s your twenty-first birthday, dude—it’s illegal not to!”
Because it will get me out of here smoother, I finally relent. “Fine, one drink. But that’s it.”
Smiling, he pulls his cup back and grabs the bottle of liquor out of Tristan’s hand. “Okay, then. At least have a proper one,” he says.
I roll my eyes before taking a swig of the dark liquid. “All right, that’s all. Now you can leave me alone,” I tell him, and he nods in agreement.
I head to the kitchen to get another cup of water, and Zed, of all fucking people, stops me. “Here,” he says, handing me my phone. “You left it on the couch when you got up.”
Then he wanders back into the living room.
Chapter one hundred and seven
TESSA
After two hours, I leave the cake on the counter and head upstairs to take my makeup off and change back into my pajamas. This is what happens every single time I let myself give him another chance. Reality smacks me in the face.
I really thought he was coming; I’m so foolish. I was downstairs baking him a cake . . . God, I’m an idiot.
I grab my headphones before I allow myself to cry again. The music pours into my ears as I lie back on the bed and do my best to not be too hard on myself. He acted so different last night—mostly in a good way, but I do miss his perverted and rude remarks that I always pretend to hate but secretly love.