Page 16 of A Wistful Symphony

Birthday Scherzo

I ’ ve never cared about my birthdays. What’s the deal about celebrating one more year on this planet?

Another turn around the sun or whatever.

A meaningless mark of time we use as an excuse to praise one’s life.

Nihilistic, I know, but my life hasn’t been exciting or impactful enough to deserve an entire day of celebration.

That’s never stopped my family. Since I was a child, my mother has made a fuss whenever Delia or I had a birthday, and after I moved to London, the mantle has been inherited by my sister.

Knowing I’m particular about getting drunk in public, she always invites our friends over, so I can let loose and be comfortable around people I trust. A small gesture, but one I appreciate dearly.

She’s helping me get things ready for the party later this evening, and by helping, I mean watching television and giving useless opinions while I do everything. Nevertheless, it’s nice to have my sister’s company. Unnerving as it is, she always lightens the mood wherever she goes.

“This centrepiece is hideous. It doesn’t match your decor at all.”

I take a deep breath while preparing mini sandwiches. “If you’re so concerned, take care of it yourself. I’m busy with the food.”

“Can’t. My nails are wet.” She turns back to the latest RuPaul’s Drag Race episode.

I roll my eyes so hard it hurts. “Aren’t you going to do anything? Give me a gift, at least?”

“Already did, big brother, and he’s coming later hopefully wrapped in a trench coat with nothing underneath.”

The image of you dressed like a flasher makes me chortle. “Andrew never confirmed. Which means if he doesn’t show up, you’re going to have to buy me something.”

“Sorry, Eric, I’m so broke,” she whines, flashing her signature pout.

“You’re carrying a new designer bag.”

“Hence why I’m broke.”

“I’m seriously concerned about your future,” I say, and go back to the sandwiches.

Since it’s an intimate party, there’s not much work to do.

The flat is tidied, the cake I asked Delia to pick up at the bakery is here (literally the only thing she did), and the menu is a practical choice of mini sandwiches, crisps and dips, and a cheese board.

As long as I have enough snacks not to let people drink on an empty stomach and ruin my carpet (it’s happened before), we’ll be fine.

The sandwiches are divided into two silver trays—vegan and non-vegan—and put on the table next to the cake. I go back to the kitchen and check again if there’s enough beer and gin. Where Robin and Zoe are concerned, one can never be too sure.

I’m halfway through telling Delia to get her arse off my sofa when the doorbell catches my attention.

“They’re early? That’s new,” I mutter, hoping you decided to come over before the set time.

I’m wrong, either way.

“Happy birthday, Eric from the music department!”

“Ollie!? How the hell are you here? Weren’t you in France?”

“One of our stops cancelled last minute, and our manager decided to end the tour early,” he says, fixing a few strands that escaped his jet-black gelled hair.

“Well, that’s certainly a wonderful surprise. How long has it been this time?”

“Too long, my friend, too long. Come here and give me a hug.”

I laugh as he puts his arms around my shoulders—careful not to touch my skin—and lifts me a couple of inches from the floor.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough,” I say, and he puts me down. “Come in. There’s only me and Delia here.”

“Wait, first things first.” He lifts his index finger and takes a package from his coat. “Your present.”

“Oh, Ollie, you shouldn’t have.” I eagerly tear the square box’s wrapping paper. “Rubinstein’s Chopin collection? I thought it was out of stock!” I smile from ear to ear and put a hand to my chest. “You do get me.”

“Seems like you and the French are the only ones who still listen to physical media.” He chuckles before revealing a bottle-shaped package. “And this is for the party. From Russia, with love.”

“Fancy shit, I see. Delia’s going to love this.”

I hand the bottle to my sister, who’s in charge of the drinks, and she jumps on Ollie, thrilled to add an original Russian vodka to her arsenal. After putting it away, she throws herself back on the sofa to text whoever, and Ollie and I head to the kitchen.

“Did Pauline come with you? You could tell her to pop in and I can finally meet her,” I say, chopping some cheese.

“No, Pauline and I are history. We broke up a couple of weeks ago.”

“Oh, so sorry, Ollie.”

“Eh, not that big of a loss.” He shrugs, leaning on the counter. “We were in a crisis for some time, and her jealousy was interfering with my work. Besides,”—he smirks—“I’m shagging Dieter now.”

“Dieter?” I let go of the knife and turn around. “The snarky arsehole who tried to steal your role?”

“Apparently that’s German for flirting.”

“Mate.”

“What can I say? He’s a prick, but he’s fire in the sack.” Ollie chuckles.

“Shouldn’t you be looking for someone who, I don’t know, is nice to you?”

“Nice people want attachment, in my experience.” He plays with an apple and takes a bite.

“Is it such a bad thing?” I’m unable to understand how someone could feel sexual attraction without a hint of emotional connection.

“Yes.” He turns with a serious expression I rarely see on him.

“Look, I have what? Five, maybe ten more years of dancing ahead of me, if I’m lucky.

I won’t give that up because someone’s not okay with my constant travelling or with the movements I make on stage with my dance partners.

Pauline wanted more than I could give, so I ended things.

” He sighs. “From now on, I’m only casual.

There’s plenty of time to settle when I leave the company. ”

“If that makes you happy, Ollie.”

“It does, thank you. What about you, my friend? Still trapped in the blast from the past?”

“Well, he, um,” I mutter, looking at the cheese board. “Andrew may be coming over.”

“You invited your ex for your birthday? Oy, Eric,” Ollie heaves.

“In my defence, Delia invited him, and I couldn’t be rude and say no.”

“So what now? You’re going to be friends with benefits? You don’t do casual, Eric, and there’s too much history between you two.” He looks me straight in the eye. “You guys broke up for a reason.”

“Yeah, one I never knew.”

“Do you need one? I can give you several. You should remember what happened that year without your rose-tinted glasses.”

“Do you think I can forget?” I spit back at him. “No, Ollie, I’ll never forget. Ever.”

“Okay, I’m sorry.” He backs off and helps me bring the board to the table. “I only hope you know what you’re doing.”

I swallow hard. Since we reacquainted in front of Steam & Grind, I’ve chased your company. Every single move, started by me. I’ve hovered around you like a puppy who forgets the weight of a bad owner’s hand five minutes after it’s hit. I need to admit it. I have no idea what I’m doing.

We go back to the sitting room, and Ollie narrates his affair with Dieter, sparing no lustful detail.

Delia is particularly excited. She mixes some of her famous gin and tonics and we barely notice the time pass.

Gosh, how I missed talking with my best friend, even if his stories are shamelessly unabridged.

Before I know it, the doorbell rings, and by the chatter in the corridor—loud enough for even me to hear—it’s clear that Zoe and her flatmates have arrived.

“We’re half an hour late, Robin. I told you we should’ve taken an Uber,” Kayla says.

“And how would I pay for the ride? With blowjobs?” Robin dramatically rolls their eyes.

“I could’ve lent you the money,” Ben tries.

“Stop giving them money, Ben!” Kayla and Zoe rebuke in unison.

I clear my throat by the open door, suppressing a laugh.

Kayla and Ben give me a quick group hug. “Happy birthday, Eric.”

“Happy twenty-eighth, darling!” Robin blows two kisses by my cheeks and opens their arms, making their zebra-printed faux fur coat sweep the air. “I am the gift.”

“Easy, Tyrion Lannister,” Zoe teases.

“He gets the reference, doesn’t he?” they tease, throwing back a lock of purple hair.

“Yes, I do.” My answer is peppered with tiny chuckles.

“Happy birthday, Cuz. Has my gift arrived yet?” Zoe peeks into the sitting room. “There he is, my man Ollie!” She gives him a tight hug.

“Wait, you did this?” I glance from one to the other. “How?”

“Well, the part about my company cutting the tour short is true, but Zoe helped me get back in record time and surprise you for your birthday.”

“Thanks, Zoe.” For once, there’s not an ounce of sarcasm in my voice.

“You’re welcome, weirdo.” She grins, punching me on the shoulder.

“Is this party getting started or what?” Robin syncs their phone to a Bluetooth speaker, and Sam Smith and Kim Petras’ Unholy pumps through the room.

Delia is the first to jump up and dance with Robin. Ben helps himself to the dips, engaging in a hearty conversation with Ollie about upcoming games, and Zoe kisses Kayla on the sofa. I look away when she starts caressing Kayla’s thigh through the cut on her boho dress.

Everyone cheers when I fetch a fresh round of beers, and I think to myself that my flat rarely looks this lively. I only hope my landlady doesn’t complain about the noise. Not that I can do much about it. There’s no controlling this crowd, especially when they’re drunk.

Although pop music isn’t my preferred genre, I admit it makes the place burst with joyful excitement.

The round of beers ends in the blink of an eye, and Delia goes to the kitchen to mix some G&Ts as Robin gossips about their newest what’s-his-face.

Kayla, Zoe and I enter the conversation, and soon all of us are downing gin and tonics and discussing our favourite movies.

“ Requiem for a Dream is a classic. I can’t believe you’ve never seen it,” Ollie utters.

Robin waves a hand. “These boring cult movies are not my cup of tea.”