Page 31 of Dear Roomie (Classic City Romance #1)

“This is amazing. Thank you, James, for everything.” I lie back with my arms behind my head and watch the sky. James was right—the stars out here are stunning. I’ve never seen so many dotting the sky.

“Can I ask you a question?” she asks in a small, hesitant voice.

“Sure,” I tell her with a sigh. I have a feeling I know where this is going.

“Why do you hate your birthday?” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

I let the silence hang between us for a moment before answering just as quietly. “Because it’s lonely.”

“Why?” She turns on her side to look at me fully, propping her head up on her arm.

My focus stays locked on the sky. This isn’t going to be an easy conversation, and I don’t think I’ll be able to get through it if I can see my pain reflected in her eyes.

I want to tell her, though, and that shocks me.

For the first time, I want someone to know everything about me, good and bad, and I want to know the same about her.

“I didn’t always hate my birthday or the holidays,” I start with a heavy sigh. “Growing up, we never had a lot, but my mom and dad always went out of their way to make everything feel magical.

“For birthdays, Mom would always bake us a homemade cake—lemon for me and chocolate for Laura. Dad would leave work early and bring us a box wrapped in newspaper. We knew what was in the box—it was the same every year—but that didn’t stop the excitement.

We always got a new book and either a puzzle or board game, and after dinner, we would open the new game and play together from dinner to bedtime. ”

A wistful smile forms on my lips at the memories.

“Christmas mornings, our stockings were always full of candy, and the presents seemed to overflow from under the tree. Looking back, it was only four or five packages each, but to us, it was a lot. They were all addressed ‘from Santa,’ even after we were way too old to still believe in him. The gifts were almost always clothes or other necessities, but that didn’t make us appreciate them any less.

“New Year’s was always my favorite, though. Mom, Laura, and I would spend the days leading up to it making decorations out of newspaper and glitter. We would order pizza and play games while we waited to watch the ball drop on TV, and when it did, Dad would tell us to make a wish, not a resolution.

“But things changed after Laura died.” My voice cracks as my throat constricts.

“Oh, Morgan,” James gasps. She reaches over and places a hand on my chest. “We don’t have to talk about this. I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“No, don’t be sorry.” I cover it with mine and start to move my thumb in small circles on the back of her hand. “I want you to know these things about me, even if they hurt to talk about.”

“Okay,” she whispers.

“After she died, I tried to hang on to the joy, but nothing was the same.

Dad stopped coming home early, and he never brought another newspaper-wrapped package.

Mom still made me a cake every year, but I only wanted chocolate after that.

Dad started taking more overtime, especially around the holidays, so Mom and I would work old puzzles together, just the two of us.

“Mom tried to keep the Christmas spirit alive, but everything was always tainted with sadness. The first Christmas after she died, Mom had already bought her gifts, so they sat there unopened all day. As morbid as it sounds, it became a tradition. Laura’s stocking was always full, and Mom and I bought her a new gift each.

Dad said we were acting ridiculous, but I think he appreciated her being there with us in spirit.

New Year’s Eve is the one that died when she did.

Mom and I didn’t see the point without Laura there pushing us to make bigger and better decorations.

“I didn’t truly start hating the holidays until college.

I got a scholarship to a school across the country, and I didn’t have any other options financially.

I made some friends there, and when my nineteenth birthday rolled around, they wanted to take me out to celebrate, but I was miserable the whole time I was supposed to be having fun.

All I wanted was to be back in Michigan, eating a chocolate cake and doing a puzzle I had already solved more times than I could probably count.

“When the break for Thanksgiving rolled around, I couldn’t afford to fly back.

My roommates all went home, and I was truly alone for the first time in my life.

The same thing happened for Christmas break that year, and the cycle continued.

I went home over the summer that first year, but I started taking summer courses after that.

“After undergrad, I joined the Peace Corps. It was totally my decision, and I don’t regret it at all, but this is now my seventh birthday in a row that I’ve spent alone, and this will be my seventh Thanksgiving, my seventh Christmas, and my seventh New Year that I’ll spend isolated from the ones I love. ”

My vision swims as my tears gather, turning the sky into a swirling sea of starlight.

Steeling myself against her pity, I finally turn to look at the woman who has me wrapped around her fingers.

Tears pour down her face in unrestrained rivers, but there isn’t any pity in her eyes—sadness, yes, but without any of the underlying judgment.

Without any warning, she sits up and crawls out of the back of the truck. I sit up to watch as she digs through the back of the cab again, then returns with a small foam cooler .

“I wasn’t sure what you would like, so I got a few different options,” she chokes out around a suppressed sob. She pulls out several plastic containers with single slices of cake in varying flavors.

“It’s probably nowhere near as good as your mom’s…” She trails off, placing the chocolate slice in my hand, and the dam holding my tears back breaks.

James pulls me into an embrace, tucking my head into her neck as my tears flow.

She runs her fingers through my hair while I let the tidal wave of emotions rip through me.

After what feels like a lifetime, my tears slow, and the weight lifts from me, leaving me feeling freer than I have in a long time.

I pull away from the comfort of her arms, wiping away the remnants of my grief with the back of my hand.

“When did you have time to plan all of this?” I ask her, grabbing the box of cake.

“Well,” she says, lying back down to watch the stars, “I booked the tickets while you were in the shower, and then I ran to the store in those forty-five minutes you had to get ready.”

“Why?”

“Because no one deserves to be alone on their birthday.”

Her words stun me into silence, but they leave my heart feeling full in my chest.

I finish my slice, lie down beside her, mirroring her position, and embrace the peace that she brings me. My body relaxes, completely at ease.

“I’m cold,” she mutters, shifting closer to me.

Every inch of my body tenses as she drops her head onto my chest, all my tranquility shattered by her motion. I wouldn’t be surprised if she could hear my heartbeat pounding at her touch.

This is a bad idea. A really, really bad idea.

But I ignore all rational thought and wrap her in my arms, pulling her closer to me .

“Thank you,” I whisper into her hair, and despite all better judgment, I place a soft kiss on the crown of her head.

She burrows even deeper into me, and we lie there for hours.

No shooting stars cross the darkened sky, but I make a wish anyway.

It’s the most selfish one I could possibly make.

I wish that James Clarke would somehow be mine, because I am so in love with this girl, and I think it’s going to destroy me.