Page 54 of When Ben Loved Tim

“Great job!” my dad says. “What did you wish for?”

“You really need to ask?” I hear Allison quip.

“Don’t tell him!” my sister says. “If you do, it won’t happen!”

My relatives debate over the rules of such things as the cake is sliced. I’m with Karen. Wishes have to remain a secret or they won’t come true. Maybe Tim thinks so too. God, I would love to be his wish!

“Are you happy?” my mother asks when placing a festive paper plate in front of me. The question is weighted with more meaning than usual. She knows what I’ve been going through.

“I’m really happy,” I croak before laughing at myself. I didn’t expect the day to be so emotional.

“I’m glad, darling,” my mom says, kissing the top of my head.

I don’t get much time with my friends while eating. Too many relatives want to remind me that I used to be a small squirming creature who pooped himself. They assure me it was only yesterday. Thankfully, they are wrong.

“I just adore this!” my mother declares eventually. She’s standing next to the painting while smiling down at it. “Honey, why don’t you have Tim help you figure out where it will go?”

I instantly shoot to my feet. “Good idea!”

Tim seems to agree. His smile is subtle, although still uncertain, as he makes his way over to me.

“Where do you want it?” he asks.

“In my bedroom.”

Allison snorts. I try to glare at her but can’t, since my face is already occupied with a grin. I attempt to temper my joy on the way up, because our issues haven’t been resolved. I like that Tim showed up on my birthday, and I absolutely adore the painting, but he made me cry. Not on purpose. I won’t hold it against him. But I also won’t forget the reason why, since not much has changed.

“What do you think?” Tim asks as we enter my room. He holds the painting up to an empty space near my closet, seemingly without irony.

I shake my head. “I was thinking over here,” I say, leading him to the opposite side of the room near the headboard of my bed. I sleep on my side, and I like the idea of the painting being the first thing I see in the morning. And the last thing I look at each night. Although that might be a bitter experience, depending on what he has to say.

“The light is nice here,” he comments while trying the spot out. “Does the sun hit this wall?”

“I don’t think so,” I reply.

“Cool. If you grab a hammer and nails—”

“Tim?”

“Yeah?”

I sit down on the edge of the bed. “Let’s talk.”

“Oh.” He swallows and sets the painting on the floor so it rests against the wall. “Okay.”

Tim sits next to me, but not close enough that we’re touching. We’re both silent for a moment. I keep trying to think of the right question, but they all feel too needy, so I’m glad when he speaks first.

“My family isn’t like yours,” he says. “Not even close.” He gnaws his bottom lip, his brow furrowed as he glances at me and then back down to his feet. “I think I was a mistake.”

“Oh,” I reply. “If it makes you feel better, I was too.”

“Really?”

I nod. “My parents wanted to wait another year before having a second kid. I’m surprised they wanted more at all, but I guess Karen couldn’t talk back then, so they didn’t know how bad it could get.”

“No kidding,” Tim grumbles.

“So anyway, they weren’t expecting me. I bet that’s the case with more people than we realize.”