I take a swig of my drink, snickering to myself. “Where do they have you locked down? Trampoline park? Petting zoo?”
Drew shakes his head and picks up the weights again. “Nah, it’s nothing like that. Gretch doesn’t really do friend parties. It’s just a family thing at the house.”
“Bro, my tenth birthday was killer. Me and like fifteen friends played paintball. I took a close range hit to my thigh, had a nasty bruise for two weeks. It was epic.” I grin fondly at the memory. “Fish is missing out.”
“I don’t know, man.” He pauses between bicep curls, meeting my eyes in the mirror. “My parents ask her every year if she wants to invite friends from school and she always says no.”
When I met the guys at football camp last summer, we clicked right away. But it was Drew who quickly became my best friend. Whether it’s the two of us hanging out or a bunch of the guys taking over their pool, the Fisher house has become my second home.
And you can’t make a stop at the Fisher house without a run-in with Fish. The sweet, shy girl—who hates being called little, by the way—who almost always has her nose in a book. If it’s not a book, it’s an art project.
“You think it’s a curse of having a summer birthday?” I ask.
“Could be. She’s a total introvert, though.” He returns the weights to the rack and turns to face me. “Whatever it is doesn’t seem to bother her much.”
The conversation ends there, but my heart stalls on the issue. I know Gretchen is quiet and reserved, but introverts have friends too. She’s a gentle-hearted soul and the thought of her not having friends to invite to her birthday party doesn’t sit right with me. If I wasn’t going to be out of town, I’d show up to the party with bells and a party hat.
A week later, I arrive at Drew’s house fifteen minutes earlier than we had planned for. He and I are going to run some drills before the rest of the team comes over later for a pick-up game in the front yard.
I also come bearing gifts.
My family and I leave tomorrow and Gretchen’s party isn’t for another two days, but her actual birthday is today so it worked out perfectly.
When I enter through the side door into the empty kitchen, I’m greeted by the remnants of a birthday pancake breakfast. Balloons hang from the pendant lights above the kitchen island and a handmadeHappy Birthday, Gretchenbanner is held secure by scotch tape on the breakfast nook wall.
Upstairs, I drop my football bag in Drew’s room. One ear tuned to the hall bathroom tells me he’s in the shower, so I grab Gretchen’s gift from my bag, head across the hall and knock on her door. When she doesn’t answer, I head around the corner and find her in the open loft area at the top of the stairs.
Gretchen sits at her art desk, headphones on to block out the world around her. The late morning sunlight illuminates the tabletop where she has an array of colored pencils and sketch paper at the ready.
Quietly, I move in closer and peek over her to see what she’s coloring. Another day, another princess and her ballgown.
I tuck the gift behind my back and tap her on the shoulder.
She removes her headphones and swivels her head, her toothy smile beaming across her face when she sees me. Who wouldn’t adore this girl?Kids are assholes.
“Happy birthday, Fish.”
She blinks a confused look as she spots the wrapped gift I set in front of her. “That’s for me?”
“Of course it is. You know anybody else who has a birthday around here today?” When she doesn’t move to open it right away, I ask, “Is it okay if I watch you open it?” She bobs her head, and I add, “Read the card first.”
It’s silly, really. The small three by five card doesn’t have aprinted message, but the goldfish on the front made me smile. Inside, she finds my handwritten note.
To my favorite 10-year-old,
I feel like you already have all the books, but I really hope you don’t have this one.
When I get back from my trip, I want to hear all about it.
Happy Birthday, Fish!
Love, Connor
The spoiler of what’s inside has her rushing to rip the package open, wrapping paper tossed aside in shreds.
Book in hand, she runs her fingers across the curvy scripted title on the cover:Little Women. She turns the book over in her hands, excitedly inspecting every inch of the vintage hardback.
“We have a family friend who’s a book collector in the city and he said this was a good classic for your age. He had this 1950s edition at his shop that I thought was pretty cool. Do you have this one already?”
