Between classes during the week and caring for Ashton in my free time, the days seem to blur together. Three weeks pass in the blink of an eye, and I wake on the fourth of April to my phone ringing. I fumble for it blindly, not bothering to open my eyes, and swipe across the screen with my thumb until Tristan’s voice comes through the speaker. It’s loud and off-key as he singsHappy Birthday. I stifle a sigh and rub at my eyes as I sit up. When he finishes singing, I thank him as sincerely as I can for it being only five in the morning, then I hang up on him. Tristan’s excited chatter vanishes, the recitation of his plans for the day bursting into nothingness.
Yawning, I let my phone drop onto the mattress and grumble even while I push myself out of bed. It’s too early, but sleep won’t come back. It is nothing more than a recalcitrant concept that refuses to cooperate when all I want is to spend more time unconscious to the world. The cold air of the apartment shivers across my bare skin, and I shuffle to the kitchen to pull the coffee press from its place in the cupboard. After filling it with coffee grounds and hot water, I flop down onto the couch to wait.
One cup turns to two turns to five, and my blood is buzzing with the caffeine though I feel no less exhausted. I wash my mug and the press, put them in the drying rack, then cross the living room to the balcony door. I pull the blinds open, letting in the morning sunshine, before turning back to the apartment. No class means a free day, so I might as well get the tidying out of the way. I’ve been putting it off for too long, anyway.
It’s nearly noon when I finish cleaning the floors. I lean the mop against the wall and swipe my arm across my forehead. The music coming from my phone speakers continues as I pick up my phone to check for notifications. My smile breaks free despite my fighting it at the name on the most recent text I’ve received.
Holden
What are you up to?
Dealla
Not much. Just gotta finish some housework then hanging out with Tristan when he’s off work.
Holden
Oh. Sounds fun.
Dealla
Total rager. Gonna watch old sci-fi shows with cheesy special effects, drink wine, and toast to another trip around the sun.
Holden
It’s his birthday?
Dealla
Nope! Mine. I’m a whole whopping year older.
Holden
Happy birthday!!
Did you ever tell me when it was? Because if so, I feel awful for forgetting
Dealla
Don’t worry, I never mentioned it. Birthdays aren’t super important to me anyway, unless it’s someone else’s, so even if I HAD told you and you forgot, I wouldn’t have cared.
Holden
Well, happy birthday anyway. I hope you’ve enjoyed your day so far.
Dealla
t’s been great. Tris woke me up at ass o’clock to tell me happy birthday, and I’ve spent most of the morning cleaning so far which has been surprisingly relaxing. I’m also caught up on schoolwork. Now I’m talking to you. So... As I said, nice day!
Holden
I’m glad I’m on the list of nice things that’s happened.
I chew on the smile curving my lower lip and relish the warmth in my chest before I regain control of myself. I’m acting as if there’s more than the most superficial of friendships between Holden and me. He’s given no indication that he views us as more than two people who text each other. Sure, we text practically every day, and learning about him has been wonderful—I’ve loved hearing about his days, his family, the old couple who lives two houses away who invite him to their family reunions. I will never admit to the minutes spent examining the selfies he’s sent, memorizing the smiles and glimmer in his eyes or the tousled hair that curls over his brows. I keep to myself the wonderings of what arealfriendship with him is like. A friendship where we spend time together instead of being just words on a screen.
But we’re only friends… if that.
I sidestep his last message. After all, what can I say that won’t come across as weird? Instead, I ask what his plans for the day are. His response comes slower and after seemingly numerous attempts judging by the way the typing bubbles appear and disappear multiple times, as if he’s hesitating, as if he’s struggling to think of what to say. This piques my interest; after all, it should be relatively simple to tell someone what you plan on doing. Just another sign he is keeping a secret.
