I walk into a chorus of“Surprise!”and clapping, like I’m someone famous. I smile, hoping it looks natural as friends, family, neighbors, and Jacob’s coworkers surround me. But the only faces I want to see are my sweet girls', who come rushing toward me with open arms.
“Mommy! We made you a chocolate cake with yellow frosting!” Lily squeals. “Like your favorite color!”
Jacob steps behind them, slipping an arm around me. He presses a familiar kiss to my cheek. “Happy fortieth birthday, Jinx,” he murmurs. “Try to act a little surprised. It’s a big milestone.”
I let out a soft laugh. “Every year, Jacob,” I mutter, the words feeling hollow. I want to enjoy the moment, but these parties always leave me with a quiet ache.
Growing up, my birthdays were filled with sparkling distractions: clowns, ponies, elaborate decorations. My mom worked tirelessly to make them special, as if they could fill the absence of my father. But no amount of glitter and cake ever did. I’d spend the day glued to the door, hoping, praying he’d show up. Drunk. Sober. I didn’t care. He never did. And birthdays became a painful reminder of what was missing—who I was missing. The one year he did appear was the year he left for good. I was thirteen.
Maybe that’s why I tolerate Jacob’s surprises. At least he shows up. At least he tries.
“Mommy! Look!” Lily hands me a homemade bookmark, her adorable face smeared with frosting. Ava bounces beside her, eager to show me their gifts.
I wrap them both in my arms. “Did I ever tell you I have the best daughters in the whole entire world?”
Jacob hands me a small, wrapped box. “One more surprise,” he says, smiling.
Inside is a delicate diamond bracelet, engraved with our daughters’ names. It’s beautiful. But it’s the tiny dream catcher charm that catches my breath. It’s meant to trap bad dreams and let the good ones slip through. “Isn’t he the best daddy in the whole world?” Ava shouts, throwing her arms around his leg.
Jacob pulls us all into a family hug, and the warmth seeps into my heart. This is why I chose this life. Why I chose him. An unspoken connection ties us together in a way no one else could understand. And no one else could ever love our girls like we do. That’s something we’ll always have.
I glance down at the gifts. This time, it’s finally not flowers—it’s special. Thoughtful. He tried, and I’m grateful. But the warmth quickly turns to guilt, twisting in my stomach. What am I doing with Dylan? My kids deserve all of this. The steady income. The stability. The kind of love I wished for as a kid.
As everyone gathers to singHappy Birthday, I close my eyes, suck in a deep breath, and make a wish before blowing out all forty damn candles.
All I want is for my daughters to grow up safe and loved—never having to feel the pain and uncertainty I grew up with. And maybe to finally figure out what I truly want, without hurting the people I love.
Exhale. Blow.
The song ends, and I drift through conversations, smiling politely, while everyone gushes about how lucky I am and how wonderful Jacob is.
I take a sip of my drink, settling in next to Jacob and hiswonderfulmother, Vivienne. Better than more conversations with people I only see on holidays. And it's not shyness. I just don’t have patience for small talk or energy to act like I care about surface-level shit.
Jacob’s mid-sentence, telling the same college vacation story I’ve heard too many times. The details slowly shifting, growing more dramatic each year. Because memories? They aren’t always accurate. And sometimes, it’s more fun to rewrite the past. Embellish the highs. Smooth out the lows. Make things more entertaining. At least for Jacob.
So I don’t correct him. I just smile and say, “Oh yeah, I remember.”
But maybe I should. Maybe one day I’ll start asking questions.
Vivienne sits beside me, barely listening, looking glamourous as always. After a drawn-out, brutal divorce, she got more than half and loves to flaunt it. Designer handbags, salon blowouts, and countless vacations every year. I’m thankful for them as I don’t have to see her too often. And I don’t hate my mother-in-law. But I don’t like her much either.
She finally acknowledges me. “Jenna, darling, I can’t stay long.” She hands me two envelopes, probably stuffed with an unnecessary amount of cash. “This is for you, and one’s for the girls. Tell them it’s from Vivienne, okay?” She air-kisses Jacob once on the cheek, her affection nonexistent. “I see your father isn’t here. Still too busy with work to bother with these things. But we’re better off without him… right?” She waves a manicured hand like she’s swatting away a pesky fly… her ex-husband, in this case.
I glance at Jacob, wondering how many versions of his own family stories he’s had to rewrite to make them bearable as a child.
He laughs at his mom, but it’s hollow. “Yes, busy making money with some new record label.” But we both know the real reason he’s not here is becausesheis here.
Vivienne gathers her purse and stands, holding her arm out for Jacob to lead her outside. “I’m off to catch my flight to Santorini,” she declares. “I’ll send postcards.”
I watch them go, his tall frame towering over her petite one, yet somehow, he seems smaller next to her cold, shrill presence. I still can’t believe that woman gave birth to Izzy and Jacob.
Now I’m left alone at the bar with my mother, who’s been quietly observing the whole scene, her drink in hand. Her eyes narrow in on me. “Mom,” I ask, feeling lost and needing to fill the silence. “Why’d you name me Jenna?”
She plays with the silver rings stacked on her fingers, a sparkle in her eyes. “You don’t remember? You used to beg me to tell you the story every night when you were little.”
I frown, struggling to recall. Too much of my childhood feels like a foggy memory.
Her smile turns wistful. “Before you were born, a psychic told me I’d have a girl. That my daughter would be like a bird—wild and longing to be set free and find her own path. So, I looked for names that captured that spirit, and ‘Jenna,’ meaning ‘heaven’ or ‘paradise,’ felt right. You were my little free-spirited bird.” She chuckles.
