Birthday Girl(29)

Once seated, I pick up my fork and let out a sigh before digging into the salad. I remember what my mom said about vegetables growing up. They taste better if you eat them when you’re hungry. I’ll get it over with and eat them first like Jordan suggested then.

I stuff the forkful in my mouth, the bitter taste of the leaves dulled only a little by the sweet dressing.

“Good, right?” she says.

“No.” I shake my head. “You’re killing me.”

She laughs. “Well, thanks for giving it a shot. You can stop if you want.”

But I persevere anyway. It’s not like I couldn’t use a dose of greens, right?

And it’s not like I hate vegetables. I like corn on the cob and like…potatoes and stuff. Those are technically vegetables, right?

“So, what are you watching?” she asks.

I look up at the TV and realize the volume is too low. I reach for the remote and turn it up. “Fight Club,” I tell her.

“Oh, hey. I was born the year this was made.”

I arch an eyebrow but keep my mouth shut.

But I do the math in my head, remembering I saw this my senior year in high school. So yeah, that would be about right.

Shit, I’m getting old. To think of everything that’s gone on in my lifetime that she wasn’t around for or old enough to remember. I glance over at her, taking in her young skin and hopeful eyes.

She was just in high school a year ago.

We eat in silence for the next couple of hours, engrossed in one of my favorite movies. I have no idea if she’s already seen it, but she after a while, her plate sits half-eaten and forgotten on the coffee table, and she’s sitting at the other end of the couch, hugging her legs and watching intently.

“They make smoking look so appetizing,” she finally says, watching Marla Singer on the screen.

“Appetizing?”

She clears her throat and sits up. “Well, it’s like Bruce Willis,” she explains. “I could watch him smoke for days. It’s like he’s eating. Eating a nice, succulent…”

“Steak,” I finish for her, understanding.

“Exactly.” She flashes me a soft smile. “They totally own it. It’s part of their wardrobe.”

“Well,” I sigh, gathering up our plates and rising. “Don’t start smoking.”

“You do.”

I pause, looking down at her. I’ve only smoked once since they moved in, and I never smoke in the house. I don’t even think Cole knows I smoke.

She clarifies, probably seeing the confusion on my face. “I noticed the cigar butt in the ashtray outside,” she says.

Ah. I continue toward the kitchen, carrying the dishes around the coffee table. “On rare occasions, yes. I like the smell.”

“Why?” She gets up off the couch, grabbing the empty soda cans and napkins and following me.

“I just do.” I clear off the plates and put them in the dishwasher. “My grandfather, he smoked, so…”

It seemed natural to start sharing, but all of a sudden it feels stupid.

“So…?” she presses.

But I just shake my head, closing the dishwasher door and starting the machine. “I just like the smell, is all,” I finish curtly.

I’m not sure why I’m having trouble talking to her. There was no mystery here. My grandpa was awesome, and I had a great childhood, but the more I grew up, the further away I felt from that feeling when I was eight. The feeling of being somewhere I loved and feeling what I felt.

Happiness.

I smoke cigars once in a while to take me back there.

It’s not the kind of thing I feel comfortable sharing with just anyone, though.

But it’s funny how close I came to doing just that with her a minute ago.

I can feel her eyes on me, and the awkwardness crawls my skin.

“You want a beer?” I ask, swinging open the fridge and grabbing two out. Anything to change the subject.

“Um…sure.”

I pop the tops and hand her a Corona, finally meeting her eyes. Her very young, very blue, and very nineteen-year-old eyes. Shit. I forgot she’s underage again.

Whatever. I take a drink and head out of the kitchen. She works in a bar, doesn’t she? I’m sure customers have bought her shots before.

I plant my ass back on the couch, hanging my arm around the back of the seat and taking another drink. The movie still has a few minutes left, and she sits down at the other end to finish watching, but I can’t seem to concentrate anymore.

And I don’t think she’s watching, either.

Something’s changed. The conversation was easy, and then it wasn’t. And it’s my fault. I’m cold. Somewhere after Lindsay and the chaos, I stopped being able to open up. I got too used to being alone.

I frown. I don’t want her to avoid me, because I can’t carry on a fucking conversation. She’s Cole’s girlfriend, and I don’t want walls between him and me anymore. She could help with that.

“Are you planning to stay in town after you finish school?” I ask.

She glances over and shrugs a little. “I’m not sure. It’s still a few years off,” she says. “I don’t really mind it here as long as I can afford vacations from time to time.” She laughs a little. “I just don’t want to be working a dead-end job forever, you know? If I can find work in the area, then it might be nice to stick around for my sister and my nephew for a while.”