CHAPTER SEVEN- THE BIRTHDAY

I woke to the sun streaming across my face, a golden bar of heat on my cheek. I stretched, my hand patting the empty space where my husband should have been. The sheets on his side were cool. I sat up, rubbing the grit of sleep from my eyes.

“Kwame?” I called out, my voice still rough with sleep.

Silence. He was always home on Saturdays. A sliver of unease made me swing my legs out of bed. The bathroom was dark, the tap silent. My eyes caught a flash of white on the floor, a note, lying like a fallen petal beside his pillow.

Had to run to an urgent meeting. Will be late. Don’t bother with dinner. P.S. You looked too beautiful asleep. Didn’t have the heart to wake you.

A smile warmed my face. I traced his handwriting with a finger, the familiar scrawl a temporary anchor, before setting the note carefully on the nightstand.

The day stretched before me, luxurious and empty. A true Saturday. I lounged in bed, scrolling through my phone in a contented haze until a notification blinked, a digital birthday candle. Nelly’s Birthday!

“Oh, God,” I groaned, pressing a hand to my forehead. How could I forget? I immediately set a celebratory status and called her, my voice bright with forced cheer to cover my guilt. “Of course I didn’t forget! Just planning the surprise!”

I dressed in a hurry, a simple sundress, and spent the afternoon at the boutique bakery downtown, ordering an elaborate confection to be delivered. The plan was set: dinner at Scootch Hotel at eight. I returned home around three, the quiet house feeling too large.

That’s when I saw him.

Michael was at the front entrance, leaning against the pillar as if he owned the shadow it cast. My stepson. My husband’s scowling, brooding son. The air tightened. I decided on icy indifference, my eyes fixed ahead, my pace steady. I would simply glide past.

A hand shot out, fingers wrapping around my bare arm with an insistence. He pulled me back, not roughly, but with an undeniable force that spun me to face him.

“What?” I snapped, the annoyance in my voice a shield.

He looked amused, a faint, infuriating smirk playing on his lips. “Be ready at seven. Nelly said I should come with you.” He stated it as immutable fact, releasing my arm as if it had burned him. He was gone before I could form a rebuttal, the scent of his cologne something dark and clean like sandalwood lingering in the space between us.

I shrugged, a shaky, futile gesture, and hurried inside. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction. I was tired. I fell into a heavy, dreamless nap.

When I woke, the room was tinged with late-afternoon gold. Six o’clock. Panic flickered. I showered quickly and chose my armor: a sleek, crimson dress that fell straight to my knees, with a back that dipped daringly low. The heels added inches and an attitude I desperately needed.

By ten to seven, there was no cake. A frantic call to the bakery revealed a comedy of errors, a transposed number, a misspelled street. My polite urgency was met with apologetic promises. As I hung up, a sharp rap sounded at my door.

“We’re leaving. Now.” Michael’s voice was a cold command through the wood.

I yanked the door open. “The cake isn’t here. There’s a delay.”

He was already turning away, heading down the hall. “That’s your problem. Settle it. I can’t wait for you.”

The dismissal was so absolute, so contemptuous, it stole my breath. “Fine!” I shot back, my composure shattering. I stalked out to the driveway, but he was already in his car. I pulled the passenger door open. “Did you not hear me? The delivery...”

“I heard you.” He didn’t even look at me, staring straight ahead. “Get in or don’t. My time isn’t free.”

Blind, trembling anger took over. I slammed the door so hard the car rocked. He didn’t flinch. The engine growled, and he backed out, leaving me standing alone in the gathering dusk, furious.

The cake arrived thirty minutes late. I took a cab, the beautiful box a heavy weight on my lap.

The scene at Scootch was a bubble of laughter I was late to enter. Michael, Nelly, Frank, and a handsome stranger were already at a round table, a half-empty bottle of wine between them. Apologies poured out of me as I presented the cake.

“Don’t be silly!” Nelly beamed, her glow undeniable. She introduced the stranger,Tony. The way their eyes kept finding each other spoke volumes. Frank, ever the instigator, was in fine form.

“So, Tony,” Frank said, a mischievous glint in his eye. “First impressions of our Nelly?”

Tony turned to her, his gaze soft. “She’s a beautiful, smart woman I’d very much like to know better,” he said. “If she’ll let me.”

Nelly ducked her head, a shy smile blooming.

“And would our Nelly like that?” Frank pressed, a theatrical eyebrow raised.

“I like him, okay?” Nelly confessed, and our table erupted in warm laughter.

“Frank, stop playing cupid,” I chided, feeling the first genuine smile of the evening touch my lips.

“Hey, if the roles were reversed, Nelly would have me in a headlock by now,” Frank argued.

“I couldn’t agree more,” I laughed.

“Guys, stop!” Nelly whined, her happiness a tangible thing.

“We wish we could!” Frank and I chorused together.

It was then Michael spoke. He hadn’t said a word all evening, just watched, a silent, brooding statue. His voice cut through the warmth like a shard of ice.

“It amazes me,” he began, tone flat, stoic. “Nelly likes guys around her age. I thought you were all into older men. What happened to birds of a feather?” He took a slow sip of his water, his eyes finding mine over the rim. “All the same, it’s good she didn’t let Raquel influence her. It’s nice to see not all women are attracted to just money.”

The silence was instantaneous and suffocating. It swallowed the laughter, the clinking glasses, the very air. Tony looked baffled; Frank’s smile died. Nelly’s eyes widened in horror. But it was their pity,the swift, collective glance they shot me,that broke the skin. Heat rushed to my face, and a treacherous stinging sprang to my eyes. I would not cry here.

I pushed my chair back, the scrape against the floor obscenely loud, and fled. I didn’t know where I was going, just away from that table, from those eyes, from him.