Dave Strider Birthday Novels & Stories

“I’ll respect that you see it differently than I do.” “Thank you,” he breathed--- before he smiled shyly at me. “So, when is your birthday?” “In September,” I replied. “What day?” “The most famous day of them all!” “September 11th,” he nodded. “Good, then I won’t forget.” “When’s your birthday?” I asked. “The 2nd of May,” he told me, but frowned. “But I hate celebrating my birthday.” “Why?”

I also prepared a lot of ordinary medicine for him and reminded him to take pills on time. When he left, I recalled and felt I was nagging as if I were an old mother. Life still continued like before.. Dave's birthday was coming. Although I rejected him last time, I didn't know why, I was irritated. Fortunately, I had Dave on blacklist. He can't contact me, and I can't contact him either. Otherwise, I am really not sure whether I could control myself to not call him. Time flies. 16th of January. Tuesday. And it is Dave's birthday.

Dad was filming, which he did every year and then never watched the video, but kept them all in a folder on his phone labeled September 14. Make a wish, someone said. I made one. I blew out the candles. The smoke rose and dispersed in the September air and everyone clapped and Stetson took a bow on my behalf, which was a thing he did every year because he was Stetson. “For the record,” he said, straightening up, “I was born three minutes before her, which technically makes this my birthday first.” “It makes it your birthday for three minutes,” Chandler said. “Three very significant minutes.”

“… This baby is due.” “Around March twentieth.” “Oh. Really?” “Yeah. Give or take a week. Due weeks are the new due days, I’ve been told.” “March twentieth. That’s a good date.” “It’s close to my birthday,” he says and it hits me that I don’t even know when his birthday is. I’ve known Jim for years, but I don’t really know him. “When is your birthday?” “March seventeenth,” he answers. “Mine is—” “December first,” he finishes. “I remember.”

“Well, I’m guessing October and March are probably right. Because no other numbers really sound like zero or three. So, who has birthdays in October and March that would have anything at all to do with this place?” “Aaron? Your sister?” Dax offered. “I have no idea when Aaron’s birthday is,” Cassidy admitted. “And Cadence’s birthday is in September. But…” she wracked her brain trying to come up with who else might be important enough to have their birthdays be the code. “Wait a minute! This place has been here since before my dad was born.” “So?” Dax asked, looking at her in confusion. “So… it might not be Aaron’s and Cadence’s birthdays—it might be, my grandparents’ birthdays! October 29 wa

Dave however noticed everything. His jaw tightened slightly. “You didn’t tell me.” I crossed my arms immediately. “I wasn’t aware birthdays required formal corporate announcements.” “Lydia.” “No actually,” I interrupted quietly. “Don’t start.” Something sharpened in his expression then. Finally. Emotion. Not calm careful Dave. Not apologetic Dave. Just Dave. “I’m trying to be involved,” he said tightly. “You could have at least told me my children’s birthday was this week.” My children.

Just tapped his fingers on the wheel while the radio played something soft in the background. I stared at his profile. Same sharp jawline. Same thick lashes. But older. Stronger. More guarded. He wasn’t the boy who gave me lollipops for lunch anymore. He was Leo freaking Santiago. And I was in his car. Wearing his jacket. Holding his champagne glass. Fake dating him. Somehow remembering the real him. My phone buzzed. It was an unknown caller. I frowned and picked up.

she strides away. Can my birthday get any better?