Chapter 2

By the time I turned the key in the lock, my parents were already asleep.

A sticky note was pressed to the refrigerator, in my mother's handwriting.

"Sweetheart, if you come home, the cake is on the second shelf. Happy birthday."

If.

She didn't even know whether I'd come back.

But she'd made me a cake anyway.

I opened the fridge.

A white cake box sat there, quiet and still.

I scooped a bit of frosting with my finger and put it in my mouth.

It was sweet.

I was halfway through when Ethan called.

I hesitated, then picked up.

"You didn't come home. Where are you?"

I said nothing.

Didn't come home?

I did come home.

I'd even packed up all my things.

Half the closet was empty. The vanity was bare. But he hadn't noticed.

His attention had always been on the person who wasn't there.

"Emma, if you have something to say, just say it." Ethan's voice was edged with impatience. "Lily came all the way back, and you just took off. It's awkward for everyone."

I took a bite of cake. The frosting stuck in my throat.

I let out a small laugh.

So in his eyes, I was the one who'd made things awkward today.

The two of them had eaten happily, posted photos, replied to comments, tagged each other. He remembered Lily liked spicy food. Remembered which kind of fish she preferred.

He forgot I was still sick. Forgot I couldn't eat spicy food. Forgot that I was the birthday girl.

I hung up. A flood of old memories surged forward.

Back in school, Lily's family had been struggling. Her mother had gone to mine, invoking their old friendship, asking for help with Lily.

My mother paid her tuition.

My teacher asked me to tutor her.

After graduation, her credentials weren't strong enough. She hit walls everywhere looking for work, so I recommended her to a good company.

Later, she used my connections to get into Ethan's startup.

And then, inch by inch, she moved closer to Ethan.

While I was pushed to the margins.

My mother got up in the middle of the night and found me sitting at the dining table. She froze.

"Sweetheart, what are you doing home? Where's Ethan?"

She was still half-asleep, but worry had already crept into her eyes.

"I missed you guys," I said softly.

She walked over, smoothed my hair, and didn't ask anything else.

I knew she was waiting for me to be ready to talk.

But I couldn't bring myself to say it.

How was I supposed to tell her that her daughter had spent her birthday sitting in front of a table full of food she couldn't eat, then taken a taxi home alone?

How was I supposed to tell her that the man she believed would marry me couldn't even be bothered to say, "Where are you? I'll come get you"?

I opened my phone.

Ethan hadn't sent any more messages.

He probably figured he'd done enough to smooth things over.

And I figured I'd had enough.

I didn't want to wait anymore.

At one in the morning, I lay in bed and scrolled through my chat history with Ethan one last time.

I swiped back to our first year together.

He hadn't been so busy then.

There hadn't been so many "something came up" excuses.

He used to video-call me every night.

One message made me stop.

"From now on, every birthday of yours — I'll spend it with just you."

"I missed all the ones before. I'm going to make up for every single one."

And he had. He'd bought twenty small cakes. Prepared twenty gifts. Made up for every birthday I'd ever had.

I burst out laughing when I blew out the tenth candle, and frosting sprayed all over his face.

Those memories were so good.

Good enough that I almost softened again.

My phone buzzed.

Ethan.

"Emma, I packed up the leftovers and put them in the fridge. Heat them up tomorrow — they'll still be good."

"I also ordered an extra fish dish you like. Not spicy."

I stared at the dish he'd named, and laughed out loud.

He'd gotten it wrong. Again.

That was Lily's favorite dish.

She ordered it every single time we ate out.

I'd told him to his face that I didn't like it. Too rich.

He'd been sitting right there and said, "Then eat something else."

He only remembered what Lily liked.

He never remembered what I didn't like.

I opened his social media page.

I thought he would have at least posted something about my birthday, the way he had in previous years.

But his latest post was a photo of himself and Lily at the restaurant.

The caption read:

"Old friend's back in town. Had to celebrate."

No mention of me.

No mention that today was my birthday.

I closed the page and deleted our entire chat thread.

Memory cleared.

From now on, my birthday had nothing to do with him.