Birthday Girl

“Well, I hope you had a good birthday, despite having to work,” he says.

I move to the right toward where Grounders is, and he veers left.

“And thanks for keeping me company.” I tell him. “I hope I didn’t ruin the movie for you.”

He gazes at me for a moment, his breathing growing heavier as a torn look crosses his face. Finally, he shakes his head, averting his eyes. “Not at all,” he says.

A moment of silence passes, and slowly, we both steer farther apart but neither of us turns our backs on one another.

The silence gets longer, the distance farther, and finally he raises a hand, giving me a little wave before hooking both hands in his back pockets. “Goodnight,” he says.

I just stare at him. Yeah, goodnight.

And then I turn away, my stomach twisting into a tighter knot.

I didn’t even get his name. It’d be nice to say ‘hi’ if I run into him again.

I don’t have time to dwell, though, because my phone rings, and I slide it out of my pocket, seeing Cole’s name on the screen.

I stop on the sidewalk and answer it. “Hey, you at Grounders?” I ask him. “I’m almost there.”

He doesn’t say anything, though, and I pause, calling his name. “Cole? Hey, are you there?”

Nothing.

“Cole?” I say louder.

But the line is dead. I go to call him back, but I hear a voice behind me.

“Your boyfriend’s name is Cole?” the man from the theater asks. “Cole Lawson?”

I turn around to see him slowly walking back toward me.

“Yeah,” I say. “You know him?”

He hesitates for a moment as if coming to terms with something, and then he holds out his hand, finally introducing himself. “I’m Pike. Pike Lawson.”

Lawson?

He pauses a moment and then adds, “His father.”

My lungs empty. “What?” I breathe out.

His father?

My m

outh falls open, but I clamp it shut again, looking up at this man with new eyes as realization dawns.

Cole has talked about his father in passing—I knew he lived in the area—but they’re not close, from what I understand. The impression I had of Cole’s father from his son’s brief mentions doesn’t match the guy I talked to in the theater tonight. He’s nice.

And easy to talk to.

And he hardly looks old enough to have a nineteen-year-old son, for crying out loud.

“His father?” I say out loud.

He gives me a curt smile, and I know this is a turn of events he wasn’t expecting, either.