Page 86 of The Very First Night

“No, I think we touched on everything.” Ya know, other than the fact that I’m terrified that I think I’m slowly descending into madness and I’m actually moderately falling for my best friend and will absolutely send my entire life nuclear if I don’t figure out a way to get that under control.

With a speculative expression, Janet looks at me, but doesn’t say anything. She isn’t necessarily the prying type, at least not since learning that I don’t exactly respond well to that sort of therapy. “Well, I hope you have a lovely birthday, and I will see you in a month.”

“See you next month.” I sigh as the screen goes black and I close my laptop.

Despite the fact that the house is normally and consistently chaotic beyond reason, when I go downstairs to grab the mail, I’m surprised to find it almost completely silent.

Weird.

Once I’ve collected the mail, I start shuffling through it. It’s mostly junk mail, a few letters from the university—one for Brendan and one for Regina—and a pale blue envelope. I tear it open immediately.

Hey Kat,

I was happy to receive your letter. I’ll admit, I wasn’t entirely confident I would even hear back from you and I would have completely understood if I didn’t. To be frank, our dad is an absolute asshole. But I really would like to get to know you. While letters are great and all, I think we would benefit from not communicating solely by snail mail. I’ve attached a separate piece of paper with my number, email, etc. I hope you reach out.

Patrick

As I pull the additional scrap of paper out of the envelope, the familiar sound of someone clearing their throat carries from the kitchen doorway. I’m hopeful it’s Tanner, or Brendan—or, honestly, anyone besides who I know it to be.

“What?” I grunt, looking up from the paper to find him awkwardly standing in the doorway with his hands in his pockets.

Elijah clears his throat. “Can we talk?”

I look back down at the paper in my hand, barely paying any attention to it as I respond. “Nope.”

“Kat, c’mon. You have to talk to me at some point.”

I slowly lift my gaze to meet his, but instead of the familiar rush of love, I feel nothing but resentment. I used to think that just seeing him would make my heart skip a beat, but now it’s filled with a newfound sense of liberation. It’s a strange and unexpected freedom, this emancipation from my own heart.

I shake my head. “No, actually. I don’t. I may not be able to help the fact that you live here, but I sure as hell don’t have to talk to you.”

“What I said during welcome week was fucked—I’m not going to deny that. But don’t you think this is a bit ridiculous? I mean, fuck, Kat, we’re roommates. Shouldn’t we at least get along?”

“Nope.” I clench my jaw and force my way past him, deliberately avoiding eye contact. I’m exhausted from constantly trying to appease him and avoid his disapproval. But I don’t care anymore. If he hates me for not pretending everything is okay, so be it. In fact, part of me hopes he does hate me now.

FORTY-ONE

KAT

When I was a kid, my birthday was without a doubt one of my favorite days of the year. It was the one day other than Christmas that my mom would take off from work and we’d spend the day together. We seldom did anything too crazy, usually spending the last day of the season at the local pumpkin farm, after which she’d take me trick-or-treating.

People often say having a birthday on a holiday ruins the day because of other expectations. Not for me, though—my mom always managed to figure out a way to make me feel like the most special girl in the world.

As I’ve gotten older, my birthday has become progressively less exciting. Once your mom isn’t slaving to ensure your birthday is the best day ever, you suddenly realize that to the rest of the world it really is just another day.

After last year, I hate my birthday.

Jenna bursts into my room with two massive balloons, each shaped like a giant “2,” nearly knocking over my lamp. I can already feel the headache coming on as she giddily announces, “Surprise!”

My hopes for a quiet and low-key birthday celebration vanish.

I let out a low, frustrated groan as I struggle to pull the heavy blanket back up over my head. Bright light streams in the window as Jenna so graciously opens my brand-new blackout curtains, which were intended to keep my bedroom pitch-black in the middle of the day.

“Go away,” I groan, holding tightly to the comforter as Jenna tries her best to yank it off my body.

“Happy birthday!” Jenna ignores my blatant lack of enthusiasm and only tugs harder, eventually pulling the plush fabric away from my face. “We’re going shopping.”

“No, we’re going back to sleep.” I roll back over and bury my face in my pillow, trying and failing to block out the invading sunlight.

---