Page 87 of The Very First Night

“Kat, you’re twenty-two! It’s, like, the holy grail birthday for a Swiftie like yourself. Now get up,” she says with determination. She grasps my arms, trying to yank me from my cozy spot.

Despite my desire to crawl back into my hole, I sit up. “Has anyone ever told you that you are incredibly annoying?”

“All the time—now get up,” she demands, thrusting a pair of black leggings and an oversized flannel into my arms and pushing me toward the bedroom door. “Go shower.”

I know better than to argue with her when she’s like this, so I obey, annoying as it is.

When I’m done getting ready, we rush toward the door. I take a long-awaited sip of the coffee Tanner had waiting for me downstairs and feel its warmth spread through my body, calming my nerves and easing my irritability for the day ahead.

We drive into Cleveland, as there aren’t many shopping options around the Kent campus. As we’re parking, the question that’s been lingering at the back of my mind bursts out. “What are you planning?”

Jenna pauses after she puts the car in park. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you are talking about.”

I know Jenna—some days I’d argue I know her a little too well. While, yes, she loves a good shopping day in the city, she also hates driving with a burning passion. There is no way she would drag me out of the house to drive forty-five minutes into Cleveland to go shopping unless she is trying to get me away from Kent for a few hours.

“Jenna…” I glare at her.

She avoids eye contact for a few seconds before looking at me. “It was Tanner’s idea.”

The groan that escapes my lips is far more dramatic than the situation calls for, but I’m irritated. I’ve told her on numerous occasions over the past few months how much I don’t want a birthday party.

“It’s your twenty-second birthday. Arguably the biggest birthday in a Swiftie’s life.”

“You don’t even like Taylor Swift.”

“No, but you like Taylor Swift,” Jenna says, shifting in her seat to face me head-on. “You’ve been talking about this since we were freshmen. I realize that your birthdays since then haven’t exactly been great…” She sighs before she mumbles, “Despite my attempts at changing that.”

The look she’s giving me right now makes me feel like an asshole. All she’s doing—all she’s ever done—is try to make my birthday special for me. I can’t fault her for that. “Fine.”

She perks up. “Fine?”

“Fine,” I reiterate. “But what do you have planned?”

“Costume party.”

“Jenna,” I sigh, trying harder to ease my temper. “I don’t have a costume.”

“Already covered, sweet cheeks.”

When we pull into the driveway back home, Jenna and I have three bags of clothes each and Jenna is carrying a gigantic art print she found in an old boutique that she swears will be perfect above her and Marcus’s bed.

It’s almost 7:00 PM by the time we’re walking into the house and, despite knowing a party is happening, I still manage to be surprised when we walk in the door and everyone yells “Surprise!” from the rooftops.

The living room has been transformed into a shimmering wonderland. Silver and gold balloons float along the ceiling, sparkling confetti covers every surface, and strings of fairy lights garnish the walls. It is clear that this party is not just a repackaged Halloween party—it is a celebration of my love for Taylor Swift. Posters and album covers plaster the walls. I can’t help but smile at the thoughtfulness and effort put into making my birthday party extra special.

Everyone is decked out in their best Halloween costumes. Well…best might be an exaggeration, judging by the bizarre combination of items Brendan wears.

“What on God’s green earth are you wearing?” I laugh.

He looks down at the seventeen-ish layers of clothing, then looks back up at me. “I’m Joey. From Friends.” He clears his throat before continuing, “‘Could I be wearing any more clothes?’”

The scene he is referencing invades my memory and I chuckle. “Solid choice, my friend, solid choice.” I smack him on the shoulder, only to feel exactly no shoulder, as it’s so thoroughly padded with clothing.

Tanner is dressed in a khaki-colored sheriff’s costume, complete with a badge and shiny boots. However, the tight short shorts and tiny shirt that is taut across his muscular frame make him look more like a stripper than an actual deputy.

It takes me a few moments to register, then I remember his recent obsession with the comedy show Reno 911! “Oh my God,” I say between giggles, “you’re Dangle, aren’t you?”

He grins from ear to ear. “I don’t know what you’re talking about—this is my typical choice of attire.”

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