Page 14 of Falling for the Forward

I peek into Hallie’s room and see she’s curled up on her side with her arms wrapped around her favorite stuffed bear, George. I tiptoe in and cover her back up, then pull her door almost all the way closed. She likes me to leave it cracked with the hallway light on in case she wakes up and gets scared.

We had a quiet evening at home. I made beef stew and mashed potatoes for dinner and helped all three of them with homework, and then we watchedThe Great British Baking Show, our new before-bed ritual. We all get into Carter’s king-size bed and snuggle up under the covers with popcorn.

Olivia seemed down tonight. So even though she’s in bed with the lights out, I walk into her room to check on her. She seems to be sleeping soundly, and I’m about to turn around and leave the room when I see her shoulders shudder slightly.

“Olivia?” I rush to crouch beside her. “What’s wrong?”

My heart races with fear that she’s having a seizure, but then I see that she’s crying. She sniffles and wipes her cheeks with her fingers.

“I’m fine.”

I reach over to her bedside table and switch on the lamp. Her splotchy face is illuminated by the light’s soft glow.

“You aren’t fine. What’s going on?” I stroke a hand over her head, smoothing her hair.

“Tomorrow’s my birthday,” she says softly.

My eyes fly open in alarm. Why the hell didn’t Carter tell me? He was supposed to be home from his road trip by five this evening, but he texted me that his team was having plane issues and it would be more like eleven. I was planning to go sleep at home and come back in the morning, but if I’d known tomorrow was Olivia’s birthday, I would have been planning for it today.

I have no gifts for her. No cake. I imagine myself giving Carter the dick punch he deserves, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.

I’ll figure something out tomorrow. For now, I have to figure out why Olivia is so upset.

“Are you unhappy about your birthday?” I ask gently.

Fresh tears well in her eyes and she whispers, “I don’t want a birthday without my mom.”

It guts me. Seeing the girls mourn a mom who so obviously loved them more than anything is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

“Did your mom make your birthdays special?”

“Yeah. She always sings us ‘Happy Birthday’ at the exact time we were born. I was born at 4:24 p.m.”

When I feel like I don’t know how to handle the grief the girls are going through, I ask myself what my mom would do. She always told me not to shove my feelings down. Tofeelthem, good or bad.

I sit on the edge of Olivia’s bed, turning to face her. “That had to be one of the happiest moments of her life. Meeting you for the first time.”

She sniffles. “She was in labor for sixteen hours. She cried when she held me.”

“I think your mom would still want you to have a birthday, even if she can’t be here to celebrate it with you.”

I can tell she’s holding back tears as she responds. “I’ll just think about her and cry.”

I put a hand on her shoulder. “That’s okay. My dad died when I was one. I don’t remember him, but I still cry when I see pictures of him and think about him.”

“Really?”

“My mom says sometimes tears are love overflowing out of you.”

“I miss my mom.”

“What would feel better for you? A birthday like you would have celebrated with your mom, or something different?”

She considers. “Something different.”

“How about if you stay home from school tomorrow and we start your birthday with some chocolate chip waffles?”

She’s quiet for so long I think she’s going to say no, but finally, she says, “I like waffles.”

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