Page 29 of The Fate Of Us

I unwrap my arm from her and grab the lipgloss from my vanity, one that was mainly justsparkles at this point, making a mental note to ask my parents if I can get one of those mirrors with the Hollywood lights with the money from the Christmas movie I just finished filming, swiping the rollerball across my lips, getting giddy at how the sparkles are twinkling in the sunlight.

“Oh,”I mumble, running a hand through my curls and sucking in a few breaths to calm my nervous heart.

“It’s his birthday.”

This dress reminds me of that time in my life. And every year after when I’ve worn it onthis day. And for a second, I think I can feel the things I felt the last time I slipped it on my body.

The giddiness brushes my legs. The heartbreak gathers around my waist. The uncertaintyand hopelessness lie across my chest. There’s a split second, when I’m about to slip my arms through the puffed-up sleeves, where I want to rip it off me, tear it up and ask Flo to help me burn it.

But I think destroying it would hurt more than what it’s making me feel.

I just can’t find it in me to admit that I’m wearing it for him. I hate myself for doing it. Ihate that I can’t detach this dress from the memories I had when I first wore it. I hate that I can’t erase its meaning.

And I know what you’re thinking, and no, it’s not a validation thing. I’m not seeking acasual compliment or a more than friends stare as I walk into the room.

No… I think I’m wearing this dress because I owe it to myself.

I owe it to the fourteen-year-old that’s figuring out what love feels like. I’m wearing it forthe seventeen-year-old who just had her first kiss with the boy she lives next door to. I’m wearing it for the nineteen-year-old who’s waiting at the pier for him. I’m wearing it for the twenty-two-year-old at the movie theatre who just watched the boy who broke her heart become famous.

I’m wearing it for the twenty-five-year-old who’s wearing it now, who, somewhere sodeep down, is hoping the boy who told her she looked like a fire fairy in this dress will remember how he felt about her the first time he saw her wear it.

Chapter eleven

Nate

Foralongtime,I wanted to murder the person who invented the dynamics of abirthday party.

They were supposed to be fun, right? A celebration of another trip around the sun,trekking through all the trials and tribulations that life throws your way and not having your age show up on your face… Yet.

So who the hell came up with the idea that opening all your presents and being sung aborderline creepy song while half your family tree stares at you equals fun?

I’d just like to have a chat with them.

Growing up, that was all that swam through my brain when I was made to sit on aplastic chair in the middle of my living room while my family crowded around me, while the neon balloons that made my eyes feel funny dangled from the ceiling.

It didn’t help my anxiety either. Having all the light and air sucked out of the room from the dozens of other people gathered in it only made my breaths that much harder to catch.

I didn’t know how to say this to anyone. I didn’t know how to tell my mom anddad, who’d spent weeks planning and making a cake especially for me, that I didn’t want any of this. I didn’t want to upset them. Or hurt their feelings…

But that changed in the run-up to my thirteenth birthday, after a certain, confidentredhead burst into my life and helped me confess to my parents that I didn’t want my birthdays to look like that anymore. How suffocated they made me feel. How, if I had to endure one more sit-through of people singing ‘Happy Birthday Nathanial’, I was going to scream.

But more importantly, how the one day of the year that was solely about me, nevertruly felt like mine.

My parents were the best a kid like me could wish for. When I told them all of this,they didn’t try to convince me that it was just because I was getting older, or that I was just being silly. They listened. They told me that all my birthdays from that point on wouldn’t have to be plagued by the creepy song and interrogation-style present opening. I could do what I was comfortable with. I could spend it just the way I wanted.

Part of that freedom was all thanks to Addy… A lot of things were at that time in mylife.She was the one who said I’d always had the strength to speak up about it, butbecause I was so sweet, too good, she knew I didn’t want to hurt my parent’s feelings.

“I’ll be with you while you tell them if you’d like. But we both know you have a loudvoice inside of you somewhere, Nate; the only reason you can’t find it is because the anxious one is an asshole and takes up all the space in that wonderful brain of yours.”

That’s what she told me the week before my thirteenth birthday, and now it seemedlike her voice had overshadowed the others.

Now that I was older (twenty-six as of today), I didn’t mind the formalities ofbirthdays. Being as well known as I am, I know a helluva lot more people than I did when I was thirteen, meaning it was harder to escape the planned parties, terrifying songs, and acknowledging what felt like the whole world signing it at me.

Luckily, I had friends who understood what being under the spotlights andmagnifying glasses of the planet felt like, which is why I’m outside Jacob and Flo’s apartment, about to walk into the private dinner they’ve organised for me. Away from the cameras. Away from everyone else who didn’t matter.

“Hey man,” Jacob breathed as he opened the door, his voice deep and patient. Heknew my thoughts on these days. “Happy Birthday.”

He pulls me in for a quick hug, my arms wrapping around his shoulders before he patsme on the back, letting go a second later and his attention falling back onto me. “You know you could’ve said no, to this dinner… if you wanted—”

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