Page 80 of August Lane
She took her eyes off the snack cake to grin at him. “Are you one of those monthlong birthday celebration people?”
“No, I just get excited about other people’s special day. Especially my friends.”
August tried not to be disappointed by the category he’d lumped her into. A month ago, she’d have been thrilled to be included in that group. Now she wanted to be something else. Someone special. “What are these mysterious tomorrow plans?”
“It’s a surprise.” He suddenly looked serious. “Unless you don’t like those.”
She normally didn’t, but only because they weren’t usually the good kind. “They’re fine,” she said. “But you don’t have to do anything else. Today was plenty.”
“Today was me stopping by the vending machine on the way here. What kind of birthdays are you used to?”
August swiped a bit of melted frosting and licked it from her fingers. “Nothing at school. I never tell anyone.”
“Why not?” She gave him aReally?look, and he lifted his hands. “Never mind. What about your grandmother? Does she do anything?”
“Breakfast cake,” August said. “It’s a tradition. She makes my favorite and lets me eat it for breakfast.” She thought about waking up to the smell of buttery sugar and coffee wafting from the kitchen. Birdie would leave a note on her nightstand that readRemember, you are fearfully and wonderfully made.
“Breakfast cake,” Luke repeated, and it sounded decadent when he said it. Like she was rich and famous. “What’s your favorite?”
“Devil’s food. She does this chocolate cream cheese frosting you could eat with a spoon.”
“That sounds so good.”
“I’ll bring you some,” August said. “Unless that’ll ruin your surprise.”
“I can’t bake,” Luke said. “We’re meeting at Delta Blue, so I’m sure Silas has forks.”
Luke had apologized repeatedly to Silas for showing up drunk last week. Her uncle had mentioned it in passing, along with a warning to be careful with him. “Luke’s struggling with something, and I don’t want it blowing back on you.” But when Luke arrived for their last tutoring session, Silas greeted him with more affection than usual, feeding him dinner and offering use of the pullout sofa in the studio if he ever needed it.
“What time are we meeting tomorrow?” Birdie was taking her out to dinner that evening. She wanted plenty of time to enjoy Luke’s gift.
“How about one? Will that work?”
August nodded and resumed staring at her snack cake again. The icing had dribbled down the sides. She blew out the candle. “I wished for a bicycle.”
“No, you didn’t. But you’re not supposed to tell me anyway.” He paused. “Does Jojo do anything for your birthday?”
August took a bite before answering. “She’ll call me later. Send a present.” She took another bite. It helped to multitask while she talked about her mother—no room for self-pity when you were trying not to choke. “It’s a hard day for her.”
“For her?” Luke looked skeptical.
“She didn’t want to have me,” August said, and was proud of how normal she sounded. Nothing to see here. Only facts. “Birdie made her. Jojo was only fifteen, so I don’t think there was any expectation that she’d raise me, but she still had to carry me. Give birth.” August paused and added, “She hates my father.”
“I heard stories about him.”
“Me too.” She had trouble swallowing. A lump had formed in her throat too quickly for her to stop it. “Anyway, I don’t blame her for not wanting to celebrate that day.”
Luke retreated into his thoughts. The bell would ring soon, but she’d ignore it, if needed. They’d both been so good recently, letting things like school bells and curfews dictate their time together. They deserved to be selfish.
“I do,” he said eventually. “I blame her for not wanting to celebrate with you.”
“It’s not—”
“It’s okay if you don’t. I get it. You love her, so…” He trailed off, looked away, and then focused on her again. “You need to make it okay. But I don’t. I can want more for you.”
The bell rang. Luke didn’t move. They watched each other, mutually deciding that today, of all days, they could break the rules.
“She tries to love me,” August said, because she didn’t want Luke to hate Jojo. She didn’t want to choose. “I don’t make it easy,” she continued, but looking at him while she said it was hard. Her fake thorns were gone. He’d plucked them one by one. “For people to love me, I mean. I can be a lot.”
