Page 92 of Friendshipped
“Hey,” I say in a voice sounding like I smoke a pack a day and sing in a jazz club at night.
“Happy Birthday!” a chorus of voices shouts through the line.
“It’s all of us,” Mom says. “And we just want to say how much we love you.”
She’s sniffling. It could be the hormones, or maybe it’s actually the love.
“All of you?” I ask, still coming out of my comatose sleep state, and wishing I could dive back into my drowsy sweet spot, but it’s fading now, and I’m at the point where my only option is to continue to wake up.
“Dad, Felicia, Gregg, Me, Aunt Glenda, and Memaw!” Mom says with way too much excitement and volume for … I look at my phone screen to find the time… eight o’clock in the morning.
“Why are all of you up—and together—this early?”
“Honey,” Mom says like she’s talking to a five-year old. “It’s your birthday.”
“Yes. Yes it is,” I say.
In my logic, today being my birthday does not coincide with the need my family had to convene and wake me on my day off.
“We want to take you to breakfast,” Mom says. “In case you have anything going on tonight.”
“There’s a pizza party tomorrow night,” I say.
“Oh, I know,” Mom says.
I hear Memaw say something in the background, but I can’t make it out. Then I hear Felicia reminding her to keep it quiet.
“I have no plans tonight,” I say. “At least that’s what I’m sure I’m supposed to think.”
“Well then,” Mom says. “We’ll be at your place in a half-hour. Be ready!”
It seems like everyone knows I’m having a party. I’m truly glad my friends and family don’t have to conceal state secrets, or we’d be in big trouble.
My relatives descend upon my home thirty minutes later. When I hung up with them, I hustled to wash my hair, quickly blew it dry and put on some clean jeans and a top I like. I stared at myself in the mirror and said, “You’re twenty-three.”
Now the controlled chaos that is the Billington family hums in my living room. People talk at the same time, my mom’s a hand-talker, so she’s gesturing as she shares something about a neighbor. In the midst of the bustle, there’s a knock on the door.
I walk over and open it.
“Your door was locked,” Trevor says.
“Oh. Yeah,” I say. “Probably Dad. You know how he likes to keep me safe from all the raging danger lurking around Bordeaux. We’re about to go to Frisch's Big Boy for my birthday breakfast. Wanna come?”
“That’s why I’m here,” Trevor says.
Something in me settles. Trevor’s my person. My family had me feeling like I was plugged into a high-powered electrical grid ever since their phone call. Trevor’s mere presence makes me feel like I crawled under my favorite blanket in the middle of a storm.
He smiles at me and says, “Happy Birthday, Lex. Twenty-three looks amazing on you.”
I smile back. He pulls me into a hug. I wrap my arms around him, indulging myself. It’s my birthday after all. Trevor tucks my head under his chin and holds me. I feel every place where we touch with a heightened awareness. His heartbeat, strong and steady next to my cheek, his stubble grazing the top of my head, his muscular frame enveloping me.
This is what a boyfriend should feel like. I feel shallow for even having considered Chase as an option. I didn’t know him at all and really assumed he’d be great boyfriend material because of his looks. In my defense they are some pretty amazing looks.
But, that was the old Lexi—twenty-two-year-old Lexi. The new twenty-three-year-old me will be more discerning before I date. I’m trying to outshine Trevor and that means I need to raise my standards.
Then there’s a loud clap behind me and my mom announces “Okay! Let’s go!”
I honestly had forgotten my family was even in the room for a minute. I got lost in Trevor’s embrace and everything else faded away.
