Page 15 of Sweet Oblivion

She sent a shrug emoji.

Tell you what, I’ll teach you to drive and get you a cat one day.

And I’ll get you one. We’ll have twin cats.

We continued to text, and my mood improved even more.

Who cared that my dad was pissed at me? Who cared that he’d probably bang another groupie, causing my mother to party harder in an effort to show she didn’t care? Who cared that my mother had been spotted by the paparazzi two hours ago in a posh club off Sunset in LA, sucking down lemon drop martinis like they were water instead of coming home to spend my birthday with me?

I had Aya, and she cared about me.

“Nash!”

I startled out of the version of “Nantucket Sleigh Ride” that included a full orchestra backing up the sweet seventies guitar licks.

I blinked, shocked to find my room dark. How long had I been in here? “Yeah?”

“You got a delivery,” Steve called.

I bounded down the stairs, smiling when I saw the balloons and cake box held in the delivery person’s arms.

“You Nash Porter?” the bored guy asked.

“Sure am.”

The delivery man shoved the box at me, followed by the balloons. “Enjoy.”

I set the cake box in the kitchen, pulling off the note.

Happy birthday, honey. We’ll celebrate when I get home. This project is wrapping up, and I’ll be back soon.

All my love,

Mom

I considered dumping the cake in the trash, but then I opened it. The icing looked rich and chocolatey, so I cut myself a thick slice. The inside was marbled chocolate and butterscotch—the same cake my mom used to order for me when I was little.

Steve walked in and settled in the seat across from me. He slid a large, rumpled package toward me. It appeared as much tape as wrapping paper, but the sight of it made me grin.

“For me?”

“Yeah.”

I set my fork down and tore into the paper. I gasped, my gaze flying to his. “You remembered?”

“You said it made a cool sound.” He cleared his throat. “If you don’t like it…”

I rounded the table and nearly hugged him. At the last moment, I held out my fist, which he bumped with his. “I’ve always wanted a theremin,” I told him, “especially after hearing it on Jack White’s ‘Missing Pieces.’ This is epic.” I turned it over, grinning hard.

“Oh, and something else came for you.”

Steve brought over an envelope. It was stained with what looked like raindrops. The handwriting was small, neat, a bit loopy.

Everything in me paused as I caught the return address. Nepal. Aya had sent me mail. We’d never crossed the line into written missives. But her doing this for me… I blew out a breath.

Steve settled into the chair and crossed his arms. I slit the top of the envelope, trying not to show him my shaking hands.

I pulled out a card. It was a plain white one, no embellishments.

---