Page 50 of Ghost on the Shore

Inspecting myself up close, I’m pleased by the smooth skin of my bikini line, and I’m glad I also splurged for a manicure and a pedicure at that swanky South Hills day spa. I tell myself I’ve done this for me and me alone, and while it’s true that I’ve learned the value of self care over the years, maybe the reality of being single again has me upping my game.

I make the drive up, wondering who’s going to be there, and while I’m not actively looking for anyone or anything, I’m just hoping I won’t be the one lone ranger in a sea of happy couples. I’ve been in that position before and it’s not even remotely fun.

Pulling into the driveway, I see my happy hostess clipping some bright pink hydrangeas with the little girl who is hers in every way except through birth. Turning at the sound of my car, she tosses the blooms to the grass and takes Olivia by the hand. “Look who’s here, Libs!”

“Hi, ladies. I like the matching get-ups.”

Skylar looks down to Olivia and says, “Libs is a trend setter, aren’t you?”

Olivia comes over and wraps her arms around my waist like an octopus. For some reason she’s fascinated with me, even though I’ve taken pains to keep my distance.

The first time she plopped herself into my lap I lost track of what I was saying, and then found myself nuzzling her curly blond hair to get my fill of that yummy strawberry-scented shampoo. It hit me like a drug, and I was no sooner falling down the rabbit hole.Birdie, I heard myself whispering into her hair, imagining for a moment that she was mine—that she was my girl.

I rustle Olivia’s hair and twist my body to break her hold in a way that I hope isn’t obvious. This has been a week, as Aunt Viv used to say, and while I’ve managed to keep it together, I can do without this little girl loving on me right now.

“I like your pretty dress,” she says, looking up at me as if I’m some wonderful, exotic creature.

Olivia is good for my confidence, I’ll give her that.

“Thank you, sweetie.” I take a step back to admire her dress. “Your dress is divine.” Heavy on the drama, I tell her that purple is one of my absolute favorite colors.

She gestures for me to lean down, and when I do she cups her hand over my ear and whispers, “Is today really your birthday?”

Ugh. I straighten up and roll my eyes at a very guilty-looking Skylar.

“Jack mentioned it.”

“Please tell me you’re not going to make this a thing.”

“I wrapped your present all by myself!”

Olivia’s enthusiasm makes me feel like a party pooper, so I suck it up and smile because I’m being an idiot. Birthdays are meant to be fun, to be celebrated. And while I will strangle Skylar if she tries to make me the center of this party, I can’t go on pouting in front of a five-year-old about having to blow out candles on a cake while people sing to me. Talk about first-world problems.

I crouch down to her level. “You are so sweet to think of me on my birthday. And I can’t wait to open my present.”

Turning to Skylar, she asks, “Can we give it to her right now?”

“It’s up to Grace.”

“Lead the way,” I tell Olivia, who still has my hand gripped in hers.

“The guest of honor has arrived!” Leo greets me as we walk into the kitchen.

From the corner of my eye I can see Skylar giving him the cut throat gesture before she says, “Ix-nay on the irthday-bay.”

Olivia ignores them both and rushes over to where a box wrapped in bright pink paper sits on the coffee table. There’s a giant white bow on the top and my name is written in purple letters surrounded by hearts.

“How beautiful!” And now I’m gushing for real, because it’s obvious from the wrinkled paper, the clumps of tape and the immature handwriting that Olivia has, in fact, done this all by herself, and the effort she’s put into making my day special has me choking up.

When I open the box and lift my gift out from the mounds of tissue paper, I have to swallow the emotion down once again because I immediately recognize this blast from my past.

“Is this what I think it is?” I whisper as I slowly lift the top of the wooden case.

“Open it, open it,” Olivia urges me on, so excited that she’s bouncing on her feet and clutching her hands in front of her chest to contain her excitement.

As the twinkling first notes of Tchaikovsky’sDance of the Sugar Plum Fairysound and the tiny ballerina begins to spin once she’s free, I’m transported back to my childhood, daydreaming as I stood in front of my dresser, mesmerized by the delicate figurine and the music I knew by heart.

I wipe at a stray tear before I look back to Olivia smiling. “This is the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten. Thank you.”

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