Pictures of You (19 page)

             
“Was?” Megan said.

             
“She passed away a few months ago,” Chris whispered.

             
“Oh, I’m soooo sorry,” Megan said, touching my arm.

             
“Hey!” Mary said, appearing out of nowhere. She slapped Chris on the back. “You must be the infamous Chris.”

             
“Infamous?” Chris turned to me, an eyebrow raised.

             
“Don’t listen to her. She’s a complete weirdo. I’ve said nothing but good about you,” I said, rolling my eyes.

             
“It’s true. Lots and lots and
lots
of good. It’s ultra nauseating,” Mary said.

             
“Shut up,” I said, hoping to murder Mary with my eyes. My cheeks burned as Megan eyed Chris curiously and he laughed nervously.

             
We shuffled to the left. Chris said, “Is this…?”

             
“Adrien,” I finished for him.

             
He wrinkled his nose. “He really
is
a pretty boy.”

             
“There’s a lot more to him than—”

             
“Where
is
he?” he asked, scanning the room.

             
“He couldn’t make it,” I said, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice.

             
“Adrien makes a really mean waffle,” Mary said stroking her belly in a circular motion.

             
“He does,” I agreed, ever amused by my roommate.

             
“Wait, how would you know?” Chris asked, his eyes questioning me, a hint of jealousy registering on his face. “Are you…? Did he…? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

             
“Oh relax, Chris. September’s not that kind of girl,” Mary said. “He just came over
early
Monday morning. Woke me up. I mean, who comes over at 8:30 in the morning?”

             
“It was 9:30,” I said, laughing.

             
“Okay, like that’s any better. Speaking of waffles, did you know that Lincoln and Kennedy’s wives both ate waffles the morning their husbands were assassinated?”

19

              On the morning of September twentieth, I was never more tempted to stay in bed. Not only did my boyfriend break up with me to be with my perfect, bratty little sister; not only did I lose the one person I loved the most in a tragic accident; not only was I falling for an incredibly handsome suicidal guy who I may never see again, but I was now facing my very first birthday, in eleven years, without Abby. My birthday was just not my birthday without her.

             
But life moved obnoxiously forward regardless, like The Little Engine That Could.

             
My mom and dad, plus April and even John called to wish me a happy birthday, taking turns with the phone (they stopped throwing parties for me after my sixteenth). April was unusually sweet. She even said she loved me but passed the phone to my dad before I could respond. John spoke to me briefly. For a short moment, it almost felt like the old us, the old John and me, before April pulled the phone from him mid-sentence. Mom told me to look for a birthday check in the mail today.

             
Mary was feeling generous and made us blueberry-banana smoothies for breakfast. When I took my final sip, I said, “Hey, thanks. That was the best smoothie I’ve had in years.”

             
“I’m glad you enjoyed it because by the time you’re sixty, you’ll have lost half of your taste buds,” she said, grabbing our blueberry-stained glasses and tossing them in the sink.

             
I laughed. “Good to know.”

             
“Not to mention your nose and ears never stop growing. You’ll look like Pinocchio and Dumbo all at once.”

             
“Something to look forward to,” I said, shaking my head.

***

Abby,

             
It’s my birthday. Where are you? I can’t face this day without my very best friend. If you’re there, give me a sign.

***

              “I have something for you,” Mary said, straightening her pink waitress uniform, about to leave for work. She worked at this hole-in-the-wall restaurant a few blocks away that apparently had the worst coffee around. How it stayed in business was beyond me. Anyway, it was the only time she ever wore pink. I didn’t know what I found more entertaining: Mary in her uniform, or Mary’s discomfort in her uniform. She handed me a small, flat present in confetti wrap.

             
I was touched. Mary and I had come a long way, but I didn’t expect this. “Mary, you didn’t have to—”

             
“Open it.” I caught her smiling before she looked away.

             
With the enthusiasm of a six-year-old on Christmas morning, I ripped away the colorful wrap. Inside I found a letter addressed to me. My heart began thumping like a rock concert when I recognized Abby’s handwriting. “I don’t get it.”

             
“Abby wanted me to mail this to you, but I never got around to it. You know me—flaky as hell. It’s a letter she wrote you last year when we were at that stupid leadership camp my mom forced me go to—and Abby tagged along so I wouldn’t lose my mind and kill everyone there. I stuck it in my backpack and forgot all about it. I found it under the passenger seat of my car last night. Right before your birthday, can you believe it?”

             
“You’re kidding.”

             
“I had to use ultra self-control not to rip it open and read it myself. You’ll have to tell me what it says. I’m late for work. Happy birthday, September,” Mary said, squeezing my arm. “Do something fun today.”

             
“Thanks Mary.” I sat down and waited for her to go before carefully opening the letter. I took three deep breaths to calm my racing heart before reading.

Hey September,

              This place sucks royally. If I hear words like “assertiveness” and “effectiveness” and anything ending in “ness” again, I’ll have to be committed. Seriously. I’m losing it. Do yourself a favor and never go to one of these stupid things. There are a couple of hot guys here, though, so I’m not completely miserable. And Mary and I play cards and listen to her iPod whenever they give us ten seconds to breathe.

             
Can you believe I’ve been gone for two whole weeks?? We’ve never been apart this long. I miss you like crazy. Thanks for believing in my dreams when no one else has. I now know that
anything
is possible. I have my whole life ahead of me.

             
I love you so, so much. You mean the world to me and then some. See you in a few days!

             
Your friend forever,

             
Abby

             
xxxxxxx

              I spent the next two hours in bed, rereading the letter at least a dozen times, reminiscing, laughing and crying and laughing some more. It was my first birthday in eleven years without my best friend, in the flesh. I wasn’t sure where I stood on the whole life after death thing, but I felt Abby near. Could it be a coincidence Mary found that letter the night before my first birthday without Abby? I also thumbed through her scrapbook. It was probably just my mind playing tricks on me, but I could’ve sworn I saw Abby smiling at me—for a fraction of a second—in one of the photos.

             
I also thought about Adrien—I couldn’t help myself. I was beginning to wonder if I’d ever see him again. The way he just left after I told him about the accident was weird. I couldn’t stop replaying it in my head, the way he just took off like that. Was he so shallow he couldn’t deal with someone with a little baggage? Or was it that he was just in too much pain to share someone else’s burden? Whatever it was, I knew I had to see him again. I was beginning to have Adrien withdrawals. But the question was how? This time it wouldn’t be so easy to find him—he quit his job. I just had to hope he’d get bored and come over to hang out again. It was unlikely we’d run into each other a second time—not in a place as massive as New York.

             
I slid Abby’s letter into the book I was reading about forgiveness and took a short birthday nap.

***

              “Happy birthday, Tember,” Chris said, giving me a vise-grip hug.

             
“I can’t breathe,” I said and it was partially true.

             
“I have to admit, I forgot it was your birthday. I was planning on giving you something great. Rain check?”

             
“Sure, no big deal,” I said, rubbing my sore ribs. Chris was even stronger than he looked.

             
“Meanwhile, I hope this will do.” He pulled about a dozen bags of Reese’s Pieces out of his pocket, handing them to me, one by one.

             
“Ooh, you remembered. My favorite,” I said, shoving them into my purse.

             
“Good old reliable vending machine. I bought all the ones they had—on each floor.”

             
“On each floor? You are too sweet.” I shook my head in disbelief. He really was the nicest guy, like, ever. “But are you trying to make me fat? Because it took a lot of lunges to undo the damage all those Twinkies did me,” I joked.

             
He shook his head. “You females and weight. You could never be fat.”

             
“I beg to differ,” I said, “You should’ve seen me my freshman year of high school. It wasn’t pretty.”

             
“September—not pretty? Impossible,” he said, looking at me in a way that caused me to blush. “Do you have fun plans for tonight?” He unlocked the janitor’s closet and pulled out his blue jumpsuit.

             
“You mean besides scrubbing urinals with my favorite guy?”

             
“I would never let you do such a thing on your birthday. Go home, I’ve got you covered.”

             
I was touched. “Really?”

             
“Really,” he said, his big hands cradling my head as he kissed my hairline. “Happy birthday. I love you. In a friend-who-already-has-a-girlfriend sort of way, of course,” he added, blushing.

             
“I love you, too, Chris.” It was the first time we’d exchanged the words. I looked away before Chris could see my eyes wetting.

             
“Go out to dinner with that boyfriend of yours or something. Just promise me you won’t spend the evening alone.”

             
It wasn’t a promise I could keep. Who would I celebrate with? Chris and Mary had to work and Adrien was, well… “Like I mentioned before—he’s not really my boyfriend.”

             
“Then he’s an idiot.” Chris’s eyes cut into mine for an intense moment before we both looked away.

             
“Well I’m off, then,” I said, studying the ground, still unable to make eye contact with my friend.

             
“Happy Birthday—again.” He laughed an awkward laugh as he filled the cart with rolls of toilet paper.

             
“Thanks—again,” I said, also laughing, turning to go.

             
“No problem.”

             
“And thanks for the candy,” I said over my shoulder as I headed out.

             
“Ah, forget about it.”

***

              As my soiled apartment door greeted me, I let out a heavy sigh. The day had turned out much better than I expected, but now I had the evening to face alone, with more than enough time to mope and miss Abby. I combed through my purse until I found my keys and then unlocked the door. It was when I started kicking off my shoes that I heard: “Happy birthday, Beautiful.”

             
I dropped the keys and just about catapulted out of my skin. “Who is that?” I palmed the phone in my purse, ready to call 911 and with my other hand, flipped the light on.

             
I couldn’t be more surprised to see Adrien sitting on the couch, cradling a chocolate birthday cake, which had my name neatly written in yellow icing across the perfectly smooth surface. Little flames danced atop handfuls of tall, white candles.

             
“Wait, how did you know?” I asked, still a little shaken up.

             
“I heard you coming up the stairs. I have superior candle lighting abilities. A perk that comes with being a pyromaniac,” he said, smirking a little.

             
“How did you know it was my birthday? And how did you get in here? You didn’t break in, did you?”

             
“Sit down first, blow out your candles. Then I’ll explain everything.”

             
Obediently, I sat beside him. Although we’d spent a lot of time together, the fact that I hadn’t seen him for a few days—combined with how gorgeous he looked tonight—made me feel all sorts of things at once: excited, relieved, flustered. Weak all over. This guy had a strange and powerful affect on me and I wasn’t sure how much I liked it. He wore one of his usual green ensembles, this time a fern green top with Brunswick green pants and the green Converse he wore the day we met at Tim’s Coffee.

             
I giggled as he sang
Happy Birthday
. His voice was about as horrible as Aunt Number Two’s at Abby’s funeral, but the gesture was incredibly sweet.

             
“Make a wish.”

             
I squeezed my eyes shut. I didn’t have to think long before knowing exactly what I wanted. I blew out the candles in one forceful breath. “Wow, um, this is quite the surprise.”

             
“I bet.” He laughed. “Your expression—when you first walked in—was priceless.”

             
“You really didn’t have to go to all this trouble. You barely even know me.”

             
“It’s nothing, really. And anyway, I have to admit I’m developing a little crush on you.” He reached out and grabbed my hand. His comment, combined with the warmth of his hand, shot electric currents through my body. I felt heat rising to my cheeks.

             
“I don’t even know how to reply to that,” I said, my voice quivering.

             
“Sorry, you shouldn’t have to. In fact, I slipped. It wasn’t fair of me to say that, considering…” His eyes wandered down to our clasped hands and he pulled his away.

             
For a moment we sat and listened to the hum of the refrigerator and Tiger clawing at one of his toys. I broke the uncomfortable silence. “Now explain how you got in, how you knew it was my birthday.”