Elena's 28th Birthday Surprise

Elena lied in bed, eyes open staring at James, who was still asleep. It was early, a little past 6:30 am but it was Elena’s birthday, her 28th, so she was awake with nerves. Soon she would get calls from her mother in Argentina and from her sister in Spain wishing her happy birthday. Elena didn’t want James to hear those calls. She wanted to see if he would remember on his own. The first years of James and Elena’s relationship her friends made sure her birthday was well celebrated and that James took the credit. Like producers of a reality TV dating show her friends orchestrated romantic outings for which James just had to show up a few minutes before Elena did. One year they delivered Elena to a park where James sat waiting at one corner of a large blanket that held a tremendous spread: camembert, preserves, gourmet crackers, medias lunas with dulce de leche in the center, and chilled prosecco. James sat crossed-legged in jean shorts and a striped t-shirt, his arms folded across his chest like he had been teleported from his grad school office and plopped down before these delicacies to discern them like another mathematical proof he was assigned to solve. 

While Elena suspected others did the heavy lifting for these dates she didn’t mind,  feeling like she and James were minor celebrities within their circle of friends. And while James was a true blue gringo (socially awkward, crap on the dance floor), she liked to fantasize that his introversion reflected a rich inner life especially when it came to their relationship, making it possible that he was actually a romantic mastermind. If he suggested they stay in on a Friday night she’d say to herself it was because he wanted to cook for her and then ravish her after, even though it usually ended up being a pizza delivery and off to bed since he was “tired from the week.” 

On the morning of Elena’s 28th birthday, though, James’ glimmer was less brilliant. She reviewed the tape, remembering the details of every date, every card and gift that rang of someone else, someone other than James, sticking their well-intentioned hand into the pot of their relationship. She wondered how much James cared about her, and, if, in fact, minus the help of her friends, she was facing a long life of ever diminishing romantic returns. 

These heavy thoughts were not without cause. Seven months ago, James and Elena moved to a new city far from their close ties. James had finished his graduate program and got a job with excellent pay. Now it felt like Elena and James were getting to know each other anew, being left to explore and have fun entirely on their own. Elena did most of the planning for their outings, which she chalked up to James being too busy with work. But with her birthday she decided to leave it entirely in James’ hands. She wouldn’t even mention it or scribble it on their calendar on the fridge. She wouldn’t go so far as to book any activities that day as if the birthday wasn’t happening. No, she was simply going to wait and see what he would do. In the weeks prior she had tried to plant seeds, albeit somewhat discrete ones. One day on their regular walk she made sure they went along the river and she pointed out the yachts rolling past that offered dinner cruises and told him how nice it was to now live next to a body of water. A yacht dinner cruise would be such a layup for James, she thought. He wouldn’t have to prepare anything, just get the damn tickets. She could picture herself posting a photo of the two of them against the railing of a yacht bow, looking off into the distance, holding champagne flutes, heads rocking back with laughter. The caption would be a series of hashtags: #28 #cumple #newcity #newlife.  

It was almost 7 am. Elena’s phone vibrated with a call that read “Mama.” She bolted from the bed as quietly as possible and sped walked to the kitchen. Her mom noticed Elena was talking low and asked her if anything was wrong but Elena said she didn’t want to wake James. “Bien, muy bien,” her mother affirmed. Elena’s mother adored James. He won instant points for being a man, many more for being a gringo. Before even meeting James, Elena’s mother dubbed him, “un tipo serio,” which literally means a serious type, but is better understood to mean he wouldn’t cheat on Elena, beat her, do drugs or drink too much, that he would be a good provider, and, hopefully, provide for Elena’s mom in the future. Elena’s father had died when she was 9, and her mother never remarried or dated again. For five years after her father’s death, Elena’s mom forced her and her younger sister to alternate sleeping alongside her in bed every night. Virtually any man that crossed the threshold of their world was put on a pedestal. That Elena got herself a gringo with a Master’s in mathematics who was becoming a well-paid actuary seemed to Elena’s mom like she had hit the lottery. 

When asked what they were doing to celebrate Elena’s birthday, Elena said James had a surprise planned. James hadn’t actually said anything about a surprise or mentioned Elena’s birthday at all. What if James didn’t come through and actually forgot about her birthday? Would Elena lie to her mom and sister and make up something or would she tell a white lie and say that she didn’t want anything, that they would do something later. No, no. She would give him 24 hours and then blurt out the truth. If he didn’t remember her birthday there would be a serious talk where she would tell him how upset she was. 

Elena told her mom she had to hang up as James was calling. He wasn’t actually calling but she could feel his presence behind her and hear the opening of a kitchen cabinet. She turned around to see him several feet away in the kitchen doorway dressed for work from the waist down but shirtless above. He was smiling and holding an empty coffee mug, but, most importantly he had a tattoo. The upper right part of his chest had been shaved and he had a  tattoo, his first, about the size of a smartphone if horizontal, that read in big cursive letters, Elena. James’ face was red and he was holding back laughter. He had surprised her. This was his show stopper to top all the birthdays past, to carve out his place as a romantic lover, not just a bill-paying well-mannered husband. 

She could feel tears about to come. Not good ones but bad ones. She didn’t want him to read this emotion for what it was, sadness and disappointment so she went towards him, her arms wide open but he held up a hand like a traffic cop.  “Uh-uh. Not for another week. I just got it last night and have a plastic bandage for it, I just wanted you to see it,” he said. “Wow,” she responded. “It’s really something.” She couldn’t bring herself to say thanks. James was waiting for her to do so or for her to say she loved it, so he muttered, “happy birthday,” and then let out the laughter he had been holding back. She faked a burst of emotion in response. “James! I can’t believe it. What is my mom gonna say!,” she said with forced laughter. Would James’ tattoo take him down a notch in her mom’s eyes from Gringo Nerd God, to perhaps, Gringo Weirdo God, or Gringo Without Taste God? Elena wasn’t sure. Growing up her mother had said if she or her sister had ever gotten a tattoo that she would beat it off of them. Elena’s first thought was that James didn’t have the body for this tattoo, that it made his chest seem even smaller, more concave and lacking in muscle. Worse, though was when she realized she would see it whenever they made love, when he rolled on top of her or when she rode on top of him. She wanted to tell him he could get rid of it but he was so clearly proud of it. What other surprise grand gestures would he now be making?

“Can I have a kiss?,” she asked, wanting to bring finality to this painfully awkward scene. They pecked on the lips and Elena whisked the mug away from James to indicate she would whip up coffee. “I’ll get dressed and put back on the plaster,” James told her, like a young boy might to his mom, dutifully reporting his every action. “I’ll make coffee,” she responded, every utterance letting the other know that despite James’ shitting of the bed they were okay and still there for each other, and, yes, loved each other. Elena stood staring into space, unable to make coffee. “Que pelotudo,” she whispered, meaning, what a dumb ass.