It's Her Birthday

My eyes snap open. It’s her birthday.

The sun is barely rising as the early morning dew starts to eviscerate from our fogged-up bedroom window. I glance askew and see her, still fast asleep. She is the living example of an oxymoron—such a spunky firecracker when awake and such a beatific creature when asleep. Everything about her is a stark contrast.

Just on cue, she wakes up. “Happy birthday hun. Thirty-two!”, as I give her a flurry of kisses, counting up to thirty-two.

“Huh? Oh… thanks,” rubbing her eyes and still visibly in her realm of dreams. “Busy day ahead at the firm today, some Swedish clients coming in,” she mumbles.

Elle is a kick-ass lawyer. She works for one of the city’s top five law firms and her ascent through the ranks has been stellar, seamlessly overtaking all of her peers. I know her gung-ho drive will take her places. I love that about her.

“I’ll pick you up after work, have a surprise for you. Your boss will let you off early today, he knows it’s your birthday, right?”

“Argh, you know I hate surprises! I’ll see what I can do.” She catches sight of the time and, as if jolted by an electric current, bolts out of bed, “Shit, am late already! Text you later, early start today!”

She’s been working long hours for the firm, God knows she needs a break and some encouraging news instead of all the crap she’s had to deal with lately, her incompetent boss and her best friend Irene’s cancer battle both eyeing for first place as the main source of her stress.

I open the drawer of my bedside table and pluck out the small black box. It feels incandescent in my hands. My chips are all in with this gal. I store it safely back.

“I’ll make us some coffee,” heading downstairs while reading a message on my phone from my mom. Call me as soon as she says yes. I’ve made the reservations for dinner tonight at the Yacht Club. Table for 2, facing the port. The flowers will be delivered to her office before noon, like you asked. Love you.

I hadn’t told Elle that I’d taken the day off today. I’m way too nervous to get anything done anyway. How many times in a lifetime does one get to propose to the girl of his dreams? Choosing to savor the day instead, I booked an appointment with the local barber for a traditional razor shave and a haircut, which will leave me feeling as confident as Rockstar. God knows I’ll need it.

Save for the one text giving her the details of where and when we’d meet later, I avoid texting Elle all day, I’d slip for sure. Luckily, I did not hear from her either.

Elle and I meet at a nearby park, right across from her office. I see her coming before she even catches sight of me. Stunning. As if I needed any more reasons to marry her. Almost like she’s being led by my thoughts, Elle walks towards the bench I’ve been nervously entrenched on for the last hour.

Getting on one knee and popping the ring box open, I say the phrase I’ve been rehearsing in my head all day, "Take all of my chips, I'm all in. Marry me, Elle.”

Dead silence, followed by her mute tears. “What’s the matter? Is this not making you happy?” More tears.

“I got a message this morning from Irene’s husband. She passed away last night, didn’t make it through her last round of chemo. I went to her funeral earlier this afternoon,” she stoically lets out.

“But… But, why didn’t you tell me? I would have gone with you to the funeral.”

“It was a private moment. I needed to do this on my own, she was my friend after all.”

And she drops bomb number one.

“I’m so sorry, I know how much Irene meant to you. And she is… I mean, was so young.”

“I, I… After I got back to the office from the funeral, I got into an argument with my stupid ass boss who was upset that I had left in the first place. He said it was unprofessional of me to leave him to handle the Swedes on his own. That was the last straw. I quit.”

Off goes bomb number two.

“You did what??!! And you didn’t think to consult with me beforehand such a life decision?!”, I shrieked in disbelief.

“You know that I’ve been unhappy at the firm for a long while and that I was contemplating starting on my own! Why are you surprised anyway?”

“Elle, this impacts our future, can’t you see that?” Stung and shocked, I insisted, “Why didn’t you talk to me before pressing the trigger? I would have talked you out of it. You're always so impulsive. And that’s one salary less for our household!”

“Speaking of household… I cannot continue this farce with you, let alone marry you. I’m sorry. I know you want a family and I am not prepared to give that to you or… anyone else, for that matter. You’ve become like a brother to me.

In a business-as-usual manner, she hammers down, "This evening, I'll gather some of my things and stay at a friend's house. I'll pass by for more stuff in a couple of weeks when things are calmer."

Bomb number three. Hit and sunk.

I stow the box right back into my pocket, which now feels gelid, unwanted, and burdensome. "Elle, you're just clouded by Irene's death. Let’s have a nice and quiet dinner, as I’d planned and, in the morning, you’ll see things differently.”

“No, my mind is made up, it has been for a while. This is not an impulsive decision.”

“Never content, always wanting more,” was all I could answer, seething disdain. How did I so blatantly miss the mark? Where did I go wrong? And when, for God’s sake, did she start seeing me as her brother?!

This morning I had the perfect life, with visions of a blissful future together with the woman of my dreams and, in a sadistic turn of events, I'm left with a compost of regret, shame, and heartbreak.

Happy thirty-second freaking birthday.