#e.30thbday

For all intents and purposes as Phoebe awoke that morning, it was just another Monday. Well, she had once again fallen victim to the peace and serenity sleep brought her, still hoping the last month had been some horrific nightmare, where she’d roll over and find Foster there and everything would be fine. But, aside from that, just another day.

She watched the sun flit through the cheap, thin curtains as she laid in bed until Misty’s mewling was impossible to ignore. She fed the cat, made herself some coffee, and watched as the first notifications of the day popped up.

One thing was certain in life. Jeanie Ramachandran was always going to be the first one to post a birthday story for Phoebe, no matter how many times the birthday girl in question had complained. There was a few years where the bartender hadn’t take into account the time difference of where she was traveling to Illinois, which left a lot of people confused on when Phoebe’s date of birth was exactly, and she couldn’t help but admit that the best birthday gifts were that of confused texts from friends and acquaintances apologizing for being a day too late or too early.

Still, she got the notification that Jeanie had added her to her Instagram story, but didn’t click on it, watching her phone curiously to see if two specific people would contact her today. Her mom was unpredictable in every sense of the word, and Foster…

She told him she’d reach out first. What was she supposed to do; text him ‘hey I’m ready to talk now. BTW its my birthday’? Phoebe would rather gouge her eyes out with a spoon. 

Still, she opened up her text history with Lisa, the last few on Phoebe’s end going undelivered which meant her mom likely disconnected her number and was starting afresh somewhere new. It wasn’t like she’d forget Phoebe’s birthday: the worst day of Lisa Yates’ life. But whether she’d break no-contact with her daughter was anyone’s guess.

12 years ago. Phoebe’s 18th birthday.

“It’s upsetting me you’re not doing a party, Bee. You’re eighteen.” Lisa whined from her usual place on the couch. Douglas had just broken up with her, now his ex-wife was single again. True love never meant to be broken apart, Phoebe assumed. And Lisa just liked an excuse to wear her bathrobe at all hours of the day.

“Who’d come to my party, Mom? You, Linc, Seb, Jeanie —,” She paused, staring at her mother incredulously. “Not exactly a big birthday blowout.”

Lisa scoffed. “Oh, please. You have more friends than that. C’mon, I can get the invitations sent out today.”

“It’s Sunday, Mom. The post office isn’t exactly open.” She had finished packing her bag for the day, the dusty blue polo shirt of her Gulp ‘n’ Go uniform being her designated birthday outfit to ring in eighteen years. “Now I’m going to work, but I’ll be back later.” And she kissed Lisa on the forehead, prepared to have a normal day.

Upon returning home, the darkness setting over the small Weaver Ridge apartment with the exception of the neon lights of Gulp ‘n’Go guiding Phoebe jimmying the lock slightly before throwing her body weight into the door to get it open. She stumbled into the darkened living room, clutching the small store bought cake that she was sure was stale, but it was the only one the gas station had. Lisa was still sitting on the couch, just where Phoebe had left her, an empty bottle of red wine on the coffee table, a fresh one just being opened. 

“Hey.” Phoebe murmured, keeping her distance, trying to gauge which drunk Lisa she was getting. It most likely wasn’t the happy-go lucky party girl most people associated with her, which meant…

“Here’s to the anniversary of when I almost died!” Lisa slurred, holding up her wine glass, red wine splashing carelessly from the rim.

“Mom..” It was a story she heard every year. Sometimes it was painted in a more forgiving light, and others like now, it was like Phoebe deliberately made her entrance to the world a difficult and painful one.

“Just sixteen, barely lived. And you, fucking hell. You had the cord wrapped around your neck, and a really weak heartbeat, and never mind I was gushing out blood like I had an unlimited supply of it.” She sneered at Phoebe, who just stood there numbly. “And I remember begging God to let me live, let us both live. And I’d provide you with a great life.” Lisa managed to stand, stumbling over to her daughter. Phoebe tried hard to blink back the tears. 

“The worst day of my life, and you’re too selfish to even honor that with a fucking party.” The smell of wine on her hot breath made Phoebe’s stomach churn. “Happy birthday, Bee.” And with a shoulder check, stormed off to her bedroom.

Phoebe stood there numbly, taking a few deep breaths, before dumping the cake in the trash and just heading to bed, preparing for tomorrow to be a truly normal day.

Blinking out of her thoughts, Phoebe closed the text history with Lisa, deciding it was probably better to not hear from her mother, and after confirming to Jeanie she was definitely going to meet her later and not bail, showered and got dressed. The only good thing about Mondays was that it was Phoebe’s day off from the paper, and with her internship ending soon, she had no qualms about going in the remainder of the week either. She had a connection, had emailed her manuscript over to a potential agent who’d possibly take her on as a client. It was just the matter of finding something else to do with her day. 

If her and Foster survived it, would he have done something? She had no doubt he’d have respected her wishes to keep things lowkey, but she couldn’t help but mourn the potential loss of the birthday of a woman in a happy relationship, rather than the single thirty year old who barely felt like she was out of her teens. At least, a small voice told her, it was better than any birthday she was forced to spend with Spencer…

7 years ago. Phoebe’s 23rd birthday.

They hadn’t been dating that long. Only meeting a few months ago when he came by chance to O’Shea’s, and Phoebe served him the wrong drink by accident. After that, Spencer came by every Friday night to ask her out. He was charming, good looking, but she had been hesitant. However, one night she agreed, and the rest was history.

The thing was, Spencer was maybe too nice. He never let Phoebe have a bad word to say about herself, any self-deprecating jokes regarding her writing or playing immediately shut down. “Y’know you shouldn’t say those things about yourself,” He had pointed out one day, “I don’t like it. You wouldn’t like it if I said those things about me, would you?” And she had to admit she wouldn’t. But maybe after two decades of her mom’s backhanded compliments and ability to fly off the handle at any given moment, Phoebe was finally waiting for Spencer, and should have just quelled her anxiety that the other shoe looming over her threateningly was going to drop.

Then she turned twenty-three. And the shoe dropped hard. 

It had been her usual routine. She’d wake up, there’d be a post from Jeanie and other texts from her friends. Her mom would douse her in attention and bitch and moan that Phoebe wasn’t throwing a party, and that she wanted to shout from the rooftops that her baby girl was born twenty-three years today! But Phoebe wanted a normal day. She had the rare weekend off from O’Shea’s, and wanted to spend time with Spencer who, by her own design, had no idea what the date meant.

But all day he was off with her, like he couldn’t have thought of anything worse than spending time with his…well, they hadn’t exactly put a label on it yet, but Phoebe assumed with the way things were going it wouldn’t be long until they were boyfriend and girlfriend. It wasn’t until they came back to his apartment, a large chrome inspired place in the nice part of Cardinal Hill, when he took out his phone showing a screenshot of Jeanie’s birthday wishes to Phoebe, and slid it over to her.

“Do you know how embarrassing it was for me to find out this way?” He asked, and Phoebe immediately felt guilt wash over her.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I just…my birthday isn’t a big deal to me, and uh, we’ve only been seeing each other for a few months so..” She tried to explain, and Spencer had the audacity to scoff in her face.

“No, I get it Phoebe. You don’t think I’m important enough. God, to think what amazing plans you must have canceled out on to slum it with me.” He shook his head. “I bet your friends will think I’m such an asshole for not getting you a gift. For not even saying it to you!” 

“They won’t think that, they know I’m…look, it’s just a day.” She tried to reason, heart palpitating at the idea of upsetting him further. “I…I can make it up to you. We can go for dinner, or…do something tomorrow, maybe?” 

He looked at her with utter contempt, shaking his head. “I think I should just drop you off home.” And that’s what he did, the car ride silent, Phoebe feeling like a monster for not disclosing her birthday to him. Her mom had set up more balloons since that morning, and even got Phoebe a cake from Walmart, and she held back tears the entire night.

When she woke up the next morning, she had a text from Spencer inviting her over. She tentatively did, scared things would end before they even really began, being met instead with a large balloon arch, the biggest cake she ever seen, and a small pile of gifts. 

“I’m sorry about yesterday, I was just upset you felt like you had to keep it from me. I was worried you thought I was someone who’d feel…inconvenienced or something.” He said, pulling her in for a kiss. “I’m never not going to make you feel like your birthday isn’t a big deal ever again…”

If only she knew what the next four years of birthdays would bring.

Her morning flew by quickly, though she was tense to leave on the off-chance Foster dropped by. But she left it for as long as she did to go for her pre-made plans she couldn’t exactly cancel, returning home with a couple of hours to spare in getting ready for whatever Jeanie had planned for her. 

Whatever it was, she could handle it. She was still a living, breathing person after what Elijah had gifted to her, and she knew the excitement would sink in after the shock and the exhaustion of her birthday was past her. 

Still, she came home, sorting through her closet to find something suitable, eyes falling on the gift box. Nine whole months it had been shoved in there, the vaguely festive wrapping paper collecting dust. Phoebe had strategically hidden it behind Foster’s stuff when he had first moved in, but without his pants and coats hung up, it was there hiding in plain sight, staring at her in the face.

She pulled it out and placed it on the bed, tearing it open and lifting the box flaps, letting out a soft gasp at what was inside.

2004. Phoebe’s 10th birthday.

“Mommy, mommy! Look!” When her mom had asked Phoebe what she wanted to do today, letting her skip school to celebrate her birthday, all the little girl wanted to was spend time with her mom. Lisa opted to take them to Chicago for the day, letting Phoebe into boutiques, music stores, and even had plans to visit one of the museums after lunch.

They were currently in a small second-hand bookstore, and Phoebe stared hungrily at what was on offer on the small, rickety shelves. The kindly old man was patient with all of her questions, and she had stumbled upon the best thing she had even seen.

A three-piece collection of Alice in Wonderland, The Wizard of Oz, and Peter Pan.

“Oh, they’re a bit young for you, aren’t you?” Lisa questioned with a patient smile, as Phoebe held up the books. “Like, baby, you have an advanced reading level — your teacher even said — you don’t wanna waste time with children’s books.”

“But mom, look at them. They’re like really special.” Phoebe defended, her big brown eyes watering. Lisa, to her credit, did take the box holding the books in her hands, studying each angle, eyes landing on the price tag.

“I’m sorry, Bee. I would, but they’re just…so expensive. For books! C’mon, I can get you a pretty new birthday dress next door for the same price.” They thanked the man for his time, and Phoebe hesitantly put the set down, and no matter how many times she returned to that store over the years  — to any second hand store in the greater Illinois area — Phoebe was convinced she had lost those books forever.

There, staring at her in the box, was the exact same collection set she had stumbled upon twenty years ago. All three stories of a little girl going to a magical land, all three stories about her somehow, some way finding her way home again.

There was no note, no clever sentence tying Oz, Wonderland or Neverland into Blue Harbor or what Phoebe sacrificed in her last thirty years. She didn’t know if it was an apology, or somehow Lisa proving that no matter what, she did care and listen to what her daughter wanted. All Phoebe could do was leave the books on her bed as she got ready.