“Another year older, another year wiser.” Jenny snickered.
I roll my eyes.
But it is my birthday. And she is my best friend. So I clink my glass with hers and take a sip. Mmm … Pinot Gris, my favorite.
“So what did you do yesterday on your actual birthday?” She gives me a sly look.
She knows full well how I spent the day.
“Should I even bother answering that?”
“You worked? They didn’t even take you out for lunch? Or drinks?”
“That would require me telling them it was my birthday. And that’s not going to happen. I’m fifty-two for god’s sakes.”
And what did I have to show for it? But that was another question entirely.
“Well, your boss should know. They should at least bring in a cake.”
“It’s really not that big of a deal.”
“Sure it is. We don’t hit fifty-two every day. Did Lane call?”
“Yep, last night.” If I’d done anything right in my life, it was my son. Even at twenty, he remembered my birthday. He was a good boy.
I peeked at Jenny over the rim of my glass as she launched into one of her stories.
Did she have the same doubts as I did? Was she rethinking life?
We’d never talked much about it. We were always too busy talking about our kids. Or our jobs. Or about how much work our parents were becoming.
Time for a midlife crisis discussion? Not so much.
I nod. I pretend to listen. I smile when she laughs.
But I can’t quit thinking:
Is this just me?
This is part of my experiment to write a romance novel by writing one chapter a day for 365 days. Read more about it here.