“Birthday”

Diane expected it to happen again. It happens every year. She just hadn’t expected she’d have to do this alone. The cat shaped clock ticked louder than usual on the wall. 11:25. 11:26. 11:27.

Before she let it hit 11:28, she slipped on her pink fluffy slippers. If she was going to wait up, at least she could do was make some tea.

The chill in the house nipped at her skin. The heating system had always been temperamental, but more so since his passing. She reminded herself to make an appointment to fix it tomorrow. Tomorrow.

His cardigan hung on the banister right where she had left it. Wrapping herself in it she absorbed his smell. She was reminded of his crooked-teeth smile the day she gave it to him. She had spent months knitting it only for him to put a big hole in the right elbow after 2 days. She rubbed her hand on the bright green patch she sewed on.

She flipped the lights on in the kitchen, relieved for the brightness it provided. She took the kettle, filled it with water, and put it on the stove. As she started to reach for the stove, Diane was stopped by the shock of her own reflection. Even through the steely tint of the refrigerator door, she could make out every wrinkle that littered her face. She had been extra observant of her aging body in recent years, although never bought into anything to try to delay it. She deserved each wrinkle, each line, each spot. Each a reminder of her mortality.

The teapot screamed, snapping Diane away from her reflection. But before she could reach for it, a young hand was already wrapped around the handle.

“May I?” she asked.

Diane nodded. “Be careful, it’s hot.” Diane began to rummage through the cupboard, In search of tea bags.

“Mom, I’m 30 years old, I think I know that the teapot is going to be hot.” She chuckled. Typical sass. Just like her father.

Diane checked the clock above the door. 11:38. Right on time.

“Chamomile alright?” Diane asked.

“Fine by me.”

Diane allowed her daughter to choose the mugs and pour the water in the tea bags. Diane topped off each with a splash of milk.

“How do you know I take milk in my tea?”

“I assumed you’d be like me,” Diane smiled, taking both mugs over to the kitchen table. Her daughter followed.

“So… aren’t you going to say anything? Her daughter inquired, smiling widely. Diane noted how alike they were. They would’ve been confused as twins 30 years ago if it wasn’t for her daughter’s piercing blue eyes and crooked teeth, which she had inherited from her father.

“What is there to say.”

“Huh gee, I don’t know. Maybe you could wish me a happy birthday, for starters.”

“I thought you didn’t like your birthday.”

“No. You don’t like my birthday.” Her daughter sipped her tea.

“You have to wait a few minutes. It’s not done steeping,” Diane reminded. Her daughter shot back with an eye roll.

“It’s fine mom. It’s cold here,” She said, crossing her arms.

“I can’t get the heat to work. Sorry. That was your father’s speciality.” Diane smiled, stirring her teabag in her mug. Her daughter followed suit, copying her mother’s stirring motion.

“It’s weird not having him here. He always made my birthday fun.”

“He did a much better job at handling it than I did.”

“Remember how he used to bake me a cake? With the sprinkles and the chocolate frosting?”

“From a box, mind you. And he mostly made it so he had an excuse for leftovers.”

“Still.” Her daughter sipped her tea. “Sorry, is it done steeping yet?” she teased.

Diane stared at her daughter. 30 years. It had been 30 years since that day, and she still hadn’t gotten used to this.

“Mom? You’re staring. Again.”

“Sorry I… sorry.” Diane sipped her tea. Her daughter for Diane’s hand, which Diane avoided, placing it on the other side of the mug.

“Tell me the story. Please.”

Diane checked the clock. 11:45. There was still time.

“Please, mom.”

“Not tonight.”

“ I want to hear it,” her daughter pushed.

“No!” Diane was surprised by her own harshness. “No. Maybe next year.”

Her daughter’s blue eyes pierced into Diane. “Dad would’ve told it.”

Diane felt her eyes sting. She wouldn’t… she couldn’t let anyone see her cry. Diane jumped up, made her way to the sink, and started washing the tea pot, with more precision than anyone had ever cleaned a teapot. She let the burning water rush over her hands. She needed this night to be over, or rather, she needed time to stand still.

“Mom, are you ok?” Her daughter appeared beside her. “Mom.” She turned off the hot water. Diane desperately checked the clock. 11:48. She sighed. “Mom. I’m sorry. Please?” She lowered the teapot from her mother’s hands.

“I just don’t want to do this without your father.” Diane gripped onto her daughter’s cold hand. Her daughter squeezed back.

“Tell the story. Please.” Diane nodded, allowing her daughter to guide her back to the kitchen table. They sat as Diane released her hand from her daughter’s cold grip.

“Well, as you know, It all started when my water broke, right at this table.” Diane, although tense, allowed herself to let out a small chuckle.“Your father was in such a panic. Running around the house grabbing items that we didn’t need. I mean, who needs dental floss when you go into labor?”

“People who want a minty fresh breath for their baby!” Her daughter chimed in.

“Hey, don’t chime in for your father if he’s not here to say it.” Diane playfully scolded. “So finally, after I had to calm his nerves by making him chamomile tea, he rushed me to the hospital. And then-”

“And then- we waited. All day long.”

“Hey you wanted to hear this story, right?” Her daughter quieted, hiding a grin between her lips. “We waited and waited for you to give us a sign that you were ready to come out. I believe we watched at least 7 hours worth of MASH reruns in that waiting room.”

“ I was stubborn! Just like you.”

Diane smiled. “Yes you were. Stubborn like me… well, after what felt like an eternity, you finally decided to make an appearance.”

“At 11:38 pm. Right?”

Diane nodded. She didn’t see a point to continue. She glanced back up at the clock. 11:53.

“Please stay a little longer tonight,” Diane quietly pleaded.

“Mom, you know I can’t,” Her daughter smiled sweetly back. Diane allowed herself to focus on the pattern of her daughter’s breath, slow and gentle, slow and gentle.

“Mom, why didn’t you and dad ever name me?” Her daughter’s face turned from sweet to downtrodden. Diane huffed her tears back.

“We didn’t have the time. We couldn’t land on the perfect one.”

“And you and Dad didn’t bother to give me one in the past 30 years. 30 years mom.”

“I know.”

Diane gripped her nails into the kitchen table, desperate for an escape, desperate for her husband’s touch. She desperately longed for comforts she no longer had.

“Mom. Do you really think I would’ve looked like this?” her daughter smiled back up at her.

Diane allowed herself to glance back up into her daughter’s piercing eyes. “I do. I think you have my beautiful skin and hair. You always had his eyes. You would’ve been beautiful.” Diane allowed herself to touch her daughter’s hand. She glanced back at the clock. One more minute.

“I’m sorry I can’t stay for the end of the story.”

“I’m sorry you can’t stay.” Diane felt her daughter’s cold knuckles under her hand. Diane pondered her last question to her daughter. “Have you seen him?”

Before she could get an answer, she felt her daughter’s cold skin slip from her grasp. 11:55. Right on time.

Diane sat and finished her tea, allowing the heat to refuel her body. When she was finished she placed both mugs in the sink. She’ll clean it in the morning. She passed by the fridge once more, and for a moment, her reflection wasn’t hers, but her daughter’s ghost. She smiled back at it, touching the reflections young skin, but only to be met with the cold metal touch of the refrigerator door.