by Devney Perry
THE BIRTHDAY LIST
Copyright © 2018 by Devney Perry
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-9983583-5-2
No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Editor: Elizabeth Nover, Razor Sharp Editing
www.razorsharpediting.com
Cover Artwork © Sarah Hansen, Okay Creations
www.okaycreations.com
Proofreader: Julie Deaton
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Formatting: Champagne Book Design
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Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Epilogue
Preview from Tattered
Acknowledgements
Also Available from Devney Perry
About the Author
“Poppy!” Jamie came rushing out of the office and into the kitchen.
The grin on his face made my heart flutter, just like it always did, which meant I’d been a mess of flutters since the day I’d met him five years ago.
We’d run into each other on the first day of our sophomore year at Montana State. Literally. I’d been rushing out of an economics lecture, my arms overloaded with books, notepads and a syllabus. Jamie had been rushing in, too busy looking over his shoulder at a buxom blond to see me in the classroom’s doorway.
After the two of us had recovered from the crash, Jamie had helped me off the floor. The moment my hand had slipped into his, the buxom blond had been all but forgotten.
That was the day I’d met the man of my dreams.
My husband.
James Sawyer Maysen.
“Guess what?”
“What?” I giggled when he picked me up and set me on the counter, fitting himself between my open legs. Excitement radiated from his body and I couldn’t help but smile at the light shining in his eyes.
“I just added a couple things to my birthday list.” He pumped his fist. “Best ideas yet.”
“Oh.” My smile faltered. “Please tell me these ones aren’t illegal.”
“Nope. And I told you, the fire alarm one might not be illegal. I might legitimately need to pull a fire alarm before I turn forty-five.”
“You’d better hope so. I have no desire to bail you out of jail just because you’re determined to mark an item off your crazy list.”
Jamie’s “birthday list” had become his latest obsession. He’d started it a couple of weeks ago after he’d gotten the idea from a sitcom, and ever since, he’d been dreaming up these grand ideas—though some were more ridiculous than grand.
This list was Jamie’s version of a bucket list. Except, rather than one long list to work through in retirement, Jamie had been assigning himself things to do before each of his birthdays. He didn’t want to tackle some daunting list when he had all but lived his life. Instead, he wanted to tick things off the list every year before his birthday. So far, he’d filled in nearly every birthday until he turned fifty.
We had our own “couples” bucket list—places we wanted to travel and things we wanted to do together. This birthday list wasn’t for that. It was just for Jamie. It was filled with things he wanted to do, just for him.
And though I may have grumbled about some of the riskier and crazier items, I supported it wholeheartedly.
“So what did you add today?”
He grinned. “My best idea yet. Here goes.” He raised his arms, drawing them out wide and framing an invisible marquee. “Before I turn thirty-four, I want to swim in a pool of green Jell-O.”
“Okay.” I smiled, far from convinced it was his best idea yet, but it was Jamie. “But why Jell-O? And why green?”
“Don’t you think it would be cool?” He wiggled between my legs, smiling even wider as he dropped his arms. “It’s one of those things every kid wants to do but no parent will let them. Think of how fun it would be. I can squirm around in it. Squish it between my fingers and toes. And I picked green—”
“Because it’s your favorite color,” I finished, surprised I’d even asked the question in the first place.
“What do you think?”
“Honestly? It sounds like a mess. Besides that, Jell-O stains. You’ll be a walking alien for a week.”
He shrugged. “I’m cool with that. My students will think it’s awesome, and I have you to help me clean it up.”
“Yes, you do.”
I’d help him scrub his skin back to its normal tan and dispose of a pool filled with green Jell-O because I loved him. Some items on Jamie’s list seemed strange to me, but if they made him happy, I’d do what I could to help. For the next twenty-five years—or for however long he wanted—I’d be by his side as he crossed things out.
“What else did you add today?”
He slipped his hands around my waist and moved in a little closer. “I actually added one and crossed it off at the same time. It was for my twenty-fifth birthday. I wrote a letter to myself in ten years.”
“That’s cute.” If I had a birthday list, I’d steal that idea for myself. “Can I read the letter?”
“Sure.” He grinned. “As soon as I turn thirty-five.”
I frowned but Jamie erased it with a soft kiss.
“I need to go run some errands. Do you need anything while I’m out?”
Errands. Riiight. Tomorrow was our one-year wedding anniversary and I’d bet good money his “errands” were to find me a last-minute gift. Unlike me, who had bought his present two months ago and stashed it in the laundry room, Jamie was always shopping on Christmas Eve or the day before my birthday.
But instead of teasing him about his tendency to procrastinate, I just nodded. “Yes, please. Would you mind going to the liquor store for me?” We were hosting a spring barbeque tomorrow to celebrate our anniversary and the only booze we had in the house was Jamie’s favorite tequila.
“Babe, I told you. We don’t need to have fancy cocktails. Just pick up some beer at the grocery store tomorrow and we’ll drink my stuff.”
“And, honey, I’ve told you. Not everyone likes to do tequila shots.”
“Sure they do. Tequila shots are a classic party drink.”
I rolled my eyes and laughed. “We’re not having a frat party tomorrow. We’re adults now and can afford some variety. At the very least, we could get some margarita mix.”
“Fine,” he grumbled. “Do you have a list?”
I nodded, but when I tried to move off the counter, he kept me trapped.
“Can I ask you something?” His eyebrows came together as his grin disappeared.
“Of course.”
“We’ve been married for almost a year. What’s your favorite thin
g about being married to me?”
My hands came up to his face, brushing the blond hair away from where it had fallen into his blue eyes. I didn’t even have to think about my answer. “I love that I get to say I’m your wife. It fills me with pride every time. Like whenever we’re at your school and parents come up to tell me how much their kids love your class, I’m so proud that I get to call you mine.”
The tension in his face washed away.
I wasn’t sure where his question had come from, but it was a good one. Especially today, the eve of our anniversary.
Jamie backed away but I grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him back into my space. “Hold up. It’s your turn. What’s your favorite thing about being married to me?”
He smirked. “That you have sex with me every day.”
“Jamie!” I swatted his chest as he laughed. “Be serious.”
“I am serious. Oh, and I love that you do all the cooking and my laundry. Seriously, babe. Thanks for that.”
“Are you kidding me right now?”
He nodded and smiled wider. “I love that I get to be the one to watch you grow more beautiful with each and every day.”
My heart fluttered again. “I love you, Jamie Maysen.”
“I love you too, Poppy Maysen.”
He leaned forward and brushed his lips against mine, teasing me for the briefest moment with his tongue before he stepped back and let me go.
“I’ll get your list for the liquor store.” I hopped off the counter and got the sticky note I’d made earlier.
“Okay. Be back soon.” Jamie tucked the list in his pocket and kissed my hair before he walked out the door.
Three hours later, Jamie still hadn’t returned. Every time I called his phone, it rang and rang and rang until his voicemail kicked in. I was doing my best to ignore the knot in my stomach. He was probably just shopping. Any minute, he’d be home and we could go out to dinner. Knowing Jamie, he’d just lost track of time or bumped into a friend and they’d gone out for a beer.
He’s fine.
An hour later, he still wasn’t home. “Jamie,” I told his voicemail. “Where are you? It’s getting late and I thought we were going to dinner. Did you lose your phone or something? You need to come home or call me back. I’m getting worried.”
I hung up and paced the kitchen. He’s fine. He’s fine.
One hour later, I’d left him five more voicemails and bitten off all my fingernails.
One hour after that, I’d left fifteen voicemails and started calling hospitals.
I was looking up the number for the police department when the doorbell rang. Tossing my phone on the living room couch, I ran toward the door, but my feet stuttered at the sight of a uniform through the door’s glass pane.
Oh, god. My stomach rolled. Please let him be okay.
I opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. “Officer.”
The cop stood tall, his posture perfect, but his green eyes betrayed him. He didn’t want to be knocking on my door any more than I wanted him on my porch.
“Ma’am. Are you Poppy Maysen?”
I choked out a yes before the bile rose up in my throat.
The cop’s posture slackened an inch. “Mrs. Maysen, I’m afraid I have some bad news. Would you like to go inside and sit down?”
I shook my head. “Is it Jamie?”
He nodded and the pressure in my chest squeezed so tight, I couldn’t breathe. My heart was pounding so hard in my chest that my ribs hurt.
“Just . . . just tell me,” I whispered.
“Are you here alone? Can I call someone?”
I shook my head again. “Tell me. Please.”
He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry to inform you, Mrs. Maysen, but your husband was killed earlier today.”
Jamie wasn’t fine.
The cop kept talking but his words were drowned out by the sound of my shattering heart.
I don’t remember much else from that night. I remember my brother coming over. I remember him calling Jamie’s parents to tell them that their son was no longer in this world—that he had been killed in a robbery at a liquor store.
I remember wishing that I were dead too.
And I remember that cop sitting by my side the entire time.
Five years later . . .
“Are you ready for this?” Molly asked.
I looked around the open room and smiled. “Yeah. I think so.”
My restaurant, The Maysen Jar, was opening tomorrow.
The dream I’d had since I was a kid—the dream Jamie had shared with me—was actually coming true.
Once an old mechanic’s garage, The Maysen Jar was now Bozeman, Montana’s newest café. I’d taken a run-down, abandoned building and turned it into my future.
Gone were the cement floors spotted with oil. In their place was a hickory herringbone wood floor. The dingy garage doors had been replaced. Now visitors would pull up to a row of floor-to-ceiling black-paned windows. And decades of gunk, grime and grease had been scrubbed away. The original red brick walls had been cleaned to their former glory, and the tall, industrial ceilings had been painted a fresh white.
Good-bye, sockets and wrenches. Hello, spoons and forks.
“I was thinking.” Molly straightened the menu cards for the fourth time. “We should probably call the radio station and see if they’d do a spotlight or something to announce that you’re open. We’ve got that ad in the paper but radio might be good too.”
I rearranged the jar of pens by the register. “Okay. I’ll call them tomorrow.”
We were standing shoulder to shoulder behind the counter at the back of the room. Both of us were fidgeting—touching things that didn’t need to be touched and organizing things that had been organized plenty—until I admitted what we were both thinking. “I’m nervous.”
Molly’s hand slid across the counter and took mine. “You’ll be great. This place is a dream, and I’ll be here with you every step of the way.”
I leaned my shoulder into hers. “Thanks. For everything. For helping me get this going. For agreeing to be my manager. I wouldn’t have come this far without you.”
“Yes, you would have, but I’m glad to be a part of this.” She squeezed my hand before letting go and running her fingers across the black marble counter. “I was—”
The front door opened and an elderly man with a cane came shuffling inside. He paused inside the doorway, his gaze running over the black tables and chairs that filled the open space, until he saw Molly and me at the back of the room.
“Hello,” I called. “Can I help you?”
He slipped off his gray driving cap and tucked it under his arm. “Just looking.”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Molly said, “but we don’t open for business until tomorrow.”
He ignored Molly and started shuffling down the center aisle. My restaurant wasn’t huge. The garage itself had only been two stalls, and to cross from the front door to the counter took me exactly seventeen steps. This man made the trip seem like he was crossing the Sahara. Every step was small and he stopped repeatedly to look around. But eventually, he reached the counter and took a wooden stool across from Molly.
When her wide, brown eyes met mine, I just shrugged. I’d poured everything I had into this restaurant—heart and soul and wallet—and I couldn’t afford to turn away potential customers, even if we hadn’t opened for business yet.
“What can I do for you, sir?”
He reached past Molly, grabbing a menu card from her stack and rifling the entire bunch as he slid it over.
I stifled a laugh at Molly’s frown. She wanted to fix those cards so badly her fingers were itching, but she held back, deciding to leave instead. “I think I’ll go finish up in the back.”
“Okay.”
She turned and disappeared through the swinging door into the kitchen. When it swung closed behind her, I focused on the man memorizing my menu.
“Jars?” he asked.
It had actually been Jamie’s idea to use jars. Not long after we’d gotten married, I’d been experimenting with recipes. Though it had always been my dream to open a restaurant, I’d never known exactly what I wanted to try. That was, until one night when I’d been experimenting with ideas I’d found on Pinterest. I’d made these dainty apple pies in tiny jars and Jamie had gone crazy over them. We’d spent the rest of the night brainstorming ideas for a jar-themed restaurant.
Jamie, you’d be so proud to see this place. An all-too-familiar sting hit my nose but I rubbed it away, focusing on my first customer instead of dwelling on the past.
“Would you like to try something?”
He didn’t answer. He just set down the menu and stared, inspecting the chalkboard and display racks at my back. “You spelled it wrong.”
“Actually, my last name is Maysen, spelled the same way as the restaurant.”
“Huh,” he muttered, clearly not as impressed with my cleverness.
“We don’t open until tomorrow, but how about a sample? On the house?”
He shrugged.
Not letting his lack of enthusiasm and overall grouchy demeanor pull me down, I walked to the refrigerated display case next to the register and picked Jamie’s favorite. I popped it in the toaster oven and then set out a spoon and napkin in front of the man while he kept scrutinizing the space.
Ignoring the frown on his face, I waited for the oven and let my eyes wander. As they did, my chest swelled with pride. Just this morning, I’d applied the finishing touches. I’d hung the last of the artwork and put a fresh flower on each table. It was hard to believe this was the same garage I’d walked into a year ago. That I’d finally been able to wipe out the smell of gasoline in exchange for sugar and spice.
No matter what happened with The Maysen Jar—whether it failed miserably or succeeded beyond my wildest dreams—I would always be proud of what I’d accomplished here.
Proud and grateful.
It had taken me almost four years to crawl out from underneath the weight of Jamie’s death. Four years for the black fog of grief and loss to fade to gray. The Maysen Jar had given me a purpose this past year. Here, I wasn’t just a twenty-nine-year-old widow struggling to make it through each day. Here, I was a business owner and entrepreneur. I was in control of my life and my own destiny.
