Beautifully Ruined

by Nessa Morgan

  “Holy shit,” I whisper as I walk closer to it.

  On the bow is a giant, glittered and bedazzled card.

  Yes. It’s yours.

  Enjoy it! See you later, honey.

  Love you, Aunt Hil.

  P.S. The keys are in the ignition.

  Don’t have too much fun.

  Happy birthday!

  This explains the random, but totally awesome, keychain for Christmas.

  I squeal as I pull open the door and slide into the driver’s sitting, my hands finding the keys in the ignition. It’s a silver Ford Focus, completely cute, and I love it. I look next door, hoping to spot Jamie’s car, but it’s not there. Did they leave without me? I guess this means I’m on my own for mornings now.

  See you at school—that’s what his note said. He knew about this.

  Duh, the car has probably been sitting her for the night.

  I start the car, smiling wider as I pull out of the driveway.

  I have a car now! I could scream it to the heavens. I have a freaking car! Yay!

  Yeah, there’s no way I can do wrong with this.

  Parking in back of the student lot, thankful there isn’t assigned parking—there also aren’t enough cars to fill this place—I take a moment to breathe. Today is my birthday. Today is, what everyone tells me, my day. I hate my birthday. I always have. This car is awesome, but I take a moment to realize what today really means.

  It’s my birthday. I’m seventeen years old.

  My hand clasps the locket dangling from my neck, fighting the urge to pop it open. The urge dies and I tug the owl-locket from my shirt, prying it open. My mother smiles at me from one side. I flip it to see my brother and sister, wishing all of them could be here for this.

  “I’m sorry,” I tell the photos.

  Dr. Jett calls this survivor’s guilt. I call it shitty. I hate that I’m here—I’m celebrating another birthday, while they’re six feet under, never to see another year. Another year older, another year… and they have nothing.

  But I can’t dwell with it. It’s a dark hole I’ll never climb from.

  Slowly, I make my way to school, tugging my phone from my pocket and sending a quick text to Zephyr.

  Me: Hey, I’m here.

  Me: Since you confessed, I can’t really accuse you for my room, but I love you for it!!! I guess I’ll see you inside.

  Me: I love you, by the way.

  I enter the building and head toward my locker, sliding when I hit a patch of petals on the shiny linoleum floor. Am I going to keep finding these everywhere? In the chair of my seat in every class? In my locker, even? I love the enthusiasm to make this a great day but now we’re reaching overkill. There are petals leading to my locker. Now I’m on high alert. If I start hearing music, I’m diving into the nearest room and locking the door.

  No more serenades!

  Still, I follow the petals to my locker and open it slowly, just in case anything pops out. It’s safe. I unload the majority of my books and zip up my bag, mentally debating if I have everything I need. As I turn, I hear “SURPRISE!” from behind me, a group of people surrounding me. The voices, all combined, are shockingly boisterous.

  I jump, dropping my bag as Zephyr pulls me into his waiting arms. Harley and Kennie are each holding a bouquet of balloons, Ksenia is holding a large bag with tissue paper exposed from the top in various pastel colors, and Avery and Jackson are background to all this. Milo’s off to the edge, looking in, giving Zephyr space. I can see his happiness to be included but I can still sense the anger thick between them.

  It’s my day after all.

  And this is wonderful.

  “Happy birthday, Joey,” they all say, some clapping me on the back, others hug me against my wishes. Jackson punches me playfully in the arm seventeen times and Avery pats me on the head.

  My heart’s racing as they take turns handing me things. Balloons, gifts, and cards. I smile as I reopen my locker and shove everything but the balloons inside—obviously, they don’t fit. I’m not sure why I hoped seventeen large balloons would fit in my locker, but it was a strong hope.

  “Oh, I almost forgot this.” Kennie searches her bag for something happily, gasping when she finds it. She pulls out a plastic pink tiara.

  I snort loudly, moving from her reach, holding my arms up, ready to smack her away. “No, Kennie, I’m not wearing that,” I protest.

  “Yes, you are,” she tells me as she fixes it onto my head. “And I love your hair. You look super cute.” She pats my head. “Then again, you look cute every day, you know.”

  “Thanks,” I reply, deadpan. My hand searches the top of my head, landing on the sharp points of the plastic toy pinned to my hair. I can’t believe I’m going to wear this thing all day. Glaring at my friend, I hope she feels the ridiculousness of it. I’m not, nor have I ever, been a plastic tiara girl.

  “Come on,” Zephyr says before he kisses me on the cheek. “I want to kiss you before class.” He shoots a glare to Milo as he walks through the door. “A lot.”

  “Then kiss me,” I tell him. He doesn’t hold back, pressing me into the lockers as his lips find mine. I laugh as I hear our friends mutter the usual “Get a room, would ya?”

  When the bell rings—we’re late to class. We walk in, taking our seats. I set the large mass of balloons in the back of the room so they remain out of the way. Sitting down, I grab the envelope placed on my desk, my name written in swirly script.

  “Happy birthday,” Milo whispers close to my ear. I giggle as his breath tickles my skin, pushing him away. “I couldn’t resist, really.”

  “You’re so weird,” I say, ripping the top of the envelope. Glitter spills onto my desk as I tug out the card. A glittery picture of a cat covered in cake stares at me. On the cover it reads: Wouldn’t it be a CAT-astrophe if this happened to you? “Wow,” I say loudly. “This is so cheesy, Milo.”

  “That was the point.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper, wrapping my arm around Milo for a side hug. Zephyr watches, rolling his eyes but smiling. As much as he despises Milo—something I’m hoping to change soon—he’s not a controlling asshat determined to kill the friendship.

  The rest of my day is filled with half-hearted musings of Happy Birthday. At lunch, nothing spectacular happens—thank God!—but there’s cake waiting for me.

  “We know how much you hate parties, so we’re doing something low key for you,” Kennie says as she lights the 1 and 7 candles. “And don’t worry, there’s a lunch attendant watching this. The lighter is hers, so we won’t get in trouble for incendiary devices or anything.” She thought of everything. That’s a first.

  “That’s good to hear,” I reply as I make a wish—more moments like this, please—and blow out the candles. My friends applaud when I lean away from the cake, smiling at me. It’s truly a picture perfect moment. Luckily, no one has a camera. We divide the cake and spend the rest of lunch talking about things only important to us. Well, important to everyone else. I sit with my hand held in Zephyr’s, staring at him all lovey-dovey like.

  Harley asks me a question, taking my focus from Zephyr—which was a horrible idea.

  Zephyr clasps my hands in one of his before he smashes his slice of cake into my face. I lean away from him, and wipe the cake from my glasses. They’re coated thick, a large smear obscures my already horrible vision. The table quiets as I stare at a blurry Zephyr, barely making out the large grin plastered on his face, as if he won something.

  “I can’t believe you did that!” I blurt loudly. “I just—”

  “You know I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to do that,” Zephyr explains. “You really should have seen that coming from a mile away.”

  He makes a crappy point. He’s always threatened to do something like this before, I never believed him.

  He isn’t getting away with this, though.

  What kind of girlfriend would I be if I let him off the hook so easily?

  Tugging my hands free, I
return the favor, smushing my slice into his face. Retaliation tastes sweet! It tastes exactly like red velvet cake and victory!

  My grin is large and my happy dance is stellar. Zephyr laughs loudly as he clears the cake from his eyes.

  “You’re not getting away with this, Jo,” he threatens cheerily.

  “Oh, what are you going to do about it, Zeph?” I taunt with enthusiasm.

  “Don’t test me, babe.”

  “I think I just did, sweetie.”

  I hope this isn’t the start of pet names.

  Before I blink, Zephyr pulls me to him, locking our lips together—a chocolate kiss never felt better. Until I feel his hand on the top of my head. Did he just…?

  Fuck, he did.

  I roll my eyes before I pull away. He’s paying for this somehow.

  “You taste like chocolate,” I tell him, giggling wildly as everyone around us laughs. We look fantastic, I know. I’ve never felt sexier in my life.

  “So do you.”

  I start to wipe the cake from my hair.

  “As long as I don’t get a cake shower, I’m getting a picture of this,” Harley announces, propping herself in front of us with her phone outstretched before her. After the click of her camera app sounds, Avery plants a handful of cake in her face, pulling it up to the top of her head and tapping it flat.

  Harley shrieks and jumps back, wiping the cake from her face. It’s too late for her—it’s in her hair. It matches her hair. Avery beams bright; he’s never looked happier. Harley’s never looked more shocked and angry.

  Oh, this is going to be good.

  “It’s on, Moose,” Harley states, diving straight for the cake in the center of the table and launching a handful straight at her boyfriend’s face.

  The war has started.

  Cake began to fly. Ksenia hit Jackson right in the face, Zephyr pegged Kennie in the center of her yellow sweater. There were even a few casualties at neighboring tables staring at us as if we’d gone crazy.

  Basically, we did.

  When the cake was done flying, and half of us were covered, we learned that we weren’t getting in trouble—but we can no longer bring cake to school. Oops. Laughing, we sit down and wipe bits of cake from our clothes and skin. I’m not entirely sure when this lunch table became so full. There are people here I never thought would be excited to celebrate my birthday with me.

  That, in itself, proves how much my life is changing.

  For once, on one birthday, I’m happy.

    

  I park my new car—I can’t stop saying that, my new car. I have a car! Yippee!—in the driveway behind my aunt’s SUV and smile as I walk into the house. I feel like I’m walking on a cloud, a nice, soft, life-is-good cloud. I feel as if nothing can pop this little bubble I have surrounding me. I feel so happy I could just spit!

  I close the door behind me, forgetting I won’t be home alone today, and walk into low hanging streamers, streamers dangling from tacks in the ceiling. Not expecting them, the feeling of paper against my arm startles me and I trip over my feet, stumbling into the living room as if I just bought my body and I’m still trying to figure out how to work my limbs.

  “You’re home!” Hilary sweeps me into a tight hug lifting me from the floor. The scent of chocolate coats the air, filling my lungs and making my mouth water. But it could just be me, I’m still covered in random bits of chocolate from lunch. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

  We? Who’s we?

  Patrick steps from the kitchen wearing an apron and holding a chocolate covered wooden spoon. “I really hope you like chocolate?” I’m not sure when I’ll get used to him and my aunt being a we. He’s still a lovely sight.

  He should stick around—I hope he does, he makes my aunt happy.

  “I love chocolate.” Hilary releases me and I follow her to the kitchen, sitting at the dining room table.

  “Good. You’re in for quite the treat, then.” I grin excitedly as I watch him walk over to the counter and stir a large glass bowl filled with one of my favorite things—cake batter. I’m excited for more cake.

  I pop up stairs for a quick shower and change of clothes that aren’t so… chocolaty. Walking back down the stairs, I take my normal seat at the dining room table, watching my aunt as she ogles Patrick as he moves around the kitchen, stirring things, setting pans in the oven. I think she just fell more in love with McDreamy than I’ve seen anyone who’s a fan of Grey’s Anatomy. That’s saying something.

  “What’cha making, dude?” I ask, eagerly leaning forward in my seat as the scent of sugar waters my mouth. If I were more curious—don’t get me wrong, I am, just not enough to move from my seat—I’d walk over there and poke around, become my nosy self.

  “It’s an old family recipe.” Oooh, that sounds delicious. Old family recipes usually are. I think I hear my aunt sigh. “My grandmother would make it for every birthday. It’s kind of a tradition.”

  My heart tugs at that. He’s bringing his family’s tradition over to our little household. Hell, I’m in love with this mountain of a man.

  “We like tradition,” I randomly announce, shocking myself. Hilary shoots me an awkward glance. She’s confused, as am I, because, as we both know, there’s nothing actually traditional about our family minus every Christmas spent in Texas and every Thanksgiving spent here.

  But I don’t mention anything, I just watch him bake and let Hilary shoot daggers at me with her eyes. The man sure knows his way around a kitchen.

  “Well, both of you made me feel like a part of your family,” Patrick begins, his attention fixed on the oven. If he were paying attention, he’d spy my aunt watching his every move like a hawk, practically salivating. Oy. “I wanted to show my gratitude and extend the same courtesy.

  Aww…

  “Oh, Patrick,” I say, slightly teary. He sure knows how to make a girl cry.

  After everything’s baked, cooled, and iced, candles are lit and set upon a impeccably frosted cake. I make another wish—or act like I make a wish. Then it’s time for gifts.

  “Thanks, Aunt Hil!” I stare at a thick photo album in my hands. Embossed on the cover are three names, Ivy Nevaeh, Noah Jonathan, and Josephine Elizabeth. Tears prick my eyes. I try my hardest not to let them fall—but fail.

  It’s my birthday and I’ll cry if I want to.

  “I had fun making it, Joey.” She tucks a lock of red hair behind her ear before she inches closer to me. “I just wish I had more photos of Ivy, Noah, and your mother.”

  Me too. But I can’t say that right now. I can’t form any usable words at the moment, only vowels and sounds.

  I can’t bring myself to open the cover. I can’t force myself to see their faces. Not now. Not on my birthday. Not when I’m another year older and they’re… not. They’re just gone. They’re gone. Forever.

  They’re gone.

  Now I’m crying—sobbing, blubbering to be more exact. On my birthday, one of the best I’ve ever had, I’m crying.

  “Oh, honey.” Hilary wraps her arms around my shoulders, pulling me to her until I tuck my head on her shoulder, and cry. “It’s okay.” Her hand rubs up and down my back, slowly soothing me.

  “It’s not okay,” I sob into her shirt, protectively clutching the photo album to my chest. I’m sure I’m freaking Patrick out. Sorry. Everything from this morning rushes back, flooding my mind. “I’m seventeen. I’m another older when they’re… they’re just…”

  “You can’t feel guilty, Joey.” Her arms tighten around me. I can only imagine how uncomfortable this is making Patrick. “Maybe I should’ve waited—found a different time, a more appropriate time—to give this to you.” I continue to blubber into her shirt. “Joey, I can’t let you feel like this over something that isn’t your fault.”

  I pull away from her, leaning back far enough to look her in her green eyes. “This—this is all my fault and you know that. If it weren’t for me, if I didn’t open my big mouth, then they’d still be here.
”

  Hilary looks to me, confused. “What do you mean?”

  I take a deep breath. I guess I haven’t told her everything lately.

  How could I forget that? How could I forget to do that?

  “I don’t know,” I shake my head and wipe beneath my eyes, clearing the trails of tears. “I’m just… talking. Ignore me, I’m not sure what I’m saying right now.” How can I tell her that I’ve been remembering, that I’ve been having dreams, that it’s all coming back to me night after night like some demented and macabre puzzle. That night, that dreadful night, is slowly rebuilding itself, piece by piece, in my memory. Everything is becoming clearer and clearer night after night and I haven’t even told her. How do I even tell someone something like that? I don’t. Like a good little girl, I lie instead. “I really appreciate this, Aunt Hil. I mean that.” I force a smile, truly happy for the gift with no sane way of showing it right now.

  “Are you sure?” She leans forward. “You don’t look so great, Joey.”

  Turning my gaze to a stunned Patrick—he looks uncomfortable but smiles through it if he wants to stick around, he should know I do this quite often. I’ll apologize later—I smile wider hoping to make it believable. “I’m sure, I promise.” I wipe my nose with the back of my hand before I stand to duck from the room. If I say it enough, I’ll believe it. That’s how this works. I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m really, remarkably fine.

  I tenderly set the photo album on my bed. Everything is still covered with petals and balloons—though, I’ve managed to pop half of them to make more room for me to move around. My phone beeps and I pull it from my pocket.

  Zephyr: Pick you up in twenty. Love you!

  A small grin forces its way onto my lips—leave it to Zephyr to cheer me up with even knowing he’s doing it—and I glance to my closet where the green dress sits on a hanger. It’s so beautiful—it doesn’t seem right for me, as if I’m not meant to wear it.

  Walking toward the dress, I reach out my hand and let it slide down the smooth fabric, feeling it’s silky texture against my skin.