When I was a kid, I welcomed every birthday, as it put me one year closer to my moving out on my own. But birthdays also marked another difference for my family. Instead of celebrating with a cake (too full of poisonous refined sugars) and presents (too materialistic), my mother would come into my room at exactly 3:57 A.M. to tell me the story of my miraculous emergence into this world, as if it was some fairy tale. Although I supposed few fairy tales involved the words “vaginal flowering.”
When I moved out, Mom would call me, again at 3:57, to give me the early-morning audio version. That helped me make friends with my dorm-mates. Given that I was a water birth, I supposed I should be grateful that she didn’t climb in the tub and reenact it every year.
I’d never had what you’d consider a traditional birthday party. As in the case of Christmas, Hanukkah, Easter, and any other tradition celebrated by ninety-nine percent of the population, my parents just didn’t see the point in birthdays. In high school, I’d had small annual celebrations with Kara and her parents. But they’d kept it low-key, in an effort not to offend my parents completely. Kara’s mother would make a German chocolate cake, and we’d go to the movies. When I turned sixteen, the Reynoldses bought me a little silver charm bracelet, just like Kara’s. Every year, they added a charm—a graduation cap for our senior year or a little magnolia to salute our roots. Kara had already sent me this year’s charm, a silver moose to mark my move to the Great North.
The morning I turned thirty was the first time I’d missed out on one of Mom’s dramatic monologues. I just wanted a nice quiet day at work. But when I walked into the saloon that morning, it was dark, which was unusual. I heard the faint sound of hurried whispering, of scuffling footsteps behind the counter. I backed away, thumping into the door, nearly dropping the morning’s baking to the floor as I fumbled for the knob.
No.
No, damn it, this was my home. I was tired of crying, of being afraid. This was my place. I didn’t care if I got robbed again, no one was going to send me running out of here. I quietly set my bags on a nearby pool table and picked up a cue. I rounded the corner of the lunch counter, prepared to swing for the fences when the lights flicked on and a deafening roar of “SURPRISE!” filled the room. I screamed and sent the pool cue clattering to the ground. Evie, Buzz, Pete, Walt, Nate, Gertie, Susie Q, and a few of the breakfast regulars popped up from behind the counter blowing on noisemakers.
My eyes blinked against the flood of light. I could see now that the bar was strung with pink and white streamers. Everybody was wearing silly paper hats and wide grins. There was a banner that read, “Happy 30th Birthday, Mo!” in homemade construction-paper letters. And on the counter was an obscenely large stack of doughnuts with candles stuck in them. The rush of relief, of love toward them all, squeezed at my chest.
“How did you know?” I asked, still shaking as Evie wrapped her arms around me.
“I do actually read the employment forms, you know,” Evie teased as Buzz moved in for his bear hug. “The question is, why didn’t you say anything?”
“I’m not a big birthday person.”
“Well, get over it,” she told me, holding a powdered sugar doughnut up to my lips.
“No, no, faux pas, Evie,” Gertie tsked, her double chin quivering in mock disapproval. “When a girl turns thirty, she gets the chocolate doughnut. Powdered sugar is for when you turn forty.”
Evie laughed and plated a chocolate doughnut with a flourish.
“That’s why we keep her around,” Susie informed me, strapping a big pink “Birthday Girl” hat on my head. “Her extensive knowledge of etiquette.”
I laughed, dabbing at my eyes. I hadn’t even realized I was crying until the first tear rolled down my cheek. I wiped at it self-consciously.
“Aw, hell, boys, we made her spring a leak,” Abner cursed.
“Thank you, all of you, for this. This is the best birthday party I’ve ever had.”
“Well, that’s plain sad, honey,” Walt said, shaking his head.
I expected the party to break up when the breakfast crowd started filtering in, but the new customers just joined us for doughnuts. It was a little overwhelming, the hugs and well wishes from people I’d known for such a short time. I expected to bristle at the attention, to want to run into the kitchen for some peace and quiet. But I found that I didn’t feel crowded or pressured for a positive reaction. People here just wanted me to be happy, and not on terms carefully prescribed by them.
“Aw, shoot, I missed the surprise.” I turned to see Alan walking through the door with a little blue gift bag.
“Sorry, Mo’s an early riser,” Buzz said. “You have to get out of bed pretty early and all that.”
“If only . . .” Alan shot a dazzling smile my way. I rolled my eyes at the obvious joke. He slipped an arm around my waist and gave me an affectionate squeeze. I waited for the butterflies, but mostly, I felt a warm rush of affection, the same love I felt for Nate or Walt or Abner.
“Evie said no presents, but I wanted to give this to you,” he said, handing me the gift bag.
“That’s very sweet. You really didn’t have to—” I pulled out what looked like a tiny fire extinguisher. “Wow. Alan, I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s bear mace,” he said, proudly showing me the label. “I worry about you, all alone out there at your place. The bears are coming closer and closer into town every year. I want you to carry that at all times. But don’t flip the lid unless you really mean it, because that stuff stings . . . and stains.”
I nodded. “That’s very thoughtful,” I assured him.
“A fella really has to like a girl before he’ll give her pepper spray,” Nate said, winking at me. He could not have been more pleased.
“Do I get to kiss the birthday girl?” Alan asked, leaning close. I could smell Scope on his breath. Obviously, he’d come prepared for this. “They say it’s supposed to be good luck.”
“Says who?” I asked, teasing.
“Well, I’m sure someone says it,” he said, shrugging good-naturedly.
As Alan leaned in, I gave him a friendly peck on the lips. He laughed and gave me another in return, murmuring, “One to grow on.”
My eyes widened as Alan leaned in and brushed his mouth over mine. He definitely knew what he was doing in the kissing department. I felt the warm, soft pulse of his mouth all the way to my toes.
“She’s thirty, you know,” Nate said. “That’s a lot of kissing.”
“I’ve got to get back to work at some point today,” I protested in mock horror as I gave Alan a hug. His returning squeeze was warm and strong, and Lord help me, I couldn’t help but lean right into it. Alan smelled of fresh minty breath and a good woodsy aftershave. I could hear his steady heartbeat against my ear and feel the warmth of his breath against my hair. I felt completely relaxed for the first time in weeks . . . so, of course, that was the moment that Cooper chose to walk through the door.
Over Alan’s shoulder, I saw Cooper take in the streamers, see me straightening out of what looked like a clutch with Alan, and frown. He turned on his heel and walked back out. Despite the quick sting of hurt, I pointedly acted as if I hadn’t seen him.
“You know, I was thinking that you shouldn’t have to cook for yourself on your own birthday,” Alan said, brushing a piece of glitter from my cheek. “I was thinking you should come over to my place tonight after work so I could make you dinner.”
“Well, that’s mighty neighborly of you, Ranger Dahling.”
“Alan makes a mean lasagna,” Nate added with a wink.
“Don’t oversell it, Nate,” Alan warned him. “I’ll have to throw away the Stouffer’s box before she comes over.”
“I’m sure anything you make will be fine,” I told him. “Can I bring anything?”
“Nope, just yourself. And maybe wear the hat. It’s pretty damn cute.”
“I can’t just not bring something for my host. It’s practically against my religion.”
Nate and Alan gave me skeptical looks.
“Southern counts as a religion,” I insisted.
The party eventually broke up when some tourists came in looking for steak and eggs. Susie and Gertie tried to get me to wear my birthday hat all day, saying it would help our health-code rating if my hair was covered. I politely declined.
That afternoon, close to the end of my shift, there was a little white gift box on the bar. Inside was a spherical lump of rock about the size of a baseball. I thought it was a practical joke, until Evie, a wide grin on her
