Something Blue

I nestled into the crevice between his arm and body and made some more needy sounds as I surveyed his clock. Seven thirty-three. The alarm was set for seven forty-five. I had twelve minutes before he officially wished me a happy birthday. I closed my eyes and wondered what Rachel and Dex were doing at that moment-and more important, what they were going to do about my birthday. This was their last chance, I had ranted to my mother and Marcus the night before. I wasn't quite sure what I expected or wanted them to do- but a phone call or e-mail seemed a step in the right direction.

Surely Rachel and Dex had discussed the issue in recent days. My guess was that Dex voted to leave me alone, Rachel to call. 'I've been celebrating her birthday for over twenty-five years,' she would say to Dex. 'I just can't blow this day off. I have to call her.' I could hear Dex saying back, 'It's for the best. I know it's hard, but no good can come of it.' How long had they debated the point? Perhaps it had escalated into an argument, maybe even a permanent rift. Unfortunately, neither Dex nor Rachel was particularly stubborn or argumentative. Since they were both pleasers by nature, I was sure that they had a calm, reasoned conversation and came to a unanimous conclusion about how to approach the anniversary of my birth.

One thing I did know for sure was this: if Dex and Rachel did not wish me a happy birthday in some form, there would be no redemption. Ever. My hatred for them was growing faster than the fruit flies had multiplied in our peanut butter jars in biology class sophomore year. I tried to remember what that experiment sought to prove, vaguely recalling something about eye color. Red eyes versus green eyes. I forgot the details. With Rachel as a lab partner, I hadn't needed to pay too much attention. She had done all the work. I suddenly wondered what color eyes my baby would have. I hoped for blue, or at least green like mine. Everyone knows blue eyes are prettier, at least on a girl, which is why there were so many songs about brown-eyed girls, to make them feel better. I listened to Marcus snore as I played with a tuft of hair on his chest. He had just the right amount.

'Hmm,' he said, pulling me on top of him.

Having just puked fajitas, I wasn't in the mood for sex, but I caved. It seemed as good a way as any to begin my thirtieth birthday. So after a quick, perfunctory round, I waited for him to open his eyes and wish me a happy birthday. Tell me that he loved me. Reassure me that thirty wasn't old and that I had at least six good years left before I would need to think about plastic surgery. Ten, fifteen, twenty seconds passed with still no words from my boyfriend.

'Did you fall back asleep?' I demanded.

'No. I'm awake…' he mumbled, his eyelids fluttering.

The alarm clock sounded in a series of increasingly louder, high-pitched beeps. Marcus reached over and silenced his clock with a slap. I waited, feeling like Molly Ringwald in Sixteen Candles when her whole family forgot her birthday. Sure, it had only been a few minutes, whereas Molly's character had to endure a whole day of neglect, but after all I'd been through in recent weeks, all of the trauma and pain, those minutes felt like hours. It was bad enough that I had to turn thirty on a Monday and that I had to puke twice. But now the father of my child couldn't even muster a tiny, heartfelt 'happy birthday' on the heels of gratuitous sex.

'I'm sick,' I said, trying another angle for attention. 'Morning sickness. I threw up twice.'

He rolled over, his back toward me. 'You feel better now?' he asked, his voice muffled under his comforter.

'No,' I said. 'Worse.'

'Mmmmmm. I'm sorry, sweetheart,' he said.

I sighed loudly and said in my most sardonic tone, 'Happy birthday to me.'

I expected his eyes to snap open, an immediate apology to spring from his lips. But he only mumbled again, still facedown in his pillow, 'Happy birthday, Darce. I was getting to that.'

'The hell you were. You totally forgot!'

'I didn't forget… I just gave you your present,' he said. I couldn't see his face but knew he was smirking.

I told him I wasn't amused and then announced that I was going to take a shower. 'By all means,' I said, 'you just stay in bed and relax.'

Marcus tried to redeem himself after I had showered, but he didn't have much ammunition. It was clear he had not yet bought me a card or a present. Nor had he purchased my Pillsbury sticky cinnamon buns and pink candles even though I had told him that this was my family tradition, a tradition that Dex had continued over the past seven years. Instead, Marcus only offered me a few sweeties and babies, along with a pack of saltines from his delivery from the diner the night before. 'Here,' he said. 'In case you start to feel morning sickness again. I heard once that these do the trick.'

I wondered where he had heard that before. Had he ever gotten another girl pregnant? I decided to broach the topic later and snatched the crackers from his outstretched hand, saying, 'You're way too good to me. Really, Marcus, you have to tone this down. I can't handle all the over-the-top gestures.'

'Oh, relax. I got you covered, Darce. You'll get your present tonight,' Marcus said as he sauntered naked toward the bathroom. 'Now go play nice with the other kids.'

'Buh-bye,' I said, as I slipped on my favorite Marc Jacobs pumps and walked toward the door. 'Have fun shopping for my gift!'

'What makes you think I don't have it already?' he said.

'Because I know you, Mr. Last Minute… and I mean it, Marcus. I want something good. Think Fifty-seventh Street!'

When I got to work, Claire was waiting in my office with yellow roses and what appeared to be a professionally wrapped gift. 'Happy birthday, hon!' she trilled.

'You remembered!' I said. 'What gorgeous roses!'

'Of course I remembered, silly,' she said, placing the fishbowl vase of flowers on my desk. 'So how do you feel today?'

I looked at her, worried that she could tell I had morning sickness. 'Fine. Why?'

'Just wondering if it feels any different being thirty?' she whispered. Claire was still twenty-eight for another few weeks, in the safety zone, buffered by twenty-nine.

'A little,' I said. 'Not too bad, though.'

'Well, when you look as good as you do, what's a little thing called age?' Claire said. She had been full of compliments since my breakup with Dex. I enjoyed them, of course, but sometimes I had the sense that they verged on pity remarks. She continued, 'You could easily still pass for twenty-seven.'

'Thanks,' I said, wanting to believe her.

Claire smiled sweetly as she handed me my gift. 'Here! Open! Open!'

'I thought you were going to make me wait until lunch!' I said, eagerly eyeing the present. Claire had excellent taste and never skimped in the gifting department. I ripped open the paper and saw a satisfying, red Baccarat box. I lifted the hinged lid and peered down at the chunky green crystal heart threaded with a black silk cord.

'Claire! I love it! I love it!'

'You do? Really? I have a gift receipt if you want to get a different color. The purple one was really pretty, too, but I thought this one would look nice with your eyes…'

'No way! This is perfect!' I said, thinking that Rachel probably would have picked some boring limited edition book. 'You're the best.' I hugged her, silently taking back every mean thing I had ever thought about her, every petty criticism. Like how annoying and clingy she got after too many drinks, always needing to accompany me to the bathroom at bars. How she bragged about her hometown of Greenwich and her debutante days. And how she stayed so hopelessly lumpy despite daily visits to the gym. What was she doing, I used to ask Rachel, eating Ho Hos in the locker room?

'The green matches your eyes,' Claire said again, beaming.

'I love it,' I said, as I admired the necklace from my compact mirror. The heart fell at just the right spot, accentuating my thin collarbone.

Claire took me to lunch later that day. I kept my cell phone on, just in case Dex or Rachel decided that lunchtime was the appropriate time to phone, apologize profusely, beg for my forgiveness, and wish me a happy birthday. It rang five different times, and every time I'd say to Claire, 'Do you mind?' and she'd wave her hand and say, 'Of course not. Go on.'