The next text…
–Asshole: Wish I were there to wish you a happy birthday in person. But our attorney should be in touch with you about the gift.
Oops. I should change the name back to Eugene. If he’s saying our attorney’s going to get in touch, it’s definitely real estate. Again, in some complex trust that I won’t be able to liquidate at will. But land appreciates, and I like getting appreciable assets from my family on my birthdays.
–Me: Thanks!
Then a final text… It arrived about an hour ago.
–Declan: Happy birthday! I’m in a meeting right now with a director, but I’ll be there soon!
A meeting? This wasn’t on his calendar. Also, how soon is “soon”? It’s been over an hour. Part of me wonders if he has to have the meeting right now. Another part of me wonders if the meeting was scheduled to end by six but is running late. That’s totally possible.
Whatever. It doesn’t matter as long as he gets here. He helped plan the party, so there’s no way he’ll miss it.
“What’s wrong?” Mom asks.
I jerk my head up. “Huh?”
“You’re frowning.”
“Oh. No, just checking something.”
“Did your dad and Eugene send presents?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I told them maybe you need something to make yourself a bit more financially solid. We simply can’t have another ‘Yuna needs to get a job’ situation.”
I think she’s less upset about me working than me meeting a man she doesn’t approve of while working. She’s trying to control my life as much as possible because she wants to ensure I don’t make mistakes or get hurt, but she needs to understand she can’t control my feelings.
“Where’s Declan?” Mom asks. “He knows it’s your birthday, doesn’t he?”
I sense a slight undertone of disapproval. She’s likely thinking about what I said about things I want from my man, and she’s judging Declan.
“He said he’ll be here soon,” I say confidently. He isn’t like the dossier men or Eugene, who live like their sole purpose in life is to work until they drop.
“I hope so. The party won’t go on forever.”
Dinner and dancing and chatting ensue. But Declan doesn’t show. And no text or call. But he said he’d be here, so…
Eventually, I can delay the cake no longer. A birthday party without a cake is like an orchestra without a conductor. I signal to Ivy we should go ahead with it.
Bobbi brings out the cake. It’s a three-tier pink buttercream and fondant piece of art. Each tier has a different theme—friendship, music and love. On the top is a group of modeling chocolate figurines representing each of my friends, Mom and Declan, all with their arms spread. They’re arranged in a half-circle around a swirly “Happy Birthday, Yuna!” in deep purple.
It’s stunning, and part of me is touched at the effort and thought that went into the design of the cake, but another part is unhappy that Declan isn’t here in person. Just in effigy, on the top of the cake as a modeling chocolate figurine.
Well. He said he’d be here soon, so I’m sure he’ll show up. The party isn’t over yet. There might’ve been an accident or something. And this is L.A. It’s not like traffic isn’t a factor.
Candles are lit, and a chorus of “Happy Birthday” goes up. I smile. My friends did an amazing job, and I don’t want to ruin the moment by showing that I’m upset about Declan’s absence.
“Make a wish!” Ivy says.
I blow out the candles, but all I can think about is that Declan’s still not here, and I shouldn’t be wasting my birthday wish on Declan being here because he should’ve been here on his own.
If I was really important to him, he would be here.
“I hope you wished for something awesome, because you deserve it,” Tony says with a smile.