“What? Why not? They’re comfortable, and as long as my ass is covered by a long sweater like this one,” I said, pulling my striped gray shirt down a little lower, “there’s nothing to worry about.”
Amanda’s expression remained incredulous. “Uh-huh. Hey, speaking of you turning twenty-nine, what did Mr. Wonderful get you? I never even asked. Wait let me guess,” Amanda said, squinting her eyes together as she plopped herself on the bed pretending to be deep in thought. “I know it’s gotta be good. An all-expense paid trip to some tropical island where everyone’s beautiful and the orange juice is made each morning from freshly squeezed fruit off the trees near your private villa?"
I stared at her blankly.
“No? Huh. I thought I had it. Okay, let me try again.” She thought for a few more seconds before answering. “A diamond-studded unicorn.”
“Seriously?”
“Okay, those are all of the imaginary gifts I can think of right now, so why don’t you just tell me what he gave you.”
I turned around and kept my eyes glued to the mirror as I put in earrings, refusing to look at her. “Nothing.”
“Don’t tell me you told him not to get you anything. That’s a waste of a good boyfriend, Lily.”
“I didn’t tell him not to,” I said simply. “He just didn’t.”
In the reflection of the mirror, I could see a wave of confusion sweep over Amanda’s face before she spoke again. “Wait, what? Adam Carter forgot your birthday? What kind of boyfriend does that?”
“The kind who doesn’t know when it is.”
“What do you mean ‘doesn’t know when it is'? He knew when it was last year. You practically kicked me out of the house so he could have dinner with your parents.”
“Well, a lot’s happened since last year, Amanda.”
“A lot’s happened? Like what? You stopped aging? A person’s birthday is vital information. If he didn’t remember it, he should’ve asked.”
I let out a long sigh, hoping that would show her how much I did not want to talk about this right now. “It’s not that big a deal.”
“Yeah? When’s his birthday?”
May 22nd. And though I didn't say this out loud, my silence told her I knew the answer.
“Uh-huh, I rest my case. You absolutely know when his is. And what’s more, I bet you remembered it without having to ask him again. I don’t know why you’re acting like this doesn’t matter. This is a huge—”
“I’m acting like it doesn’t matter because it doesn’t. It’s just one day.” I could hear how defensive I sounded, but for some reason I felt it necessary to come to Adam’s rescue. Everyone forgot birthdays and holidays at one point or another, and when I forgot his birthday or our anniversary years from now, I didn’t want to be chastised for it. “And you’re not gonna act like it matters either. He doesn’t even realize he forgot it, and he’ll feel awful if he knows.”
Amanda’s face softened slightly, and she backed down. “Okay, okay, I’ll be nice. I promise not to say anything,” she huffed. “Now finish your drink and put on some pants so we can go.”
I looked down at my tights again. “Should I change? Really?”
“Nah, I’m just fuckin’ with you. You look great. And I’m sure Adam will think so too,” she said, plastering an overly exaggerated smile on her face. “Let’s get going. It’s time to go eat some dry salad and oats or whatever appetizing delicacy Shane has prepared for us this evening.”
***
By the time we arrived at Shane’s a little after 6:30, I was famished. I hadn’t eaten anything since lunch, which had been around 9:30 because of the amended testing schedule. And I’d barely eaten anything because it had been so early. Now, with two margaritas and little else in my stomach, I desperately needed food.
“Do you have any rolls or something, Shane? I feel like I need something in my stomach.”
“Rolls?” Amanda’s voice deepened, clearly trying to imitate Shane. “What do you think this is? Bertucci’s? We don’t eat empty carbs in this house,” she said sternly.
“Yeah, that sounds just like me.” Shane rolled his eyes and poked Amanda in the stomach, making her squeal like a child. “How’s this, Lil? Flatbread okay?” Shane handed me a plate with some hard, grainy breads.
“That’s great, Shane. Thanks. What are these?” I asked, pointing to a few of the homemade spreads.
“This one’s a bleu cheese and fig glaze and the other’s roasted peppers with chopped kalamata olives and sage.”
“Are you speaking English right now?” Amanda chimed in. “What happened to butter? Or oil and spices? The only fig I eat is in a Newton.”
Refusing to give Amanda the satisfaction of seeing his expression, he kept his back to her and continued to chop some vegetables. “Yeah, well I don’t eat cookies, dear, remember?” he said, emphasizing the term of endearment. “So I gotta get my fig from other sources.”
“It’s not a cookie. It’s a cake, Shane. Haven’t you heard the commercial?”