Page 35 of The Pact
I look over at her. “One of the best I’ve ever had.”
Her face softens. “Good. I’m glad.”
“Other than the insulting cake and Aston’s T-shirt, it truly was perfect.”
“Oh, come on. You know they were both funny.”
I tilt my head back and forth. “Yeah, maybe.”
We both laugh.
“The movie was awesome. Thank you for doing that.”
“I thought so too. And you’re welcome.”
“You remember small details that only a long-term friendship can know.”
She glances at me, then forward again. “Yeah, I remember everything.”
That’s the problem. So do I.
I remember my twenty-first birthday in college, her sitting on the hood of my car while I sobered up. She stole half my fries and brought me water.
I remember my twenty-second birthday, when I was in another city for training and she mailed me a handwritten card with a joke so dumb that I kept it in my drawer for three years. Unfortunately, it got lost in one of my moves.
For my twenty-third, she bought us tickets to see Garth Brooks live. We sang at the top of our lungs and couldn’t talk for days after.
At twenty-five, she called me at midnight because she said birthdays needed to start with someone you cared about.
Then, when I turned twenty-eight, we ate takeout on her living room floor, and she stuck a candle in a carton of lo mein because she’d forgotten to get a cake.
The pact hangs between us like a secret.
But now, here we are. Thirty.
She opens the building door, and we catch the elevator before the doors close.
“You didn’t have to walk me up. Seriously.”
“I know I didn’t have to. I like knowing you’re in your space safely.”
Her smile is small. “So stubborn and protective.”
“With you, always.” I wink.
We exit the elevator, and when we reach her door, she takes out her keys.
Sometimes I hate how much I want to touch her.
“Hey.” I place a hand on her shoulder. “Thank you.”
“I’m happy to do it. You’re my best friend.” She shrugs. “And you deserve to be celebrated.”
I clear my throat. “You’ve been here for a lot of birthdays.”
She smiles softly. “And so have you with me.”
“Twenty-one, you stole my fries.”
