Page 2 of Claiming Lily

I round the corner into the living room and freeze. Matt’s sprawled in his usual spot on the couch, controller gripped in white-knuckled hands, completely absorbed in whatever war zone is playing out on the seventy-inch TV that was mine before I moved in. Hudson, Cole, and Gage are scattered around the room in various gaming positions.

“Hey, Lily.” Gage glances up first, offering a small wave.

“Oh, hey.” Cole pauses his button mashing. “How was work?”

“Lil! Come get in on this action,” Hudson cajoles, trying to get me to join even though I very much cannot play. “Birthday girl gets first kill!”

“Hell no, she’ll slow us down.” That’s all Matt does to acknowledge my presence. His character is apparently in the middle of some crucial mission that requires his complete and total attention. I stand there for what feels like an eternity, waiting for something. Anything. A “happy birthday,” a surprise, or hell, even basic hello.

And yet, nothing. His friends exchange glances, their eyes flicking between Matt and me. Somehow, they always seem to understand me more than my own boyfriend. How pathetic is that? Tears prick the edges of my eyes, and I blink rapidly to clear them. Dammit. I will not cry in front of these guys. Frankly, I’m a little tired of crying over Matt.

Gage clears his throat loudly. “Uh, Matt, dude . . .”

“Shut up, I’m in the zone.” Matt leans forward, tongue poking out in concentration. “Almost got this fucking checkpoint.”

Cole sets down his controller. “Actually, I think I’m going to head out.”

“Yeah, me too.” Hudson’s already standing. “We have a long day ahead of us.”

Gage follows their lead. “Same here. See you later, man.”

They file past me with apologetic looks. Cole ruffles my hair. I glare at him, but Gage smooths it down and tells me happy birthday before following his friend out of the house. Hudson squeezes my shoulder, casting one last look at his friend with a shake of his head.

“What an idiot,” he murmurs low enough I’m not sure if I was meant to hear it.

The front door clicks shut behind them, leaving me alone with my boyfriend who still hasn’t said hello. His character dies, and he throws the controller on the ground, shooting to his feet and spinning around.

“What the hell, Lily?” Matt’s face twists in annoyance. “They were having a good time, and you just waltzed in here with that fucking look on your face and killed the whole vibe.”

Oh yay. Another outburst with more reasons why I’m the world’s shittiest girlfriend. I cross my arms. “What look?”

“That pissy, judgmental look you always get when I’m hanging out with my friends. They could feel the bitch energy radiating off you.”

Frustration has been simmering in my gut for months. It’s quickly starting to boil now though, anger sharp and hot. It’s all I can do to keep from screaming at him. “Do you even know what day it is?”

“Wednesday?” He’s already turning back to the TV. “Why?” He snatches up his controller and plops down.

Wednesday. Like it’s any other day, like I haven’t been dropping hints for weeks. Maybe it’s selfish, but I want him to celebrate me, to show me that he cares. I keep searching for signs to stay, and I haven’t been able to find any. “It’s my birthday.”

His fingers hesitate on the controller. For a second, I think maybe he’ll apologize, maybe he’ll turn around and make this right. Instead, he pauses the game and sighs like I’m the biggest inconvenience in the world.

“Seriously? You’re going to make a huge deal about this? Why are you acting so crazy?”

The words hit harder than any physical slap ever could. Crazy. For wanting to be remembered. For hoping my own boyfriend might give a damn about the day I was born. For wondering if there’s any reason for me to stay with him.

“Acting crazy? Matt, we’ve been together two years and you can’t remember my birthday?”

“I’ve had a lot on my mind lately with work and⁠—”

“Bullshit.” The word explodes out of me. “You remember every single playoff game, every release date for your precious video games, every time your truck payment is due. But you can’t remember one day that’s important to me?”

Last year I gave him a pass. This year though, he should remember. Especially after I shared that it mattered.

He stands up, towering over me the way he does when he wants to end arguments quickly. “Why do you always do this? Why do you always make everything about you? I work my ass off all day, and I just want to relax with my friends, but you can’t handle that, can you? You never care about my feelings or what I need.”

That is such bullshit. My hands shake and my skin is too hot and tight. I can’t tell if it’s from anger or heartbreak. Either way, my stomach feels like it’s turned inside out. “Your feelings? Matt, when have I ever not supported you? When have I ever asked for anything except basic consideration?”

“You’re being dramatic. It’s a birthday. You’re twenty-nine, not six. Grow up.”