Page 7 of Between Now and Forever

“Stop looking at me like that. You jerk,” I snap at James’ bewildered expression and storm out of his office.

“Hey, come back,” he calls after me. When I hear the scrape of his chair and his rapid footsteps behind me, I stop and let him catch up.

“It’s fine, don’t worry.” I say without looking at him when he comes to stand next to me.

He puts a finger under my chin and tips my face up to his. The look of discomfort on his face is a little mollifying, but it’s nothing compared to the sinking sensation of failure that’s starting to overwhelm me. I bite my lip to stop it from trembling and try to smile.

It’s a feeble effort and his discomfort takes on a pained air, and I wish I had wings to carry me away. I turn my head so that my chin is free of his hold and look at the floor to hide my disappointment and worry.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry. You were just being honest.” I say in what I hope is a light voice.

“I’m sorry. You look great. It’s just…why are you wearing a wig?”

I duck and weave away from him.

“I’m going out; I wanted to look pretty.”

“You do. You look pretty.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself, as well as me.

I groan and lean my head back against the wall.

“I saw your face when I walked in. I look stupid. I’m not fooling anyone. I should change.” I hate the self-pitying tone of my voice, but I can’t help it. I turn to go back up the stairs, a bleak despair wrapping itself around my heart as I try to think of what excuse I can give Duke.

He grabs my shoulder and stops me from leaving.

“Stop that. Pink looks good on you. It’s just…not like you to be so worried about how you look.” He looks suspiciously at me. He touches the blonde hair that’s spilling in cascading waves over my shoulder.

I step out of his reach and tuck a lock of hair behind my ear.

“I told you, I’m going—"

“You covered your birthmark?” He peers at my face, his expression now concerned.

My hand reflexively comes to my left cheek.

“I’m already nervous. Stop looking at me.”

“What are you nervous about? I thought you were going to hang with some girls from school.”

“I am. It’s just I haven’t been to a party like this, I just wanted to look, you know—nice.” I lie.

He cups my cheeks and smiles down at me, his expression growing tender and understanding.

“Well, you look much more than nice. So, mission accomplished.” He presses a kiss to the top of my head and lets me go. He looks back at his desk.

“They’re going to be here any minute. It’s okay for me to go, right?”

“Of course. I can tell it’s really important to you. Have fun. I’ve got a pile of work to get through, and tomorrow I’m taking my favorite sister somewhere special for her birthday.” He waggles his eyebrows and grins.

My woes are forgotten at his pronouncement which feels more like a threat than anything else.

Ihatemy birthday. I was born on Friday the 13thand it’s always felt like bad luck.

It was on my seventh birthday that my mother left. It was on my tenth that my father proposed to Fiona. And it was on my fifteenth that we discovered that my brother Phillip had disappeared without a trace. Those are just the major things. If I counted the disastrous birthday parties where no one showed up, or the birthdays where only my brother remembered the day, the law of averages would agree that it’s a day best left unobserved. Attempts to celebrate always end in disaster.

“I don’t want to do anything, I told you,” I plead in a voice I use when I need him to say yes. It doesn’t work.

“You can’t deny a big brother the right to spoil his sister,” he says stubbornly.

---