May's gift was practical, a high-quality set of drafting tools I'd been eyeing for months but couldn't justify buying. "For when you finally admit you want to design engines, not just fix them." she said with a knowing smirk.
The second gift was from Jen, passed along through May, a vintage Metallica t-shirt that made me grin despite myself. "She said you've been borrowing hers too often."
May explained to me.
The last and smallest package was from Sam. She watched nervously as I unwrapped it, her fingers fidgeting with her napkin.
Inside was a small leather-bound journal with a simple lock, the kind that could be secured with a tiny key on a chain.
"For your poetry." she said softly. "So you don't have to hide it in work notebooks anymore."
I stared at the journal, running my fingers over the smooth leather. It was perfect, private, portable, something I could keep safe from prying eyes like Damien's. The fact that she'd thought about what I needed, what would matter to me, made my chest ache in a way I wasn't used to.
"There's more." Sam added, reaching into her purse and pulling out a small envelope. Inside was a gift certificate for studio time at Soundwave, the recording place downtown.
"What's this for?" I asked, confused.
"To record your poems" she explained, suddenly looking uncertain. "I thought... maybe you could read them, set them to music or something. You've got a good voice, Raf."
The idea was so unexpected, so unlike anything I would have considered for myself, that I didn't know how to respond. Samm had always seen possibilities in me that I couldn't see.. potential buried beneath years of practiced indifference.
"Thank you," I said finally, the words inadequate for what I was feeling. "Both of you. This is... more than I deserve."
"Nonsense," May said firmly. "It's exactly what you deserve."
After dinner, May conveniently remembered an "emergency" at the bakery, leaving Sam and me to walk home in the light drizzle that had replaced the earlier downpour. We shared her umbrella, shoulders touching as we navigated wet sidewalks.
"There's one more surprise," Sam admitted as we neared my house. "But it's at your place."
I raised an eyebrow. "Should I be worried?"
"Maybe," she replied with a mysterious smile that made my stomach flip.
The "surprise" turned out to be a small chocolate cake waiting on my kitchen counter, decorated with a single candle and "Happy Birthday Shade" written in blue icing.
"May made it this morning," Sam explained, setting down her purse and moving to light the candle. "I smuggled it in while you were at work."
"You broke into my house to deliver cake?" I asked, amused and strangely moved by the effort.
"Please. I've known where you hide the spare key since we were twelve." She gestured to the candle, now flickering in the dim kitchen. "Make a wish."
I hesitated, feeling ridiculous but unwilling to disappoint her. Closing my eyes, I tried to think of something to wish for.
What DID I want? My father's attention? Some direction for my future?
As I opened my eyes and looked at Sam, her face illuminated by the soft candlelight, one wish crystallized with sudden clarity.
More time. More moments like this....with her.
I blew out the candle, watching the smoke curl upward into darkness.
"What did you wish for?" Sam asked, cutting generous slices of cake.
"Can't tell you or it won't come true," I replied, falling back on childhood superstition to avoid the truth.
We ate cake leaning against the kitchen counter, the house quiet around us. Sam told me about a customer who'd ordered a complicated birthday cake then tried to pay in homemade jam, and I shared the story of a car I'd fixed that day that had a family of mice living in the air filter.
"I should probably head home," Sam said eventually, glancing at her watch. "May will worry if I'm out too late."
I nodded, trying to hide my disappointment. "I'll walk you."
"In the rain? Don't be stupid. I'll call May."
"I don't mind," I insisted. The truth was, I wasn't ready for the night to end, wasn't ready to be alone in the empty house with only my thoughts for company.
Sam studied my face, then nodded as if she understood something I hadn't said. "Okay. Let me text her."
We washed the cake plates in comfortable silence, working together with the easy familiarity of years of friendship. As Sam dried the last fork, she glanced around the kitchen.
"Your dad didn't call, did he?" she asked quietly.
I shrugged, aiming for casual. "He called. Tokyo business. The usual."
Her expression softened with a sympathy that would have irritated me from anyone else. "He's an idiot, you know."
"For being successful?" I countered, defensive despite myself.
"For not seeing what he's missing," she said simply. "For not knowing his son."
Something in her voice made me look at her, really look at her. She was watching me with an intensity that made my heart rate pick up, her eyes reflecting a depth of feeling I was afraid to name.
"It's fine." I said automatically. "I'm used to it."
"That doesn't make it okay." She moved closer, resting her hand on my arm. "You deserve better, Raf."