On my calendar birthday, Ted had to work. So I had early-bird dinner and ice cream with Pete at Chelsea Market. And my cousins around the corner made me cupcakes.
Simon called, not just to tell me happy birthday, of course, but to say he was in town. He said he’d let me know what he was up to later, but his never calling back meant I didn’t have to come up with any excuses not to see him. (Though he does have keys to my apartment I should give to my cousins around the corner.)
The next day I got to celebrate with my boy. We went to a crepe place that looks like a house but is in the city and we ate a lot of cheese and he gave me an eight-inch Henckels Professional S Chef’s knife, which might prove that he knows me better than any boy I’ve ever dated before (to whom I would like to say, yes, I really did want a lamp for Christmas).
And while we were dancing on the subway platform, I looked at my phone and had a message from that boy, the one I went to the movies with.
The movies were fine, except for the part where I mentioned “Ted and his brother and his girlfriend.”
“I thought you were his girlfriend.”
“His brother’s girlfriend.”
And the text said: Do you want to go to Lima with me in February?
And I ignored it and went home with Ted to watch tv and cuddle and warm up cookies in the oven and eat his ice cream.
Isn’t the best birthday present of all only having to deal with one boy’s crazy?