Sweet Caroline

#36 Making love

"It's that bad?" he asks, squeezing gently.

I take a deep breath and decide to just get on with it. It's not like I've never told anyone. My family knows, but that's because they were there when I was born, when it happened. And previous boyfriends know – Jordan, Dshawn, Danny... Shaughna knows, of course. And she does respect the fact that I never feel like celebrating. She usually takes me out dancing the week after, but she never mentions my birthday when she invites me. She's pretty much the only one who never congratulates me.

"I almost killed my mother," I say, the words burning in my mouth as I spit them out. "When I was born, she almost died. And it took her months to get better. So excuse me for not feeling like celebrating that day." I'm sounding rude and mean, but I don't care.

Nathan doesn't say anything. He just grabs me and pulls me into his lap, his arms encircling me so I feel safe and warm against him. For a while, we just sit like that and it feels nice. There's nothing he could say to make me feel better anyway. No one ever knows what to say. Of course I know that I didn't actually try to kill my mother. I was a baby. I know that. And my parents didn't tell me about it, my aunt did. By accident. I overheard my dad and aunt talking about it when I was 12 and I've refused to celebrate my birthday ever since. Mom and Dad have both told me numerous times that it wasn't my fault, that they are happy they had me, that even if she had died they still wouldn't want to change anything, that having me made their lives worth living. All that sweet crap parents say. All my previous boyfriends tried to help me get over it by throwing me a surprise party or buying me ridiculously expensive gifts or whatever. Nothing ever works.

Nathan's hug doesn't change anything either, but it's nice to be held like this. I like this better than any words he could have used.

"I'm dropping off Rose at Elise's Wednesday after school," Nathan says softly, pulling back so he can look at me. "And I'm spending every single minute with you after you get back from work."

"No, you're not." Just when I think he gets it, he ruins it. "That would be doing something special and I don't want my birthday to be any different than any other day."

"I won't buy you anything," he promises, his fingers moving through my hair, twirling a strand around his index finger. "And I won't even mention your birthday. Just let me be there. Not as a gift to you, but as a gift to me. I'm quite happy you were born twenty-five years ago."

"Fine," I grunt. He's not going to let this go and I really don't feel like arguing. I know that if the roles were reversed, I would want to be there for him too. "Just don't expect me to be my usually bubbly self."

"Bubbly?" He chuckles. "You think you're bubbly? Oh, Caroline Belinda Elisabeth Collins, you're a miserable person to be around even on your best days."

I grin and lean in to kiss him, happy that he's not asking questions about this. Maybe I'll tell him everything one day. About overhearing the conversation on my twelfth birthday, about crying myself to sleep for weeks, feeling guilty and sad. About the conversations with my parents. About Mom and Dad fighting when Mom found out that it had been Dad who had accidentally told me. Not now though. Not so close to my birthday. Not when I can just kiss him and forget about all of it for a brief moment.

Nathan pulls back after a while, his eyes dark and stormy. "If you're gonna kiss me like that, your clothes won't be on much longer."

"Good," I reply, already unbuttoning his shirt. "The stew won't be ready to eat for another hour, so we have some time to kill anyways."

"An hour?" he complains lightheartedly. "I'm hungry now!"

I grin and wink at him, feeling bold. "I could give you something else to eat, to tide you over..."