I unzipped my boots, removing them from my aching feet before sinking into the couch in my bedroom. My plane had just landed and my solo tour had officially concluded. I was only somewhat glad to be home though- I was exhausted but I knew the friction that I usually walked into when I arrived. I wasn't surprised that he wasn't here to greet me, that I walked in as if I'd simply been at the supermarket, not on the road for five months.
Normally I wouldn't be surprised at the reaction, but I suppose I had been dwelling on my arrival in my mind because of the date. Today is different. Today is her birthday. Somewhere out there I'm just sure she's surrounded by people who love her, blowing out candles on a birthday cake, sharing stories I may never hear and toasting to another beautiful year of life.
I move to the bed and finish the letter that I was pinning to her on the flight, telling her of how much I love her and how I think of her constantly. My wishes and hopes for her life, both past and future, and my dreams of one day knowing her.
I cap my pen and look at the clock. 7:08pm and I sat here alone. Maybe this year was different. The year that things would change. Every year on her birthday Lindsey had always done something to acknowledge her. A lovely dinner in, a toast to her, a long drive along the coast to get an ice cream sundae- there has always been something. More often than not those gestures had ended in tears, and he had held me as I cried, many times joining in on my sorrow of what we had, and what we lost. After the wedding those gestures became somewhat less grand, but by no means less sincere. A bouquet of daisies or some elegant chocolates delivered with a note attached. But not tonight. I took another sip of my wine and wandered to the balcony, staring at the people of the bustling city below for a while before I returned to my writing, a wide array of thoughts on my mind.
I leaned back on the headboard in my bedroom, my legs covered with a blanket as I journaled.
"Dad?" I heard the footsteps jogging up the stairs from the living room. "Dad where are you?"
"He isn't home," I called out at barely above my normal tone of voice. The boys know that I hate this yelling throughout the house nonsense, but my preference on this matter was often overlooked. "Anything I can help you with," I offered.
Brad shrugged. He looked exactly like a younger version of his father, but their personalities couldn't be any more different. "I wanted to borrow his Porsche. I see its in the garage, can I take it?"
I looked up from my writing. "You know that your dad doesn't let you drive that car. What's wrong with your vehicle?"
"Nothing. I just have a date," he sheepishly grinned. I could immediately tell he was smitten with whomever he was meeting.
"Ah," I now understood. I closed the leather bound journal on my lap, placing it on my nightstand and swinging my legs over the side of the bed to stand up as I walked over to my purse and stood in front of him, suddenly unsure of when he had gotten so tall.
"I'm glad you're home," he offered, almost shyly. "It's been weird around here without you," he gave me a half smirk and reached in for a small hug, a rare gift from a teenage boy.
"Well how about a compromise tonight," I offered, peering over my glasses. "You drive your own car, but treat her to a fancy dinner- and take her some flowers." I handed him my credit card and gave him a wink. "Women love flowers, B, don't forget that. It doesn't matter the situation- be a gentleman."
"Are you just saying that because you got flowers today?"
"Flowers?" I'm sure I wore at least a hint of my confusion on my face.
Brad raised his eyebrows at me. "Yeah, they're downstairs with an envelope. They've been there all day. Dylan answered the door this morning and some delivery person was here to drop them off with a sealed envelope. They're in the kitchen. And since when does Dad call you Stephanie? He must really be in trouble for something," he laughed. "Thanks for they money." He barely missed a beat, walking into the hallway.
I smile crept up the sides of my mouth at the mention of my given name, immediately indicating the contents of the note that I was sure accompanied the bouquet but I tried to contain my emotion as I called down the hall after him while making quick work of getting downstairs to the kitchen. "Home by 11, Bradley David, and don't speed!" I called over my shoulder as I practically bounded down the stairs.
Walking through the living room I flipped on the light, which was met by a groan from the sofa. "Ten more minutes, Dylan, and then you need to turn that thing off. You've been playing those games all day." I was met with no response from the 15 year old who was zoned in on the tv screen.
The arrangement caught my eye as soon as I rounded the corner. It was understated yet beautiful. A handwritten note was perched in a clip in the center of the white roses. I gently removed it and opened the seal, running my thumb over his messy but unmistakable handwriting on the envelope. He hadn't forgotten.
Steph-
It never gets any easier, does it? This day always leaves me well... you know. If I could fix it, I would. If I can do anything for you, I will. But until then, I'll see you both when I close my eyes.
Always,
L
I quickly slipped the note into my pocket and leaned in to smell the fresh arrangement before I sat it on a hallway table, making sure it subtly blended in with the rest of the decor.
I sat down on the living room couch with a sigh, casually running my hand through Dylan's shaggy locks as he concentrated on his video game. "Pizza for dinner, buddy," I questioned.
"Sure," he responded without stopping what he was doing. "Can I have some friends over?"
"That's fine," I told him, glad he would have cheerier company than I at the moment. "Brad has a date and I don't think Landon will be home for the summer until tomorrow."
"Where's dad?"
I sighed.
For the first time that evening he looked away from his video game, staring up at me from his spot on the floor. "Sorry, I didn't mean to bring it up..." his voice trailed off. Even though he was the youngest he was quickly growing into a man and the problems in his father and my relationship were both numerous and obvious.
"Don't apologize, its okay," I offered a soft smile. "I'm not sure where he is, but I'm sure he won't be too much longer."
I wandered upstairs and ordered dinner, the boys tending to themselves most of the night. This day was always difficult for me. I took a long bath and slid into bed, ready for it to be morning. I heard my husband come in that night but neither of us acknowledged the other. I wondered if he was even happy to see me, or if he wished I was still on the road. Somehow I hoped that he was as broken as I, and that maybe we were worth saving, but I had serious doubts that he felt the same way. He drifted off into a routine slumber and I never made a single noise.