Chapter 22: Happy Birthday
The Toyota Corolla smelled like artificial pine and new upholstery. Tessa adjusted her grip on the steering wheel, her palms slightly damp. It felt foreign, this control, this bubble of quiet metal moving under her own direction.
“So, how do you like it?” she asked, glancing at Landon in the passenger seat.
He ran a hand along the dashboard, his fingers tracing the clean lines of the air vents. “You know, it’s very… Tessa.” He smiled, a genuine, easy expression that softened the careful concern he’d carried since she picked him up.
“I will take that as a compliment.” She signaled, turning onto the road that wound through campus. The engine was quieter than she expected.
“I’m right up there,” Landon said, pointing to his own sensible sedan.
She parallel parked with more confidence than she felt, slotting the blue Corolla neatly next to his. The engine cut out, leaving a sudden silence filled only with the tick of cooling metal and the distant shouts of a frisbee game on the quad.
“How is Dakota?” Tessa asked, unbuckling her seatbelt.
Landon didn’t answer immediately. He was looking at his phone, his brow furrowed in concentration. “No, I’m actually looking at your birthday horoscope,” he said, his tone shifting into one of mock-seriousness. “So, first off, you share a birthday with Joseph Stalin.”
She nodded, a wry twist to her mouth. “Great.”
“You are a proud, idealistic person,” he continued, scrolling.
“Like Stalin,” she deadpanned.
He nodded, a grin breaking through. “Exactly.” He cleared his throat, adopting a more formal tone as he read from the screen. “You are more emotional than is obvious. You may solidify a romantic relationship or become involved with a mature partner.”
Landon turned off his phone with a click. “Mature. That doesn’t really sound like—” he began, his voice trailing off.
“No, it doesn’t,” Tessa cut him off, her tone final. She stared out the windshield at the autumn leaves skittering across the parking lot.
A comfortable, heavy silence settled between them, filled with all the things they weren’t saying. Landon tapped his fingers on his knee, the sound soft in the quiet car.
“He left for London,” Landon said finally, voicing the unspoken subject. “Have you heard from him?”
“I haven’t,” Tessa answered, her voice flat. “Because I blocked him.” She said it like she was stating a simple fact, the weather, a grocery list item.
Landon nodded slowly, absorbing this. “That’ll work,” he said, unbuckling his seatbelt. The metallic click was loud.
He opened the door, letting in a rush of crisp air. “Bye, Tessa.” He gave her a small, supportive smile before stepping out.
“Bye,” she said, the word barely a breath.
She watched him walk to his car, his shoulders hunched against the wind. She waited until his tail lights disappeared around the bend before starting her own engine. The pine-scented air of the new car suddenly felt stifling, plastic.
She didn’t drive home. Her hands moved on their own, navigating the familiar turns toward a part of town she’d avoided for weeks. The buildings grew more worn, the streets narrower.
She pulled up to the curb outside the brick apartment complex. Her heart hammered against her ribs. The windows of their old unit were dark.
She used her key. It still worked. The lock turned with a reluctant groan.
Tessa pushed the door open and closed it softly behind her. The smell hit her first—old whiskey, and beneath it, the faint, haunting trace of his cologne. She leaned back against the door, her eyes adjusting to the gloom.
Clothes were strewn across the floor, a familiar pair of his black jeans tangled with one of her sweatshirts. Empty bottles of whiskey stood sentinel on the coffee table, gathering dust.
She walked further in, a small, unexpected smile touching her lips as a memory surfaced. It was the first time he’d shown her this place. His eyes had been on her eyes, watching her face for a reaction. Then he’d uncovered them, showing her the view, claiming this space would be theirs.
The memory was a sharp, sweet ache. She moved through the living room, her fingers brushing the back of the worn couch where they’d spent so many nights.
She headed into the bedroom. The disarray was more intense here, sheets half-pulled from the mattress, pillows on the floor.
Tessa pulled the rumpled sheet back and sat on the edge of the bed. The springs groaned the same way they always had. She reached for the first piece of fabric she saw, a worn gray t-shirt tossed near the footboard.
She brought it to her face, closing her eyes, and inhaled deeply. The scent was him, pure and concentrated—fabric softener, sweat, and that specific, woodsy smell of his skin. It unraveled something tight in her chest.
As she lowered the shirt, something else caught her eye.
She placed the shirt gently beside her, its scent still clinging to her hands.
A square of brown paper peeked from under the bed’s metal frame, partly hidden by a fallen pillow.
She picked up the package wrapped in brown paper. She turned it over. Her name was written in his handwriting on the front.
Her thumb found the edge of the tape. She peeled it off, the sound a dry rip in the silent room. She unwrapped it, revealing a sleek, black Kindle. A small, folded piece of brown paper rested on the screen.
She placed the Kindle down on the mattress and grabbed the paper, opening it. All your favourite books in one place, it said.
She smiled, closing the note. A single breath escaped her, half-laugh, half-sob. She grabbed the Kindle again, her finger swiping to wake it. The screen flared to life, and Wuthering Heights popped up on the screen.
A flashback hit her. Them sitting in the library that night, him reading that book aloud while she lay against his chest. His voice had been low, tracing the bleak, passionate lines as his free hand absently combed through her hair.
She put the Kindle in her lap and put her face in her hands. The tears came silently, a hot pressure behind her eyes finally giving way. She cried for the boy who read to her in the dark and the man who knew exactly which book would break her heart all over again.
After a minute, she brushed her hair back from her wet face. She swiped at her cheeks with the heels of her hands.
She got up. The motion was decisive, almost violent. She began tidying the house inch by inch, gathering the empty bottles, the discarded takeout containers, the books left splayed open on the floor. She returned each to its rightful place on the shelves.
She grabbed his shirts from the chair, from the floor, from the back of the door. She folded them with sharp, precise creases, stacking the soft cotton into a neat pile. She carried them to the small table and placed them in the empty washing basket there.
She looked out the window at the deepening twilight, her hands resting on the cold plastic of the basket. The room felt heavier, quieter, now that the chaos was contained.
The door opened
Tessa turned, seeing Hardin. She turned quickly and walked into the room, hiding behind the door. Her heart hammered against her sternum, a frantic bird trapped in the cage of her ribs.
She heard him come in with someone. The shuffle of footsteps, the thud of a suitcase being set down. “Well, here we are,” Hardin’s voice filled the space, tired and unfamiliar in its forced cheer. “Uhh, I could run you a bath if you like. You’d get more comfortable.”
She was listening behind the door, her forehead pressed against the cool wood. Then she heard a lady’s voice. “I would love that.” The voice was warm, melodic, with an accent Tessa couldn’t quite place.
She turned her head, listening. “I remember when you and I used to take baths together,” the woman said, a smile audible in her words.
She turns from behind the door, her hands on the door frame. Hardin turns around. The woman looks at her.
“Oh, my Goddess. Tessa.” The woman’s eyes widened, a hand flying to her chest. She was beautiful, with Hardin’s ocean-blue eyes and a cascade of silver-streaked brown hair.
“Tessa.” Hardin said, shocked. His face was a mask of pure, unguarded astonishment. He looked from her to the woman, his mouth slightly open.
“Hardin’s mother.” Tessa said, the pieces slotting together with a quiet, profound click. She walked over to her, a social reflex taking over. “Hardin said you were gonna be out of town. I didn’t think I was gonna meet you.” She said, hugging Tessa. The embrace was firm, scented with lavender and travel.
“Yeah.” Tessa said, the word thin as she looked at Hardin over his mother’s shoulder. His expression had tightened, the shock morphing into something more guarded.
They broke away. “I cannot believe how pretty you are.” She said, looking at Tessa with an appraising, delighted intensity. She turned around to face Hardin, gesturing broadly. “I mean, Hardin said you were the most beautiful girl in the world, but honestly, I thought you were gonna be covered in tattoos, green hair, and a piercing on your bean”. She said, laughter bubbling in her voice.
“What bean?” Tessa said, confused.
“Mom.” Hardin said, shaking his head. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
She waved a hand at him. “Don’t be so melodramatic, Hardin. You and I are gone be the best of friends.” She turned her warm gaze back to Tessa. “Do you mind if I use the loo?”
“Yeah, of course,” Tessa said, pointing into the bedroom. “Just through there.”
The moment the bathroom door clicked shut, the air solidified. Hardin crossed the space in three long strides. “Why are you here?” he asked, his voice a low, charged whisper.
Tessa took a step back, her shoulders hitting the wall. The scent of his skin on the shirt she’d buried her face in still lingered in her nose, a cruel contrast. “I came to get the rest of my stuff. You were supposed to be in London.”
“I know.” He ran a hand through his messy hair, the tattoos on his forearm twisting. “I didn’t want to go without you, so she came here.”
Tessa glanced at the closed bathroom door, then back to him, her whisper tightening. “Why didn’t you tell her that we broke up?”
“She was so excited when I told her first.” He leaned closer, his words rushed. “I couldn’t ruin it for her.”
“Hardin.” It was a whisper-yell, strained through her teeth, full of every unresolved thing between them.
“She’s my mom,” he pleaded, his own voice cracking under the pressure. “I couldn’t tell her about the stupid bet, okay? I’m sorry. I don’t expect you to pretend we’re still together.” He dragged his hands through his hair again, leaving it standing in distressed spikes.
She looked at him, at the genuine panic in his blue eyes, at the weary slope of his shoulders. She thought of the Kindle, of Wuthering Heights on the screen, of the impossible, perfect weight of his love and his failures. “It’s fine.”
“What’s fine?” He stared, not daring to hope.
“I said it’s fine. I’ll play along.” The words felt heavy, foreign on her tongue.
Relief washed over his features, so potent it was almost painful to witness. He smiled, a small, broken thing. “Thank you, Tessa. Thank you so much.”
She managed a slight, corresponding smile, a fragile truce. “Thanks for the Kindle.”
“Fuck.” His eyes widened, remembering. “Happy birthday.”
The bathroom door opened. His mother emerged. “Is it your birthday?” she asked Tessa, leaning against the doorframe.
“Yeah, it is.” Tessa pushed off the wall, putting a foot of safe distance between herself and Hardin.
“Why are we not celebrating?” His mother spread her hands, encompassing the bleak apartment.
“Well, because I was just about to head out,” Tessa said, the excuse sounding thin even to her.
“No.” The woman’s tone was gently implacable.
“Yeah, I’m gonna see my mom.” Tessa said.
She reached out, touching Tessa’s arm. “Can I be selfish and ask you to stay another night?”
Tessa looked at her, at the hopeful, open face that was so like Hardin’s in its earnest intensity. She glanced at Hardin, who was standing frozen, a silent plea in his stormy eyes. “Well, it’s just we don’t know when we’re going to see each other again,” Trish added, her tone dipping into a melancholy that felt genuine.
Tessa looked up at the ceiling, a silent surrender. “Yeah, I uh—I mean I guess I can leave tomorrow.”
Trish pulled her into a hug so sudden and tight it squeezed the air from Tessa’s lungs. “Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant, brilliant!” she chanted, the words a joyful vibration against Tessa’s shoulder. She pulled back, her eyes shining. “I am gonna whip you a homemade birthday cake that is gonna blow your mind.”
Tessa managed a small, breathless smile. “Cool.”
The evening unfolded in a series of surreal, warm vignettes. Cartons of Thai food covered the coffee table, the air rich with ginger and chili. They ate on the floor, knees touching. Trish talked with her hands, telling stories of London markets and stubborn students—she taught art history—her laughter punctuating every other sentence.
Hardin was quiet, mostly watching, his responses to his mother’s prodding questions short but affectionate. Tessa could feel the weight of his gaze on her, a constant, physical pressure.
Later, they sank into the worn couch, full and lethargic. Trish fetched a large, leather-bound album from her suitcase, its corners frayed. “Now, for your real birthday present,” she announced, flipping it open on Tessa’s lap.
The pages whispered as they turned. Here was Hardin as a gap-toothed seven-year-old, scowling in a school uniform. Here he was at twelve, all awkward limbs and a skateboard. Tessa smiled, a real one, tracing the plastic covering over a photo of him asleep with a tabby cat on his chest.
“Oh, this one is my favorite,” Trish whispered, her voice conspiratorial. She pointed to a square, faded photograph. A toddler, maybe two, stood on a pebbled beach, his back to the camera, utterly naked and looking out at the grey sea. “I know I’m biased ’cause I’m his mum, but isn’t that just the cutest bum you’ve ever seen?”
Tessa snorted, a laugh bursting out of her before she could stop it. It was undeniably cute, the little round cheeks and chubby legs.
From the armchair opposite, where he’d been scribbling in a notebook, Hardin groaned. “Oh my god, Mum. Please.”
“Oh, hush,” Trish waved him away, beaming at Tessa.
Tessa caught Hardin’s eye, his embarrassment tinged with something else—amusement, maybe, at this shared, ridiculous moment. She grinned. “It’s a pretty cute bum, Hardin.”
Hardin cleared his throat loudly, snapping the notebook shut and placing it on the table with a definitive thud. The faint flush on his neck was visible even in the soft lamp light. “Well, you guys are obviously having lots of fun,” he said, his voice dry. He stood up abruptly and began gathering the empty food containers with a little more force than necessary.
He stood up abruptly and began gathering the empty food containers with a little more force than necessary. The plastic crackled in his grip. “So I’m just gonna clear up and then set myself on fire,” he muttered, walking toward the kitchen.
Trish laughed, a bright, unfiltered sound. She patted the couch cushion beside her, turning her full attention to Tessa. “So, Hardin tells me you’re an English major as well.”
“Mhm hmm, yeah, I am.” Tessa nodded, folding her hands in her lap. “I’m in the process of switching from econ. I actually just got an internship at Vance Publishing.”
Trish’s smile didn’t fade, but it changed. It grew quieter, more thoughtful. “Vance,” she repeated. “As in Christian Vance?”
“Mhm hmm,” Tessa nodded again, sensing a shift in the air.
Trish looked down, nodding slowly to herself. “Hardin and J stayed with Vance for a few years when Ken and I broke up.” Her voice was soft, almost musing.
“Really?” Tessa’s eyes widened slightly. She glanced toward the kitchen, where the tap was now running. “Hardin never mentioned that.”
She heard him yell from the kitchen, the water shutting off. “Never mentioned what?”
“Nothing, darling!” Trish called back, her cheerfulness expertly repackaged. She winked at Tessa. “Just girl talk.”
The rest of the evening dissolved into a softer haze. Trish’s energy, so effervescent all night, finally began to wane. Her sentences grew longer, punctuated by yawns she tried to hide behind her hand, until she eventually succumbed, curling into the corner of the sofa with her head on a cushion.
Tessa washed the few dishes in silence. Hardin wiped down the counters, the clatter of the Thai cartons going into the bin.
When she turned around, drying her hands on a towel, she saw him standing by the couch. He held a woven blanket she recognized from his bed. He unfolded it gently and draped it over his sleeping mother, tucking the edges around her shoulders with a tenderness that made Tessa’s breath catch.
He stood there for a moment, just looking down. Then he reached for the lamp on the side table. The click was deafening in the new dark.
The room was plunged into soft shadows, lit only by the faint orange glow of the streetlamp filtering through the blinds. He moved silently toward the bedroom. Tessa watched him from the kitchen bench, unmoving. He didn’t look back, but he left the door open.
She followed. The floorboards creaked under her weight. She stepped into the darkness of the bedroom and closed the door behind her. The latch engaged with a soft, final click.
She could hear his breathing. He was standing near the window, a silhouette against the grey-blue light. They turned to look at each other. The space between them vibrated with everything spoken and everything brutally, carefully withheld.
Hardin finally moved, a slow shift in the dark. He rubbed the back of his neck, the muscles there visibly tight even in the low light. “I’m just gonna grab a blanket and sleep on the floor,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets.
“You don’t think we could share the bed and not, y’know.” Her voice was small, testing the thickness of the air.
He looked at her, a faint, pained smile touching his lips. “Do you?”
“Well, I’d like to think that we’re not total neanderthals.” She crossed her arms, hugging her own waist.
He looked at her, his ocean-blue eyes catching a sliver of external light. “Okay.”
Tessa headed into the bathroom and closed the door softly. The click of the lock was a definitive sound. She leaned against the sink, her hands gripping the cool porcelain. Her reflection in the mirror was a pale ghost of the girl who’d driven here hours ago. She changed into her blue stripy pyjamas.
She came out, the floorboards cool beneath her feet. Hardin was already on his side of the bed, shirt off. She lifted the covers and slid in, lying rigidly on her back.
He reached over and turned the lamp off. The room plunged into a deeper grey, shapes dissolving into shadows. The weight of him settling back down shifted the mattress, a subtle dip toward his center of gravity.
“Goodnight,” Tessa said, wide awake, staring at the textured ceiling she knew by heart.
“Goodnight,” Hardin said, also staring at the ceiling. His voice was a rough whisper in the dark.
She listened to his breathing, trying to match its rhythm. The scent of him on the pillows was overwhelming. She turned over to face him, putting her hand under her pillow. The fabric of the pillowcase was cool against her skin.
“Umm, I’m gonna leave early in the morning, to uh, to head out of town,” she said into the narrow gap between them.
Hardin rolled over to face her, his hand resting under his head. His features were softened by the darkness, but his eyes were two points of intensity. “Okay.”
“Thank you for staying tonight.” He offered a small, fragile smile she probably couldn’t even see.
“Thanks for having me.” She smiled
They looked at each other. The silence wasn’t empty now; it was full of the Thai food, the photo album, his mother’s laughter, the Kindle, the hotel room, the bread in the hallway. Hardin lifted his free hand, slowly, as if moving through water. He went to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, then pulled his hand back, curling his fingers into a fist against the sheet.
“Sorry,” he muttered, looking down at the space between their faces.
“No, no, it’s okay.” Her voice was barely a breath.
He reached out again, this time completing the motion. He pushed the strand of hair that was on her face behind her ear. His fingertips barely grazed her temple, a spark of contact. He didn’t pull away. He ran his finger across her earlobe, a slow, deliberate caress. Then down the line of her jaw, tracing it to her chin.
His touch trailed down the side of her neck, over the slope of her shoulder. He began massaging gently, his thumb working into the tight muscle where all her tension lived. His touch was firm, knowing. A soft sound escaped her, something between a sigh and a gasp.