“Oh, and something else came for you.”
Steve brought over an envelope. It was stained with what looked like raindrops. The handwriting was small, neat, a bit loopy.
Everything in me paused as I caught the return address. Nepal. Aya had sent me mail. We’d never crossed the line into written missives. But her doing this for me… I blew out a breath.
Steve settled into the chair and crossed his arms. I slit the top of the envelope, trying not to show him my shaking hands.
I pulled out a card. It was a plain white one, no embellishments.
Nash,
We don’t have cards here like in the States. But I wanted to wish you happy birthday the old-fashioned way. I ordered you tickets to the Asher Smith concert, which I’ll forward to you next time I’m on the mountain. I know he’s your favorite.
Hugs,
Aya
I gaped at the card. “Holy…”
“What?” Steve asked.
My smile widened. “We’re going to see Asher Smith. Aya got me tickets.”
Steve raised his eyebrow. “Couldn’t you have gotten tickets through your dad’s record label?”
I shook my head. “Dad doesn’t like Asher. I guess something went down between them when I was little. Anyway, no way he’d ask for tickets.” I smiled. “But now I have to go. Because Aya got them for me.”
And because it would rub my dad’s face in it a little. Couldn’t be sorry about that. Not at all.
The weight of my confrontation with him yesterday hit me again. He’d never pressured me like that before.
“So those are from Aya? The pen pal?” Steve asked.
“Yeah. She’s great.”
“Is she pretty?”
I nodded, my throat tight. I hesitated a moment before I brought up the most recent photo she’d sent me. She was standing next to a pony, her hand on its neck. Her long, dark hair was tied back in a braid that draped over her shoulder and chest.
The V-neck of her T-shirt showed the top swells of a fabulous set of tits. Thanks to my mother’s profession, I’d seen my fair share of scantily clad ladies, and Aya put them all to shame.
I turned my phone around and set it down.
Steve picked it up and studied her for a minute. He looked up at me. “She’s very pretty.”
She had sweet, pink lips I wanted to taste. Lips that I’d bet molded to mine perfectly. I wanted to suck her plump lower one into my mouth and nibble on it. I wanted to do a lot more than that, actually. I’d been fantasizing about getting with Aya since she sent me that first photo—no, since my toad of a ninth-grade English teacher had posted Aya’s image on the smart board.
Steve shot me a look, reminding me he’d spoken and I’d nearly fallen into the fantasy of fucking Aya right there in the kitchen.
I swallowed the heaviness of desire. “Yeah. I guess.”
Steve shook his head. “Don’t fall for a pretty face, Nash.”
I snorted. “I’m not going to fall for her. She’s in Nepal.” At least for now. “Plus, I don’t do girlfriends.”
That was 100% true—much to my female classmates’ dismay. I had no interest in taking any of them out. Why should I? Instead I could hang out with Cam and his family, visit my mom on set for a photo shoot or one of her acting roles, or tour with my dad. I’d made out with my fair share of girls during the past couple of years, but I’d never pursued anything more.
I didn’t want more, especially not if relationships were filled with recriminating glances and stony silences like my parents’. Fuck, neither one of them was even here, at home, for my birthday because they couldn’t stand the possibility of running into the other.
“Want a piece?” I asked, attempting to send my mind elsewhere. I hated thinking about my parents.
Steve nodded. “I like cake.”
“This one’s good,” I said as I cut him a slice even bigger than mine.
“Your mom said she’s going to call,” he told me.
She wouldn’t, not now that it was happy hour, but I didn’t bother to respond. Just like I didn’t bother asking where my dad was.
Didn’t matter. I had cake and two of the coolest gifts ever.
Then Cam called to invite me to his family’s ranch that weekend for a barbecue.
“We gotta celebrate your birthday,” he said. “Wish I could be there sooner.”
“You’re on tour. You don’t need—”
“I want to. Now, can you make it?”
“Yeah, sure.”
When we hung up, I smiled. I had Steve and Cam and Cam’s family to balance out my self-absorbed parents. Life was good.
I savored every bite of my cake, licking my fork clean.
As I took my plate to the sink, Steve told me his mom used to make him a butterscotch cake with chocolate icing when he was young.
“Cool. Something we have in common,” I said. “Great taste in cake.”
He paused, bite halfway to his mouth. “Guess so. You’re not interested in an actual meal since you ate dessert already, are you?”
I snorted, and he smirked. He knew I’d been a bottomless pit of eating for the past few months, especially since I’d started running with him a few mornings a week.
I’d told him I needed the exercise, but mainly I wanted to feel connected to someone. Steve had never brought it up again, but he always made sure he had the blue sports drink I preferred waiting for me on the counter each morning.
“How about I heat up some of those filet mignons the chef left?” Steve asked. “With those potatoes you like?”
I grinned. “Sounds good. With the creamed spinach. I like that stuff.”
Steve tousled my hair. “You’re a good kid, Nash.”
I nodded at him. “Thanks. You’re not bad yourself.”
“Why don’t you put away the rest of the cake while I get dinner started?”
I slid the cake in the fridge and pounded back up the stairs to grab my phone. I found more texts from Aya and Cam waiting.
I smiled.
Yeah. This birthday did not suck. At all.
7
Aya
“Are you nervous?” Mum asked.
I stared down at the pixels that made up Nash’s face on my phone. His sun-streaked, light brown hair was messy, thanks to the bit of natural curl I’d detected around his ears. It was long in the front, falling into his warm brown eyes. They were well spaced over his nose, reminding me of the statues I’d seen with my mother when we stopped over in Rome a couple of years ago on our way to England.
I’d had to pay respects to my father’s second child with his second wife, and the only good part of the trip had been the art history lesson.
“About what?” I asked. I forced my gaze away from my phone, which I’d turned back on as soon as the pilot rose to cruising altitude. I’d planned to look out at the Himalayas one last time, but leaving Nepal caused a deep ache in my chest. The village had been home for nearly three years. I’d celebrated more birthdays there than anywhere else, including my seventeenth, just two months ago.
“Oh, I don’t know. New city, new school, nearly the end of the year, college applications—you pick which one to talk about first.”