Because of Haven Beach

39 | forelsket

forelsket (n.)

the euphoria you experience when you are falling in love

* * *

THE next week was my eighteenth birthday. I didn't want any pomp and circumstance, but my mom didn't seem to care. She came into my room around nine o'clock, carrying a plate full of Oreo pancakes with a candle in the middle.

"Happy birthday, Charlotte."

"Lemme sleep," I groaned. "It's too early for this."

"Get up, you lazy bum. It's your birthday! You only turn eighteen once."

"Same with all of the other ages," I grumbled.

"Well, today is important... C'mon, blow the candle out before it melts."

I sat up and begrudgingly blew out the candle to placate her.

The bed dipped as she sat down next to me. "How does it feel to be eighteen? You're officially an adult now."

I thoughtfully chewed my mouthful of pancakes. "It feels the same as seventeen," I said, wiping the syrup dribbling down my face. "It's just another day."

"Cheer up," she nudged my shoulder, "we have a lot planned today."

"What happened to not making a big deal about my birthday?" I hated my birthday—it was truly my least favorite day of the year. I hated being the center of attention and always felt like an awkward turtle when people wished me a happy birthday. Not to mention, I could come up with an extensive list of reasons why I hated the happy birthday song.

"The big one-eight is a momentous occasion, so we're going to treat it like one." She put her hands on her hips. "Now get dressed. Your presents are downstairs."

I groaned. "Lemme at least finish breakfast."

"Alright. Hurry up." She stood up and left me to finish eating.

Twenty minutes later, I made my way downstairs and found a pile of presents on the kitchen table. "Mom, you didn't need to do this. I know money's tight with the mortgage and all."

"Are you seriously complaining about getting presents?"

"Yes. I don't need anything. Don't spend your money on me."

"Stop being so modest and open them."

I tore open the card first, taking a few minutes to read her heartfelt message. "Thank you. I love you, too."

She slid the first gift bag across the table. Inside was a gift card to a local coffee house and a few of the romance books I'd been eyeing.

"Thank you. Which one do you want me to open next?"

"This one." She deposited a thin, square box in front of me.

I tore into the box and found two vinyl records of my favorite albums. "Sweet, thanks. I was actually going to buy these with the money Mark sent," I chuckled.