Love In Brooklyn - A Finn Wolfhard X Reader Novel

Four

Every year on my birthday until I was eleven, my parents would take Jessie and me to Coney Island to eat pizza, ice cream, play arcade games and ride roller coasters until we felt sick. It was my favorite day of the year, and I looked forward to it for the remaining 364 days. On my twelfth birthday, the year they got divorced, I had breakfast with my mom that morning, and then my dad took me to Coney Island - but the day didn't feel the same at all.

As I got older, the tradition faded away, and I swallowed any lingering disappointment because Everything is fine! I'm just growing up! - but deep down, I ached for that family dynamic. I hated that my parents hated each other.

I woke to a knock on my bedroom door, and when I groaned in response, Jessie entered with a small glowing light in front of their face. I rolled over to put on my glasses, and saw they were carrying a cupcake with a candle.

"Happy September 19th!" they sang.

I laughed and rubbed my eyes, propping myself up on my elbows. Jessie held the cupcake in front of me and said, "Make a wish, bitch!"

I closed my eyes and blew out the candle - I couldn't think of anything to wish for. I already had everything I needed.

Jessie applauded and put the plate on my lap. I adjusted my linen sheets.

"Jess, you didn't have to do thi—" I began.

"Shut up and eat your cupcake."

I stuck my finger into the frosting and ate some. Jessie did the same.

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Jessie and I came back home around four after spending the afternoon picnicking in Transmitter Park. The weather was perfectly cool, and we ate crusty prosciutto sandwiches and confetti cake and drank cans of sparkling wine.

I took the tote bag into the kitchen and put the leftovers into the fridge. My mom called me then to wish me happy birthday, and we chatted for ten minutes or so before she hung up to go to her pottery class. Every year it seemed like a competition between my mom and dad to see who would call me first on my birthday, who was the better parent. It made me feel sick, and I sometimes wished I could spend September 19th entirely alone and not be obligated to accept drawn out well wishes from anyone at all.

I showered and got ready for Jessie's' and my evening plans. We were going to see my favorite musical, Wicked on Broadway, (which I had already seen six times prior), and afterward eat ungodly amounts of pizza and pasta at John's on 44th.

I checked Instagram before I did my makeup to find a sea of notifications, old friends, new friends, distant relatives and quiet enemies wishing me the happiest of days. There were fan edits and posts from music magazines, photos of me I didn't even know existed, thousands of sweet comments.

I scrolled through the plethora of direct messages and requests, feeling overwhelmed at the outpour of love, until I stopped on one buried somewhere in the middle.

@finnwolfhardofficial

Today at 2:33 PM

According to Google (I Google you twice daily) today is your birthday. I hope it's wonderful and I suggest cracking open an ice cold Bud Light to treat yourself.

#NotSponsored. -F

I bit down on my lip when I caught myself smiling at my phone. I had never talked to Finn on social media, I didn't even follow him. I searched his following list and sure enough, my username came up.