when all is said and done | e.d.

eighteen

ethan

i wake up from my light sleep on monday morning with a text from grayson.

grayson: happy birthday, man! 25 is gonna be a good year. i'm very grateful to have shared a womb with you. celebrate with some light drinking tonight?

the text message stares back at me, and i blink.

oh. right. it's my birthday.

december 16 seems to creep up on me every single year, and it's dreadful. we all get old at some point, but i feel like it's happening too fast.

i hate my birthday.

sighing, i reply back to grayson with a similar energy he had, even though i don't really feel like it right now. he loves to get older, because it's a chance to celebrate with booze, and he can never passes that up.

nothing feels different or "older" as i get ready for work.

i do my normal routine of showering, putting on a heather grey sweater, some fitted, dark jeans, and casual brown boots.

usually i'd dress up more, but i'm still kind of irked at harper for no apparent reason. this will be a civil and innocent way to get even.

after i spray on cologne and style my hair, i eat a breakfast of coffee and a cream cheese bagel, while looking at my phone.

i get texts from my friends and family, all wishing me a happy birthday.

why is it only on special occasions people like to text me?

but nonetheless, i reply to each one of them before grabbing my jacket and locking my apartment door behind me.

my breath is visible every time i exhale on my short walk across the outdoor parking garage to my car.

i check the time, and am thankful to see that i'm not as late as i thought.

on mondays, i do my share of sucking up by bringing coffee or donuts to the office, but i have no urge to do so right now.

it would be like celebrating, and why would i do that when i'm now 25? that's old. it's almost thirty.

my drive to work is silent, and i don't even hum a tune or drum my fingers on the steering wheel. it's an awfully dreary day, matching my mood.

as i walk into the building and flash my badge to the front desk, no one seems to look at me differently.

which is good.

i've gone two years without anyone in this building knowing my birthday, and i'm so, so glad. the only person that might know would be the lady who made my file, and she doesn't seem like she keeps tabs on every single person's birthday.

the ride up in the elevator is filled with a couple people's share of morning chatter, but they eventually get off on their floors. i have to ride up alone to the third tallest floor every morning, and usually it's just me in the elevator.

when i get off, i wave a quick hello to mary and quickly walk into harper's office. she's sitting in her desk, but doesn't look up when i arrive.

i hear quiet mumbles as she intently reads this week's cover, pushing her glasses down on the bridge of her nose.

my feet feel heavy as i open the connecting door to my own space, and immediately drop my bag and hang my coat on the back of my office chair.

as i'm about to sit down, something catches my eye.

sitting on my desk all alone, is a vanilla cupcake.

with yellow frosting.

i blink at it, thinking it'll go away if i close my eyes hard enough. it doesn't.

next to it, i see a bright pink sticky note.

i sit down and grab the note from my desk.

question of the day: (birthday edition)

wanna know what's funnier than 24?
... 25

p.s. happy birthday. you're old :)

confusion and disbelief floods my body as i reread the note over and over again, almost missing the joke the first few times.

my first smile of the morning creeps onto my face as i set the sticky note down and pick up the cupcake. it doesn't look like it was made from a bakery, which means she must've made a batch herself.

just the thought of harper even attempting to bake almost sends me into hysterics.

and suddenly, all my slight annoyance towards her from yesterday is gone.

i unwrap the cupcake and eat it as i do my morning emails.

even though it could've used a little bit more buttercream frosting—

— it was still better than any bakery could make.

                                         ******

"ethan," harper says, popping her head into my office right before she leaves for lunch.

i look up from my computer. "yes?"

"find anything on your desk this morning?"

i pretend to think about it, and play dumb. "no, i didn't. why?"

she grins. "was it good?"

"i have no clue what you're talking about. on a totally unrelated note, i would say vanilla is better than chocolate."

"good thing it was vanilla then."

i chuckle, and glance back at my computer. "is there something that you need from me?"

"an explanation. why haven't you ever told me when your birthday is?"

i raise an eyebrow. "you never asked. and i don't like my birthday. how did you even find out?"

"miriam at the front desk called me last night and asked if she should send your birthday cards to the office, or down to the mail room."

"barely anyone here knows it's my birthday. or even cares," i say confusedly. "who would've sent me cards?"

she shrugs. "don't know. maybe the ladies from the programming floor? they always seem to check you out."

i laugh. "maybe."

"are you free later tonight?" she asks.

"depends. i've spent a lot of time with you lately, and it's exhausting," i tease.

"fine then. i was going to offer to have you come over and see ruby as your birthday gift, but it's cool," she brushes off nonchalantly, as if she knows i won't be able to resist the small puppy.

"fine," i breathe out. "i'm meeting my brother at 8, but i absolutely have to stop and see the dog before anything else."

"come by whenever."