At six in the morning, I pick up my phone, placed precariously at the edge of the nightstand. I'm used to placing objects at the edge of desks and picking them up without knocking them down to the floor. So much so that I can do it half-asleep. The bright light from the screen feels unpleasant while my pupils calibrate their aperture. I can immediately tell I've no new messages by the empty notification center. I place it back on the table, at the edge.
Kara didn't text me. She doesn't need to. But I thought she would. Would she, though? Of course, she would. We're friends. Aren't we?
It doesn't do well for one's self-esteem when you feel like the sidekick in your group of ultra-popular friends, especially in high school.
When I come down the stairs dad is cooking in his silly apron. He has been cooking us breakfasts since I was six. I was six when my mother passed away. I don't remember her much. When I try to, all I recall are my tiny fingers reaching out to grab a strand of the most softest hair I've ever felt, and her smell. She smelled like spices and lilies.
My dad places a plate of still fuming, half-burnt toast with eggs and sliced cherry tomatoes in front of me. I'm not hungry. I don't know why. Usually I would be starving by now. But out of habit, I pick up the toast and take a bite. It's bitter.
"Are you excited for today?" Dad asks as he sits opposite me with a cup of scalding coffee and the morning newspaper.
It's a ridiculous question. Of course, I am not. "It's not my birthday, dad," I remind him. Perhaps that came off a little sarcastic. If it did, good.
Since about a week ago the whole pack has been in a celebratory mood looking forward to Roger's birthday. Our Alpha's prodigy son turned 18 today. Imagine confetti flying around.
I'm happy for Roger. I really am. He had successfully stayed alive for eighteen years. Wonderful. Amazing. Mind-blowing. But why does everyone has to turn it into something so extravagant? People shouldn't be this excited over someone else's birthday. Period.
"It's a big day for your friend and the pack," dad says. I cringe inwardly. Friend. Roger is another popular friend of mine. The friend that overshadows me the most. The friend that overshadows pretty much everyone around him the most. My dad continues, "However, I'm guessing Kara might not be in a good mood today. I'm assuming they spent the midnight clock strike together?"
He assumes right.
What I've been feeling towards the subject of Roger's birthday is just a mild irritation. She on the other hand has been terrified. Roger and Kara have been dating since before we all knew what the word dating means. For the last week she has been going on and on about how scared she is that she might not be Roger's mate. Worse, he finds his mate, who is not her, today.
"Probably," I say to my dad. He says, "Kara has nothing to worry about, though. It's not like Roger will find his fated mate today itself. And in the rare chance he does he'll still choose Kara." My dad is progressive in matters of mates. My parents are not fated mates. They turned their backs on their destinies and rejected their mates, and chose each other for love. Our pack, in general, is not orthodox about mating and believes everyone should choose for themselves who they mate with. It's the best decision for all parties involved, including those who are rejected. Then no one will feel like they are in an obligatory relationship. So it shouldn't be a surprise when the time comes Roger will make Kara his mate.
However, Kara being Kara couldn't stop frying her brain over it, and mine, too. "I'm not the one who needs to be convinced. She has been freaking out about it for days now," I say. My dad smiles understandingly. It's a common problem among those who turn 18 and the person they are dating.
