Birthday Girl

The birthday hat on the kitchen island taunted her. It was a metallic thing, stubby little crepe paper streamers sprouting out of the top. BIRTHDAY GIRL wrapped around the side in pink lettering. Clara knew her mother meant well when she included it and the pack of noisemakers in her birthday care package. But seeing it just made her sad.

She was twenty-three years old today, and all alone. Boston was great. Everyone she met was nice enough. But that didn’t change the fact that everyone she knew and loved was on the opposite side of the country, far, far away.

To be fair, she hadn’t been there long. Three weeks was not enough time to fall in love or in hate with a city. And unfortunately, it wasn’t quite enough time to make friends, either. She’d celebrated her birthday away from her family before, but she’d had her friends then. Friends who’d baked her cakes and thrown her parties and given her gifts. And now that she was older, she could appreciate the little traditions her family followed. Her mom waking her up with a birthday cupcake in bed- always yellow cake with chocolate mousse frosting. Birthday wishes over a singing candle. There was nothing stopping her from doing all of that, of course. But it felt different when it came from someone who loved her rather than just herself.

Her phone dinged with another Facebook alert. Her high school basketball coach had sent her well-wishes. Facebook’s birthday wall always featured the most random collection of people crawling out of the woodwork. First, the guy who’d dated her best friend Jessie until he called Jessie a whore behind her back. Scroll down and there was her stepfather’s brother, whom she’d never actually met. Scroll again and her childhood best friend. She hadn’t spoken to them outside of Facebook in a decade. Scroll further, her old babysitter. And then her parents, who had already texted her but made posts anyway, complete with baby pictures of frosting smooshed all over her face. 

Such were the rituals of twenty-first century social media. Connection to people that might’ve once been lost—and maybe should’ve been. It all made her feel a deep loneliness that couldn’t be assuaged by a heart on a screen.

She couldn’t look at her mom’s consolation hat anymore. She would eat her breakfast, take one picture in the hat to appease her mother, and then maybe post it on Instagram. Would it be a shameless bid for people to wish her a happy birthday? Perhaps. But she wanted her friends to wish her a happy birthday. Sue her.

It was maybe the worst selfie she’d ever taken, but her mother replied with heart eyes anyway. Good enough. Clara posted it on her story with no caption, knowing the hat would do what she needed. By the time she sat down to eat her breakfast, she’d gotten two “happy birthday!” DMs from the casual college friends she’d probably never see again. It was weird how quickly the people who meant so much to her faded away into nothingness. Through distance, through time. It was always much harder to make a friend than lose one.

She’d go to a bakery after work and get cupcakes. At least one, anyway. She’d been dumb not to do it yesterday. Her mom had even sent her singing birthday candles and that hadn’t been enough to force her into finding a bakery. The candles looked stupid on a piece of Nutella toast. Was this all adulthood was? Humming “happy birthday” to herself as she did the dishes?

She looked down at her phone to check the time. She had just enough time to pack up her things and head out for work. She’d lucked out in the location of her apartment, at least. It was a ten minute walk to her office, through Boston Garden. The air was crisp and cool, an autumnal omen. Her wedges clicked on the sidewalk as she expertly sidestepped goose poop. Dunkin coffee and car exhaust blew through the air and the sun shone blindingly bright. She pulled her suit jacket tight around her and pushed her way through all the tourists crowding every square inch of grass.

Hawkins Taylor and Green straddled the line between “boutique law firm” and “big law.” They focused on labor, mergers & acquisitions, and corporate compliance, with a growing foothold in environmental law. One of Clara’s college professors had been boarding school roommates with the titular Green and had suggested Clara apply for one of their open paralegal positions. It had felt like a longshot, but three months later the ink was dry on Clara’s HR paperwork. They were a growing and respected firm in Boston, even if they were also a pain in half of the city’s employers’ asses. Clara hadn’t exactly pictured herself as a paralegal post-college, but it was a good pitstop on the “do I want to be a lawyer?” road.

Right now, the answer was, “No, probably not.”

It was 8:57 when she sat down in her cubicle and she already had 41 unread emails. A brief skim showed documents she’d requested yesterday, and ten emails all in one thread about scheduling a deposition. Unfortunately the rest were attorney requests, including one from her direct supervisor, Nick.

“Good morning,” her cubicle neighbor and teammate, Paul, sighed as he took a seat across from her. His Dunkin iced coffee was practically the size of his head and he had the remains of chocolate frosting smothered over his mouth. She grunted in response as she started the arduous task of downloading and printing documents.

Clara walked, yawning, back to her cubicle after delivering the documents to Nick. How could she have been at work for an hour and already be ready to crawl into bed? Paul was mid-phone conversation about the Littleton and Sons deposition. She slumped into her chair and idly checked her phone. One of her college roommates had finally texted now that it was a reasonable hour on the West Coast. She replied with a heart and a promise to chat soon.

Before she could put her phone down, another text dinged in from Eliana, her best friend since childhood. Unsure what she wanted after college, Eliana had taken a job in residential life for the abroad program she’d done junior year. It meant living in Frankfurt for fifteen months, which was not a bad gig at all. Clara opened it with a grin.

The text was a picture of Eliana in a tight black dress with big gold hoop earrings. Beneath the image, Eliana had asked, “Does this outfit scream, ‘I’m hot but kiddos I’m an employee and you can’t tap this?’”

Clara snorted and replied, “it def screams ‘I’m hot.’” Eliana immediately started typing, the purple devil emoji coming through. Clara rolled her eyes. She watched the bubbles blink as Eliana typed, then materialized into words before her eyes: “Off to go ruin lives!”

No further typing bubbles. Eliana had Facebook and Instagram. Was there a chance she hadn’t yet seen the various birthday praises of her best friend on both of Clara’s accounts? Clara swallowed, suddenly feeling her throat get tight. Eliana was shit with dates and they both knew it. Most years Eliana remembered it was Clara’s birthday by no earlier than 5 PM. But…it was already 5 PM for her. Could she have actually forgotten?

The moment Clara felt her eyes start to water, she walked as quickly but as calmly as she could to the women’s restroom. She had to walk past multiple other paralegals, secretaries, and attorneys to get there. Chin up, shoulders down, polite smile on. Only once she was in the safety of the amazingly empty bathroom did she let her resolve crumble. She bolted herself in the last stall and covered her mouth with her hand. Shaky breaths turned into body-wracking attempts to get more air as hot tears spilled out of her eyes.

Clara observed herself with a detached coldness as she continued to muffle sobs into her wrist. Was she seriously, at twenty-three years old, crying in the bathroom at work because her best friend forgot her birthday, as she did every single year? Was she truly that pathetic?

Heels clicked on the linoleum as the main door opened and then banged shut. Clara held her breath, afraid to move. But clearly she’d heard her fellow occupant too late to go unnoticed, because the black triangle-toed pumps came to a stop in front of her stall. A soft rap on the door followed.

“Are you alright?” the owner of the pumps asked. Clara didn’t recognize the voice, but that didn’t mean she didn’t know the speaker. Which would be worse? A stranger or someone she knew? She wasn’t sure. But she moved her hand away from her mouth anyway and gave her eyes one good rub. The new water-proof mascara she’d gotten must really work since none came away on her hand.

“Yep!” Clara winced at the hiccup in her voice. But she forced herself to stand and flush the toilet, hoping that would make Pumps budge. Pumps didn’t, but with the toilet flushed, there wasn’t much else Clara could do. She took a deep breath and stepped out of the stall.

She did not recognize the woman standing just to the right of her stall. The woman was tall even without the advantage the pumps gave her. She wore a bright pink A-line dress that jumped out against her skin. Curls tumbled messily down her shoulders. And her smile was kind, eyes looking at her with something that felt a little bit too much like pity.

“I don’t think we’ve met officially. I’m Tonya Williams,” the woman said, sticking out her hand. Clara shook it with her right, hyper-aware of the snot dripping down her left hand.

“Clara Shapiro.” Tonya’s eyes lit up as their handshake dropped.

“Oh, the new paralegal for L&E! I’m on Nick’s team, too!”

Yes, Clara recognized the name, if not the face—Paul had said that one of their usual team members was getting back from her honeymoon this week. She could see the diamond twinkling on Tonya’s other hand. Married and she didn’t even look that much older than Clara. Then again, between the ages of 23 and 40, it often was impossible to tell some people’s ages.

“Nice to meet you. And congratulations on the wedding,” Clara said demurely. She flashed Tonya a perfunctory smile as she crossed around her to get to the sink. The reflection she found in the mirror was just as gross as she feared it would be. Sure, her make-up had stayed mostly intact, but her eyes were puffy and red. It’d take some effort to not look like she’d just sobbed her heart out in the bathroom stall.

She sighed and waved her hands under the sink. The stupid automatic thing refused to work. She waved more furiously. Nothing. She felt tears prick at her eyes again.

“Try covering the sensor with your thumb. That usually works for me,” Tonya offered.

Clara looked back at her, still standing there. Tonya smiled again and Clara turned back to the sink. She tried Tonya’s tip and sure enough, the water came on. She furiously scrubbed her hands, trying not to think about how you were supposed to sing happy birthday twice while washing your hands. She would not have any further birthday melt-downs today.

“You’re sure there’s nothing you need?” Tonya said. She crossed over to lean on the sink as Clara ripped a paper towel from the dispenser. 

Clara shook her head. But the words flew out anyway, “It’s my first birthday away from home.” It was true. She’d been in college for four years’ worth of birthdays, but friends counted as home. “And I just feel so alone.”

“Your first birthday alone is hard. I cried on mine, too.” Tonya’s smile softened. “My husband was the only person I knew in Boston but he was at a conference he couldn’t get out of. I sat alone in our apartment watching ER on Hulu, eating pizza and drinking wine. I tried to convince myself that it was fine, but it wasn’t. Does your family have birthday traditions?”

Clara nodded and said, “I always have the same cake with singing candles, and my mom wakes me up with a birthday cupcake. But I can’t bake to save my life, so it won’t quite be the same.” She smiled as she shrugged, going for what can you do? commiserating rather than the pity she was expecting.

“We always got socks. It was the first present we got, whenever my dad would wake us up on our birthday morning. My favorites are always the fuzzy ones,” Tonya said.

“Fuzzy socks are the best. At our house they’re a Christmas thing. We do a big sock swap, it’s a white elephant style thing.” Tonya laughed at that, which made Clara smile for real for the first time she entered the bathroom.

“That’s a good idea. I’ll have to bring it up for this year.” She reached out and squeezed Clara’s arm. “Happy birthday, Clara.”

Only then did Tonya finally head to the stall. Clara took that as her cue to make herself look as presentable as possible, then headed back to her cubicle. In the time she’d been in the bathroom, six fires seemed to have sprung up in her six most important cases, so at least she’d be distracted the rest of the day.

It was seven by the time she and Paul finally gave up on getting in contact with the leadership they needed to talk to before a deposition. They waved to Nick as they passed his office, the midnight oil burning. He grunted at them, squirrelly,bloodshot eyes glued to his laptop screen. She did not envy him. As she and Paul waited for the elevator, she wondered how anyone could choose this as their life’s work.

“I’m going to kill Tonya for taking Birdwell and leaving us this mess,” Paul groaned, rolling his neck. He’d spent the last two hours hunched over a notepad as he furiously made calls and researched numbers. She’d had the easier job of emailing and social media stalking.

“Cut her some slack. This mess has been brewing all week and she’d missed nearly all of it.” Though the fact that Tonya’s lamp was off at her desk meant that the Horizon Media mess had taken significantly longer than whatever Tonya had to do to smooth the feathers for Birdwell. There was only a twinge of resentment there.

The elevator doors dinged open and they stepped in. Paul hit the G1 button that took them to the parking garage. Even though she didn’t drive, she could exit from there and only be a block north of where she needed to be. As the doors shut, he turned to her.

“Did you grab your paystub? You probably got your moving expenses reimbursement check, too.”

“Oh, shoot. No.” He pressed the button for the third floor where their mailroom was. She smiled at him. “Thanks. I could probably just wait until Monday, but—”

“Never turn down the opportunity to cash a check. I feel ya.” It would be the closest thing she’d have to a birthday present from work today. 

She said goodbye to him as she exited onto the third floor. In addition to the mailroom, HR and IT lived here, so it was deserted except for a lone IT guy playing Minecraft on his computer. She waved to him, but he didn’t even look up.

The lights in the mailroom flicked on as she stepped in and made a beeline for her box. With nearly 100 employees, everyone’s box was tiny, slightly smaller than a shoebox. Some boxes overflowed with mail. Most were empty or had only one letter in it. When she finally reached C. SHAPIRO (PL), she was surprised to find hers was overflowing. The envelopes with her paystub and reimbursement check sat as expected on the bottom of the box, but then there was a chocolate bar, a pair of fuzzy socks with birthday cakes on them, and a generic HAPPY BIRTHDAY card with no envelope.

She flipped open the card, though she was confident she already knew who it was from.

Welcome to adulthood, girl. Excited to get to know you better. —Tonya. Beneath it, she’d put a phone number with an area code Clara didn’t recognize. It must’ve been her cell.

More than any Facebook message, more than any text she’d gotten from a friend that day, this pair of socks and drug store candy bar made her heart soar. For just a moment, she didn’t feel quite so alone.