The Reverie

If there is one thing I hate more than waking up before my alarm, it’s waking up before my alarm on my birthday.

And yet, here I am. At six forty-three in the morning, staring at the ceiling while my phone vibrates against the nightstand for the fourth time.

“Say you’ll stay with me-” The ringtone continues to blare a song I haven’t stopped listening to since fourteen.

I don’t have to look to know who’s calling. Briar Ellery has never understood the concept of reasonable hours, personal boundaries, or the fact that some people enjoy sleeping.

I reach blindly for my phone, knock over a half-empty water bottle, and finally manage to answer, “Even if someone is dead, I’m still hanging up in 30 sec-.”

“Happy birthday, you miserable bitch!” She interrupts me with a cheerful laugh. How she is so ecstatic this early in the morning is beyond me. I have never ever been a morning person.

I close my eyes. “Goodbye, Briar.”

“Wait, wait, wait! Don’t you dare hang up.” I hear the slight panic in her voice. Almost like she needs me to be listening to her. It’s her tone that gets me to stay.

“Then give me one good reason why you’re calling before seven.” I huff dramatically as I turn on my side, propping up on one elbow.

“Because,” she announces, drawing out the word, “today is the anniversary of my favorite person’s arrival into this world.”

A brush of morning wind blows through the window, sending a chill down my spine as goosebumps rise on my body. My eyes narrow at the open window. I must have forgotten to close it after I got up the first time.

“That’s disgusting.” I crinkle my nose.

“And I wanted to be the first person to tell her.” She adds.

I sigh, almost dismissively, “You’re not.”

The silence that meets my ear from the other line is deafening. I would hang up if it weren’t for the sound of her inhaling a sharp breath.

“What?”

“My mother texted me at midnight,” I shrug, like it’s something she should already know. The tree outside dances with the wind as another breeze bristles in.

“That doesn’t count.” Briar scoffs, sounding matter-of-fact. I hear a shuffle, like she is switching hands. I hear the fridge close in the background.

“Pretty sure it does.”

“No, because mothers have an unfair advantage. They literally know when you were born.” Her words sound distorted, like she’s about to lose signal. Her phone hasn’t been working right the last couple of days. She was probably on the side of the house where she gets a minimum of one bar.

I curl on my side again, pulling the blanket over my shoulder. “You’re right. How inconsiderate of her.”

“Exactly. Anyway, what are you wearing tonight?” The sound makes me want to hang up and let her go so she can finish whatever it is that she is doing.

I stare at the wall. “Briar.”

“What?”

“It’s six forty-five.”

“And?”

“And I haven’t even decided whether I’m getting out of bed.” I huff, annoyed that she’s already doing exactly what I thought she would. She does this every year. Always encouraging me to go out. Usually I want to go out, but I feel like this year I shouldn’t. It’s just a feeling. A feeling that something could go wrong. I expressed this to her yesterday, but she wouldn’t have it.

“Well, you have work in an hour, so I’d strongly recommend it.”

I groan. If there is anything mildly inconvenient, it’s having to work on your birthday. Unfortunately, rent doesn’t care that I am another year older, and neither does the electric company. “Remind me why I didn’t request today off?”

“Because you said, and I quote, ‘It’s just another day, Briar. I’m not making a big deal out of it.’”

“That sounds like something an idiot would say,” I crinkle my nose, suddenly wondering if I should take her up on whatever she is wanting to do tonight.

“An absolute idiot,” she agrees with mock seriousness.

I sigh, throwing the blankets back. “Fine. I’m getting up.”

“Good. And wear something cute tonight,” Briar says into the phone with confidence that tells me she knows I’m going to cave.

I roll my eyes as I slip on my slippers, “Define cute.”

“Something that doesn’t make you look like you’re attending a funeral or going to primary school.” I can hear the teasing in her tone. She’s never been a fan of my sense of style. Granted, I’ve never been a fan of hers either.

I walk over to the dresser as I mutter, “You’re asking a lot.”

I drag out the word as I toss clean socks, black pants, and a white t-shirt onto my bed. The tree branches outside capture my attention again, drawing me toward the open window.

“I’m asking the bare minimum.”

I shuffle toward the bathroom instead, holding the phone between my ear and shoulder. “Anything else, Your Majesty?”

“Yes. Don’t eat a big lunch.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re eating out after work.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere.”

“Briar.”

“Aurelia.”

“Where-”

“Love you! See you at work!”

The call ends with a beep. I huff, tossing my phone into the empty sink. I stare down at it for a moment, then look up at my unimpressed reflection in the bathroom mirror. “She’s going to be the death of me.”

By eight fifteen, I’ve already spilled coffee on my shirt, nearly tripped over a customer’s abandoned handbag, and been informed by a man wearing sunglasses indoors that his cappuccino is too foamy.

A cappuccino. Too foamy.

I consider explaining the fundamental concept of a cappuccino to him, but decide that being employed is probably more important. I do need a place to live of course and I have nowhere else to go.

“Of course, sir,” I say with the kind of smile that should qualify me for an acting award. "I’ll have that remade for you.”

He grunts and returns to his phone. Wonderful.

I turn toward the espresso machine. As I prepare a new cup, I catch sight of Briar’s shoes beside mine.

“Please tell me you’re going to spit in it,” Briar murmurs quiet enough for only my ears.

“Don’t tempt me,” I grit, already fed up with how today is going.

“Just a little,” she nudges me encouragingly, trying to lighten the mood.

“Briar.”

“Fine. Ruin all my fun.” She disappears into the kitchen, her dark braid swinging behind her. I shake my head and reach for another cup.

Early Bird Cafe sits on the corner of a street that never seems to decide whether it wants to be busy or completely deserted.

On weekdays, we get the usual crowd. Exhausted office workers, college students pretending they aren’t procrastinating, and retirees who apparently consider complaining about coffee prices a competitive sport.

On weekends, the place transforms into a battlefield of brunch reservations and people who believe the words extra crispy are a personal challenge.

It’s not glamorous, but it’s familiar. I like familiarity. I like knowing that the elderly gentleman who comes in every morning at nine will order black coffee and a blueberry muffin. I like that the woman from the bookstore across the street always asks for cinnamon in her latte, even though she knows we keep it beside the napkins.

I like knowing what to expect. Some might find that particularly boring. Personally, I think there’s something comforting about a life that doesn’t surprise you every five minutes. Sometimes I feel like the way things are now are more of a-

“Aurelia!”

I glance toward the kitchen, having been lost in thought. “What?”

“Can you come here?” Briar whispers, sounding urgent.

“If this is another attempt to make me wear a birthday crown, I’m quitting.” She’s a lead and had started this tradition that associates who work on their birthday here at Early Bird get to wear a plastic birthday crown during their shift. She’s been trying to get me to agree to wear it for days because she knew I would refuse the day of.

“No crown!” A pause. “Probably!”

I close my eyes. Gods help me.

When I step through the kitchen doors, cappuccino forgotten momentarily, Briar is standing beside the prep county with both hands hidden behind her back. Our manager, Daniel, is leaning against the refrigerator, looking far too amused for my liking.

“No,” I say immediately.

Briar blinks, seeming confused but her gaze tells me she is scheming. “I haven’t done anything.”

“That’s exactly what worries me,” I motion to her facial expression.

“You’re so suspicious.”

“Because I know you,” I throw my hands up in exasperation.

She gasps, pressing a hand against her chest. “After everything we’ve been through?”

“Especially after everything we’ve been through.” I blink.

Daniel laughs. “Just let her do it, Aurelia. She’s been planning this all week.”

I turn toward him, “You’re supposed to be the responsible adult.”

“I’m off the clock in twenty minutes,” he nods to the clock. His grey hairs shine under the light of the ceiling lamp as he looks between Briar and I.

“Traitor.” I grumble.

Briar grins and produces a small bakery box from behind her back. My expression softens before I can stop it.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” she repeats. “That’s all I get?”

She sets the box down and lifts the lid. Inside is a miniature chocolate cake covered in pale pink frosting. Someone has carefully piped little white flowers around the edges, and across the top in slightly crooked lettering are the words:

Happy Birthday, Ria.

I stare at it.

Briar knows I hate making a fuss over my birthday. She also knows I love chocolate cake. The woman is dangerously good at exploiting my weaknesses. I guess that’s what makes her such a good friend.

“You made this?” I ask her cautiously, looking at the cursive writing in awe.

“Obviously.” She damn near scoffs, almost sounding embarrassed that I’m shimmering the spotlight on her now.

Daniel coughs and Briar shoots him a murderous look as she mutters, “With some minor assistance.”

“She bought it yesterday,” he says from behind me. The tone of his voice changes instantly, like he’s happier but there’s something else I can’t quite name.

“Daniel!” Briar growls.

I laugh, easing the tension as I give her a quick hug, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” She reaches into her apron pocket. “Now, before you get emotional and make things weird-”

“I’m not getting emotional.” I furrow my brows in defense.

“-we have one more thing.”

She produces a candle. Just one. A thin, white candle with a little golden star at the top.

“Absolutely not.” I step back, but bump into Daniel. He raises his hands apologetically as he steps to the other side of the cake.

“Absolutely yes, I didn’t buy this for just anyone,” Briar grumbles as she puts the candle in the middle just above the word birthday.

“We’re at work,” I remind her as I glance back toward the counter where the man is still waiting for me to finish his cappuccino.

“And?”

“I’m going to kill you,” I turn to look at her abruptly, feeling both annoyed and embarrassed.

“Make a wish first.”

I give a small smile, rolling my eyes.

Daniel lights the candle while Briar begins singing an intentionally terrible rendition of Happy Birthday. I threaten them both with bodily harm. Neither seems particularly concerned. Which quite frankly is insulting because I could totally take them if I wanted.

By the time they finish, I’m laughing hard enough that my cheeks hurt.

“Okay, okay,” I say, holding up my hands. “Can I blow it out now?”

“Not until you make a wish.”

I lean toward the cake and close my eyes.

It’s funny how difficult such a simple thing can be. As a kid, I always knew exactly what I wanted. A new bicycle. A puppy. Some ridiculous toy I’d seen advertised on television. But now? I have a decent apartment, a job that pays most of my bills, a best friend who occasionally makes me question my life choices, parents who love me, and some days that feel lonelier than they should.

Nothing is perfect, but I wouldn’t change anything. Things could be worse. A lot worse.

So what am I supposed to wish for?

I open my eyes.

“Ria,” Briar says, laughing. “You’re going to get wax all over the cake.”

“Sorry.”

I close my eyes again, and this time, I make a wish. Nothing extravagant. Nothing impossible. Just something small. Something that feels right despite the gut feeling I initially had about today.

I blow out the candle.

Briar cheers like I just won the lottery - still more excited about my birthday than I was- and Daniel applauds with as much enthusiasm as he can muster for a boss that is ready to slip out the door for the rest of the day.

“There,” I say. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic.” Briar grins.

“Wonderful,” I nod, faking a smile for her sake. “Can I go back to work now?”

“Not before telling me what you wished for!” She nearly stumbles forward as she dances excitedly in place waiting for my answer.

I open my mouth, then stop. For a moment, I can’t remember. Not the words. Not even the general idea. It’s as though the thought slipped away the instant I blew out the candle.

I frown. That’s strange.

“Aurelia?”

I blink. Briar is watching me expectantly. Like she is still waiting for my response, but could sense something was wrong. I give her a shaky smile.

“You’re not supposed to tell people your wishes,” I say, trying to cover what just happened. It seems to work.

She rolls her eyes, “Gods, you’re boring.”

“Love you, too.” I grab a plastic fork and steal a bite of frosting. Whatever I wished for probably wasn’t important anyway. And besides, it’s just a birthday wish. It’s not like any of them ever come true.

By the time my shift ends, my feet ache, my patience has evaporated, and I’m fairly certain I’ve consumed enough caffeine to keep a small village awake. All I want is to get out of these newly stained clothes and into something comfortable. Thankfully, I brought a change of clothes with me this morning.

Briar is waiting by the back door when I emerge from the employee restroom. She’s changed out of her work shirt and into a black dress. The minute my eyes find her, I feel myself frown and look down at my ordinary outfit. She said to dress cute, but didn’t specify that it should be formal.

I look back up at her with a shake of my head, “I’m not going anywhere fancy.”

“We’re not.” She smiles sweetly.

I narrow my eyes. I don’t trust that smile. I have never trusted that smile. Especially when paired with that stare.

“Fine,” I mutter as I walk outside with her following behind me. “But if you take me somewhere that serves food on a wooden board instead of a plate, I’m leaving.”

“Noted.”

“And I’m not changing.” I adjust my cardigan as we walk across the street to the employee’s parking section. I walked to work this morning and with how tired my feet are, I’m partly glad I’ve caved into her little plans.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“And—”

“Oh my God, woman, just go get in the car.”

I laugh as she walks ahead of me, leading the way.

Outside, the late-afternoon air is warm, and the street is crowded with people heading home. A bus rumbles past. Someone honks at an intersection. Across the road, the bookstore owner is pulling down the blinds.

Normal things. Familiar things. Because today really is just another ordinary day.

I follow Briar toward her car, listening as she complains about a customer who tried to pay for a six-dollar sandwich with a hundred-dollar bill.

Halfway across the parking lot, I stop. For no particular reason. Or at least, none I can explain. A strange sensation passes through me. Not dizziness, exactly. More like the feeling of walking into a room and forgetting why you went there.

Except stronger.

For a moment, I have the unmistakable impression that I’ve forgotten something important. Something I was supposed to do. Somewhere I was supposed to be.

I glance over my shoulder. The café’s windows reflect the sinking afternoon sun. Nothing unusual. Nothing out of place.

“Ria?” Briar’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.

I turn as my eyes land on her standing beside her car, keys dangling from one finger.

“You coming?”

“Yeah.” I breathe out, shaking my head trying to make sense of what just happened.

“You okay?”

“Fine.”

She studies me. “You sure?”

I force a smile, redirecting the conversation much like earlier. “Just tired.”

Her expression relaxes. “Well, lucky for you, I have the perfect cure.”

“If you say alcohol—”

“Alcohol!”

I laugh and shake my head. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet you love me.”

“Debatable.”

I climb into the passenger seat and pull the door shut as Briar starts the engine. The minute my door is shut, she launches a conversation about how tonight is going to be one of the most memorable birthdays I’ve ever had.

For most of the conversation, I listen and smile as if I’m following along. But I’m not. Instead, my mind races as I try to figure out what it is that I forgot. I recount pieces of my day as Briar talks with her hands beside me. I lose my train of thought somewhere between the parking lot and the first traffic light as the strange feeling disappears.

By the time we reach the restaurant, I’ve forgotten about it entirely. Which is probably for the best. After all, it’s my birthday, and I should try and enjoy it.