At Fiancé's Birthday, He Let Assistant Wish First; I Canceled Registration

1: 1

On my fianc's birthday, he let his assistant make the wish for him:

The girl brings me luck. Let some of it rub off.

He sat her beside him and looked after her, careful with every little thing:

She's never been to something like this. Go easy on her.

My mother's heirloom signing pen, he turned around and pressed into her hand.

The shrimp dish I loved most, he told them to swap for the mango dessert she liked.

He only remembered she disliked anything fishy. He forgot I was allergic to mango.

Later he came and stood under my building with roses and a ring, saying he knew he was wrong, that he could change.

I pulled up the new appointment I'd booked at the county clerk's office and showed him:

The man's name on it was no longer his.

Matthew Morton's twenty-sixth birthday had come.

We'd grown up together, and the plan was that once we finished this dinner, we'd go file for our marriage license.

But he was forty minutes late.

It didn't sit well with me, but I didn't say anything.

Tonight was the birthday party I'd put together for him, with both families there.

I'd chosen the menu myself, and I'd even begged my father to open a bottle of the liquor he'd kept hidden for ten years.

And when Matthew walked in, there was a girl in a white dress following behind him.

Her head was down, her eyes timid, like it was her first time at anything like this.

It was Marlene Fox.

The college student Matthew had once sponsored, who'd insisted on coming to work for him after graduating, and was now his assistant.

He tilted his head toward her.

"Her birth chart brings me luck. I brought her along so some of it rubs off."

I froze where I stood.

My mother's smile didn't change, but she glanced at me.

My father didn't let anything show, but he didn't speak right away either.

"It's my birthday, so I figured I'd bring her along to liven things up."

"She doesn't have any friends over here on her own."

Matthew pulled out the chair beside him and turned to the girl.

"Marlene, sit here. Close to the birthday boy."

The seat closest to him. It had always been mine before.

Marlene had already settled sideways into it. She stole a glance at me and said in a small voice,

"Mr. Morton, it doesn't feel right for me to sit here"

"It's fine."

Matthew bent down and poured her a cup of warm water.

"We're all family now."

The table went quiet.

Matthew glanced over the dishes and frowned.

"Waiter, take this buttered shrimp away."

"Marlene doesn't like the fishy taste of shrimp."

"She grew up in the mountains. She's not used to seafood."

My father frowned and looked at me.

That was the dish I'd loved most since I was a child. My father had made a point of telling the head chef the shrimp had to be the freshest they had.

Marlene, in that chair, said quietly,

"It's all right, Mr. Morton, don't mind me. As long as everyone enjoys the meal."

But Matthew looked over the menu.

"Swap it for the mango dessert Marlene likes."

Something in me wanted to laugh.

I'm allergic to mango.

When I was seven I took one bite of mango pudding and broke out in a rash all over, my fever spiking to a hundred and two.

Matthew had run into the hospital room and leaned over my bed.

"Marina Summers, don't be scared. I'll wipe every last mango in the world off the face of the earth."

He kept that up for sixteen years. He never once let me lay eyes on a mango.

Until tonight, when I watched the waiter carry off the shrimp and bring the mango dessert back to the table, setting it down in front of Marlene.

Matthew even reached over and plucked the mint leaves out of the dish, because he remembered:

"Marlene isn't used to mint. It's too sharp for her."

My father's hand rested on his glass, but he didn't lift it.

Marlene seemed to finally catch that the mood was off, and she got up in a fluster.

"Mr. Morton, I really should go sit at the other table. This side is all the elders"

"Sit here."

Matthew pressed a hand to her shoulder, his voice gentle.

"It's your first time at a family dinner like this. Don't be nervous."

"The project came through thanks to the good luck you brought. Sitting next to me for the fortune, is that so wrong?"

He was looking at Marlene as he said it, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

That smile. I'd seen it many times.

He'd smiled like that when he was seven, wiping out mangoes for me.

He'd smiled like that at fifteen, carrying me on his bike through Maple Lane.

He'd smiled like that at twenty-two, kneeling by the river to propose to me.

But right now that smile was aimed at someone else.

Matthew's mother, Aunt Mamie Morton, smoothed things over.

"Oh, young people care about their superstitions. Wanting a bit of good luck, it's normal, perfectly normal."

She snuck a look at me, like she was watching for my reaction.

Under the table, my mother took my hand.

I knew what she meant. If I was upset, I'd better decide what I was going to do next.

I lowered my head and took a sip of tea.

The waiter brought out the cake.

Six tiers, pink and white, with a "26" candle on top.

I'd ordered it a week ahead. He loved the cakes from this shop, and I ordered from the same place every year.

Starting the year he turned seven, every one of Matthew's birthday wishes had been mine to make.

He'd push the cake in front of me and say,

"Marina, you make it. My wish is just for you to be happy."

Tonight, Marlene sat beside him, her eyes shining as she watched the flickering candles.

"Marlene, come make a wish."

For the first time ever, Matthew didn't look at me. He reached out and nudged the cake toward her.

"A young girl like you must have plenty of things she wants, right?"

I went still for a second.

This was the first time he'd handed that chance to someone else.

Marlene lit up, a little bashful, and said quietly,

"But it's your birthday today, Mr. Morton."

"It's my birthday, but if you make the wish, it works just the same."

He laughed.

"Since you bring me luck."

Aunt Mamie and Uncle Mason Morton laughed along.

Except for my parents, whose faces were going darker and darker, no one was paying any attention to me.

I sat in that chair, watching the candlelight throw light and shadow across Marlene's face.

Her eyes were closed, like she really was asking the heavens for something.

My father set down his glass, glanced at me, then looked toward Matthew.

I was looking at Matthew too.

The things you said as a child don't count anymore, is that it?

That boy could never have imagined that, so long after, he'd carry a mango dessert over and set it down in front of another girl with his own hands.

And that I, the one he'd sheltered since we were small, would be sitting right beside him, watching all of it.

2: 2

The cake was cut.

A waiter set out the plated slices, and Matthew handed the first one straight to Marlene Fox.

So easily. Like he'd done it a hundred times.

Before, Matthew would have handed the first piece to me himself, and said:

"The first bite goes to the person who matters most."

Apparently the person who mattered most had been swapped out.

My mother said nothing, only patted the back of my hand under the table.

The message was clear: Mom's right here, you don't need to worry about anything.

Then it was time for gifts.

Aunt Mamie went first, sliding over a rosewood box, calling it a belated coming-of-age gift for her son.

Matthew opened it. Inside was a designer watch.

Then my mother.

She took a fine ebony case out of her handbag.

"This is the pen I used to sign my very first contract."

Inside lay an antique signing pen, its barrel finished in deep-green enamel.

She looked at Matthew.

"Here's to your career going smoothly, Matt, and to you keeping steady in everything."

Matthew recognized the pen.

He'd grown up half in our house, and he'd heard my mother tell the story of that pen more times than he could count.

It was passed down, one generation to the next.

Giving it to him meant she approved of him. It meant he was to become part of the family.

Uncle Mason and Aunt Mamie both had a spark in their eyes. They knew exactly what that pen meant.

"Thank you, Auntie."

There was real feeling in his voice, as if he'd just accepted a promise.

Marlene leaned in, her eyes lighting up.

"That pen is so beautiful."

She gazed at the sapphire set into it.

"So there are pens like this?"

"Growing up, all I ever used were fifty-cent ballpoints. Write long enough and you get a callus on your middle finger."

She opened her right hand and showed us the inside of her middle finger.

There was a callus, faint, small.

Just like her, tucked quietly into a corner.

Matthew looked down at that hand of hers.

Then he put the pen back in the case and pressed it into Marlene's palm.

"It's yours."

The whole table went silent in an instant.

As casually as when he'd said, just now, "You make the wish."

"You're always saying you don't feel confident writing proposals. The signatures you sign with this pen, call it the confidence I'm giving you."

Marlene froze.

She looked at the pen, then at Matthew, then at my mother, and her face went red.

"No, no, Auntie gave it, I can't take it."

"Keep it."

Matthew pressed a hand over the back of hers.

"Auntie won't mind."

He looked up at my mother and smiled.

"Right, Auntie? Marlene puts her heart into her work. In her hands, the pen would do more good."

The smile was still on my mother's lips. She glanced at me, and her eyes said it plainly enough.

"Right. It makes no difference who uses it."

I was the only one who caught what that "right" meant. She'd already given up on Matthew.

Aunt Mamie hurried to smooth it over.

"Oh, that's just the good thing about Matt, he looks after the people under him."

"Marlene runs around for him all day, she's earned it."

She reached over and patted Marlene's shoulder, the way you'd pat your own daughter.

"And this girl's a credit to herself. The minute she joined, our whole project turned around. A little lucky charm, really."

Those two words, lucky charm, worked like an eraser, wiping away everything that had felt wrong.

Aunt Mamie added with a smiling face,

"Marina, don't read too much into it. Marlene and I just hit it off, it's like I've got an extra daughter."

I shook my head.

"Of course not."

Then I looked at Matthew.

"Today she makes your wish. Tomorrow she signs for you."

"She really can help you with a lot."

Matthew's expression stalled. He looked at me, and his brow creased.

He knew I was upset.

But Marlene blinked twice, and her lashes went wet.

"Mr. Morton, is Marina angry with me?"

Her voice was tiny, as if she'd been frightened.

"Should I not have come?"

"I, I'll give the pen back, I don't want it."

She shoved the case into Matthew's arms, her hand trembling a little.

Whatever hesitation had just surfaced in Matthew scattered at once.

"No one's blaming you."

He soothed her in a low voice.

"Sit. Don't overthink it."

Only after he'd calmed her did he lift his eyes to me.

There was impatience in that look, and one thing he didn't say out loud: Why are you being like this again.

I lowered my head and smiled.

Just then my father drew back the gift he'd meant to give himself, the one prepared to follow after my mother handed over the pen.

It was a kraft paper envelope.

Stamped with the Summers Group watermark.

Inside was the agreement transferring thirty percent of the shares.

Matthew saw it.

His gaze landed on that envelope, and his pupils tightened.

Uncle Mason and Aunt Mamie traded a quiet glance too. That gift was for the future son-in-law.

But my father didn't hand it over. He set it back where it had been.

"Since Auntie's already given you the pen, my own small gift here would look like nothing now."

My father said it without a flicker.

"I'll take this back. Let's get on with the birthday."

Would look like.

The words landed on the table, and dead silence followed.

Matthew finally sensed something was wrong.

He looked at me, then at my father.

But that "would look like" had already erased every possibility.

3: 3

Aunt Mamie called for a cocktail show.

She said the mood had gone a little flat, that young people liked some noise, and a bit of flair would liven things up.

The business with the pen was behind them, the cake was cut, and they couldn't very well sit stone-faced through the rest of the meal.

The bartender wheeled in a little cart, bottles and jars in every color lined up in a row.

When the flames shot up, Marlene let out a small yelp and shrank closer to Matthew.

"It's fine."

Matthew turned his body and lifted his arm, drawing her a little more toward himself.

He didn't look at me.

The bartender started tossing bottles, three of them spinning through the air.

Then a loud crack.

He missed the third bottle. It hit the edge of the cart, and shattered glass and liquor burst out together.

Marlene and I were the ones seated on the outer side.

The instant the shards flew toward me, a figure cut across in front of me.

Matthew.

He turned sideways to shield Marlene, one arm pressing her head into his chest.

The other arm raised, blocking whatever might come at her.

The whole motion was clean and quick, not a second's hesitation.

Liquor splashed all over me.

From the shoulder down, my whole left arm was soaked.

Glass sliced the outer side of my arm. The first cut didn't register; the pain came late, and then it came hard.

Everyone at the table stood up.

My mother called out my name, and Aunt Mamie kept asking, "Are you all right, are you all right?"

My father pushed his chair back and checked my wound.

Matthew finally turned his head.

He still had Marlene gathered against him, her fingers clutching his shirt, her whole body curled into his chest.

He looked down at me, his eyes going blank for a moment.

"Marina, you"

I looked down at the two cuts on my left arm. Not deep, but the blood was beading up.

"It's fine," I said.

"Small accident."

Marlene lifted her head from his chest. She looked at the blood on my arm, and her eyes reddened at once.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, this is my fault, I shouldn't have stood on this side"

She started to pull away again, and Matthew held her back.

"Don't move," he said in a low voice.

"There's glass on the floor."

My father was a calm man by habit, but even he couldn't tamp down the anger now. He looked at the waiter.

"Bring the first aid kit."

"Now."

The waiter ran out.

Matthew let go of Marlene and took a step toward me, as if to check the injury.

He looked down at the blood on my arm, and his brow furrowed.

But Marlene sniffled again, softly.

Matthew turned back to glance at her.

"Let me get you seated over there first."

He turned back and took her arm.

"Watch the broken glass."

He moved her to a chair off to the side, and only then did he actually turn to face me.

There was guilt in his eyes, but more than that, awkwardness, like a child caught doing something wrong, wanting to fix it and not knowing where to start.

"Does it hurt?"

I didn't answer.

My father stood in front of me and didn't leave room for me to answer either.

Uncle Mason frowned and shot Matthew a hard look.

Aunt Mamie only grew more awkward.

"Rina's all right, isn't she?"

Just then the waiter came back with the first aid kit.

Aunt Mamie came over with a bit of eagerness to please, wanting to dress the wound herself.

But my mother took the kit first and wiped the liquor off me.

It did hurt, but I made no sound.

Matthew was still over with Marlene.

Head bent, saying something to her, probably some comfort.

His hand rested lightly on Marlene's shoulder.

She stayed curled in the chair, sniffling, like a startled little animal.

I thought back to the year I was eighteen.

It was summer too. Our group from college went camping in the mountains.

I stepped on a loose rock and slid all the way down the slope.

Matthew had been rinsing fruit by the stream. He threw down what was in his hands and came running.

That slope was steep, and on his way down his knee slammed into a rock, wearing a hole in his jeans, blood seeping through.

But he paid it no mind. He grabbed my arm and hauled me up.

His first words were, "Are you okay?"

I saw the blood on his knee and asked if it hurt.

He said he was only worried about me, that he had no room to feel any pain.

Now, he had no room for me.

My mother finished bandaging me.

Nothing serious.

I stood up and said I'd go clean up in the restroom.

As I passed Matthew on my way out, he looked up at me.

But right then Marlene handed him a wet wipe and said,

"Mr. Morton, you should wipe up too, you've got liquor on your hands."

He lowered his head and took it, and whatever he'd meant to say to me he swallowed back down.

The restroom lights were very bright.

I stood in front of the mirror, looking at the wound on my left arm and the smell of mango soaked into my clothes.

How had Matthew's birthday gone last year?

That day he said work was busy, that he'd be late.

I waited two hours at the restaurant, every dish went cold, and in the end he never came.

Later I saw a photo on Marlene's feed.

A cake, candles, her face with her eyes shut, making a wish.

The caption read:

"Today I made his wish for him. He wants me to be happy every day from now on."

At the time I thought he'd just been worn out from work and lost track of time.

Only now did I understand that the whole routine of that cake and that wish had already been walked through last year.

I shut off the water.

My father was already waiting at the door. He took off his own suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders.

The jacket still carried the warmth of him, and the shoulders were broad.

It covered better than half of me.

My father said,

"This birthday wasn't wasted after all."

"We saw a lot of things clearly."

4: 4

Back in the private room, the table had been reset with a fresh round of hot dishes. A waiter had swept away the broken glass.

"Marina."

Matthew came over to stand in front of me.

"Did you get the cut taken care of?"

"It's fine."

"Let me take you to the hospital and have it looked at. In case it scars"

I shook my head.

"No need."

Aunt Mamie fussed at everyone to keep eating, saying an accident shouldn't ruin a young person's birthday.

Uncle Mason cleared his throat and raised his glass.

"Matthew's twenty-six today. From now on he's a real grown man."

"Old Summers and I have been friends all these years. The matter between our two families is settled today too."

Everyone at the table knew it. Once this dinner was over, Matthew and I were going to file for our marriage license.

Matthew brightened up too, ready to lift his glass and wait for my father's word of approval and blessing.

But my father didn't raise his.

"No rush."

The whole table froze.

My mother nodded as well.

"Today is Matthew's birthday. As long as the children are happy, that's enough."

"Everything else can wait."

Matthew's head snapped up. It was the first time he'd ever heard an answer like that.

Marlene must have sensed something too.

She said in a low voice, "Mr. Morton, do you have something urgent to attend to?"

"Maybe I should go first"

"Don't go."

Matthew turned to look at her, his tone softer than a moment ago.

"You've only had a few bites. You'll be hungry."

But I hadn't eaten a single bite all night.

He hadn't noticed, because he didn't care.

Matthew went on, speaking to my father.

"Mr. Summers, Marina and I have been together all this time"

My father didn't deny it.

"That's right. Everyone out there says we'd be one family sooner or later."

"I used to think so too."

"That's why I set aside that thirty percent of shares. A welcome gift for my future son-in-law."

Matthew stood at the edge of the table, looking at my father.

"But you just handed away the pen her mother used to sign her first contract."

My father looked toward Marlene.

"That pen is your aunt's pride."

"Before you passed it off to someone else, did you ever stop to think what that pen was worth?"

Matthew's throat worked.

"Uncle, I... I just didn't think it through."

"You don't need to explain."

My father raised a hand and cut him off.

"I brought Marina here today to enjoy a good meal."

"Not to sit and watch someone else make her wish and sign your future contracts for her."

He turned his head and looked around the table.

Uncle Mason's face darkened. Aunt Mamie wanted to smooth things over, but in the end nothing came out.

No one at this table was blind to what had happened at that dinner. And in their own hearts, they knew they'd lost their footing.

"The marriage between our families, we'll reconsider once we're home."

Matthew's face finally changed.

He took half a step forward and looked at me across the table.

"Marina, is this what you think too?"

I looked down at my cut.

When he'd pulled Marlene into his arms just now, he'd grazed right past my shoulder. He only had to tilt a fraction and he would have been in front of me.

But he hadn't.

Matthew followed my gaze, and his pupils shrank.

"I..."

"Just now I... I didn't get to it."

I smiled a little.

"She's put off by the smell of shrimp and you handled it. She won't eat mint leaves and you handled it."

"I'm allergic to mango and you couldn't handle it. I was sitting closer to the bottle, and you couldn't handle that either."

Not a sound came from the table.

Matthew ground his teeth and was about to speak when Marlene suddenly stood up.

"Marina, I'm really sorry, this is my fault."

"I'll never come again. Please don't be angry with Mr. Morton because of me."

"Mr. Morton really has only ever looked out for me. There's nothing between us"

"I'm not angry."

I gave a faint smile.

"Why would I be angry?"

"I'm not like you."

"What isn't mine, I won't fight for."

She froze, the tears in her eyes hanging right on the edge of falling.

Matthew stepped in front of her, the same way he'd shielded her from the bottle.

For the first time, something anxious surfaced in the way he looked at me.

"Marina, there really isn't anything between Marlene and me the way you think."

"She's just a young girl. I sponsored her, she came to help me, so I look after her a little more, that's all."

"Can you not be so relentless"

I cut him off.

"Do you want me to say it again?"

"What isn't mine, I don't want."

I took my phone out of my bag and opened the marriage-license appointment page.

"Applicants: Marina Summers, Matthew Morton. Status: Cancelled."

I turned the phone around so the screen faced everyone at the table.

Matthew saw that line and froze.

"When did you cancel it?"

I answered.

"The moment you let her make your wish."