Something Blue - Emily Giffin [35]
"I'm sick," I said, trying another angle for attention. "Morning sickness. I threw up twice."
He rolled over, his back toward me. "You feel better now?" he asked, his voice muffled under his comforter.
"No," I said. "Worse."
"Mmmmmm. I'm sorry, sweetheart," he said.
I sighed loudly and said in my most sardonic tone, "Happy birthday to me."
I expected his eyes to snap open, an immediate apology to spring from his lips. But he only mumbled again, still facedown in his pillow, "Happy birthday, Darce. I was getting to that."
"The hell you were. You totally forgot!"
"I didn't forget… I just gave you your present," he said. I couldn't see his face but knew he was smirking.
I told him I wasn't amused and then announced that I was going to take a shower. "By all means," I said, "you just stay in bed and relax."
Marcus tried to redeem himself after I had showered, but he didn't have much ammunition. It was clear he had not yet bought me a card or a present. Nor had he purchased my Pillsbury sticky cinnamon buns and pink candles even though I had told him that this was my family tradition, a tradition that Dex had continued over the past seven years. Instead, Marcus only offered me a few sweeties and babies, along with a pack of saltines from his delivery from the diner the night before. "Here," he said. "In case you start to feel morning sickness again. I heard once that these do the trick."
I wondered where he had heard that before. Had he ever gotten another girl pregnant? I decided to broach the topic later and snatched the crackers from his outstretched hand, saying, "You're way too good to me. Really, Marcus, you have to tone this down. I can't handle all the over-the-top gestures."
"Oh, relax. I got you covered, Darce. You'll get your present tonight," Marcus said as he sauntered naked toward the bathroom. "Now go play nice with the other kids."
"Buh-bye," I said, as I slipped on my favorite Marc Jacobs pumps and walked toward the door. "Have fun shopping for my gift!"
"What makes you think I don't have it already?" he said.
"Because I know you, Mr. Last Minute… and I mean it, Marcus. I want something good. Think Fifty-seventh Street!"
When I got to work, Claire was waiting in my office with yellow roses and what appeared to be a professionally wrapped gift. "Happy birthday, hon!" she trilled.
"You remembered!" I said. "What gorgeous roses!"
"Of course I remembered, silly," she said, placing the fishbowl vase of flowers on my desk. "So how do you feel today?"
I looked at her, worried that she could tell I had morning sickness. "Fine. Why?"
"Just wondering if it feels any different being thirty?" she whispered. Claire was still twenty-eight for another few weeks, in the safety zone, buffered by twenty-nine.
"A little," I said. "Not too bad, though."
"Well, when you look as good as you do, what's a little thing called age?" Claire said. She had been full of compliments since my breakup with Dex. I enjoyed them, of course, but sometimes I had the sense that they verged on pity remarks. She continued, "You could easily still pass for twenty-seven."
"Thanks," I said, wanting to believe her.
Claire smiled sweetly as she handed me my gift. "Here! Open! Open!"
"I thought you were going to make me wait until lunch!" I said, eagerly eyeing the present. Claire had excellent taste and never skimped in the gifting department. I ripped open the paper and saw a satisfying, red Baccarat box. I lifted the hinged lid and peered down at the chunky green crystal heart threaded with a black silk cord.
"Claire! I love it! I love it!"
"You do? Really? I have a gift receipt if you want to