“Happy Birthday! Make a wish!” Harold’s eyes reflect the light of oh so many candles.
I smile over the glare and close my eyes. Murmur the words to myself and then blow out as much air as my sixty-year-old lungs can hold. Truth be told, it’s not the age holding me back—it’s those forty years of smoking.
Harold stabs the cake with a knife and begins slicing pieces. Yellow cake with chocolate frosting and colorful sprinkles. The exact cake each year. I should be grateful. I mean, Martha’s husband stops at the Piggly Wiggly and grabs whatever’s on the shelf when her birthday rolls around. My Harold buys the ingredients and works away in the kitchen to create this beauty every year. The image of him in my grandmother’s apron surrounded by measuring cups, eggshells, and empty bowls makes me smile. When I wander into the kitchen each year, he always has a perfectly placed smudge of cake flour on his nose. It’s almost as if he places it there just for me. Each time, I sandwich his face between my hands and kiss away the flour. He grins and wraps his arms around me in a fierce hug each time.
“Do tell, what did you wish for?” Harold slides a plate with a ginormous slice of cake in front of me and hands me a fork.
I savor that first bite, so full of love that I’m convinced it turns an ordinary yellow cake with chocolate frosting into something magical. I debate if I should tell him. Everyone knows that if you reveal the wishes made on birthday candles, the spell will be broken, and your dreams will die. Nobody wants their dreams to die. But then again, I’ve been keeping this secret for nearly forty years, and it’s died a little with each passing calendar flip.
Casually, I reply to Harold, “You know I can’t tell you. My wish won’t come true if I do.”
He laughs and forks a bite of cake into his mouth, smearing chocolate icing over his lip like a mustache. “That’s silly. Everyone knows they’re more likely to come true if you share your dreams with your truest love. We’ve shared everything for decades and you want to keep a birthday wish to yourself. Come now. Spill the tea.”
“Spill the tea? You must have been talking to Maddie today. That sounds like something she’d say.” Maddie is our pre-teen granddaughter. She’s the spitting image of her daddy, who is the spitting image of Harold. All the grandkids immensely love Harold, but he and Maddie share something unexplainable.
“Guilty as charged. Maddie called me this afternoon after soccer practice. Oh, she couldn’t wait to tell someone about her special surprise for you on this momentous birthday.”
Momentous birthday. I guess turning sixty qualifies as momentous. Honestly, it feels like just another day now that it’s here. The boys and Harold planned a big celebration, although my daughters-in-law likely did all the work. But that’s unfair because Harold is the most hands-on husband and father of all my friend’s spouses. I giggle to myself at the thought of him being a hands-on husband and the images that brings to mind.
I caress the roses that he’s brought me. Their fragrance is almost overwhelming in our tiny kitchen. Everything is small in this house, but we raised our family here, and it is packed with memories. I wouldn’t have it any other way. “Ah, but it’s been a good six decades. And these forty years celebrating with you and the boys and now the families, I wouldn’t trade it for the world.” A tear slips down my cheek, and I brush it away. I hope Harold doesn’t see it.
“Oh, darlin’, tears on your birthday? I hate to see you sad.” He comes around behind me, leans over, and wraps me in a hug.
“They’re not tears of sadness. They’re tears of joy, and relief, and thankfulness. I’ve been so overwhelmed these last few weeks at the thought of all these years.”
Harold returns to his seat, satisfied it’s okay. “So, will you tell me your birthday wish or not?”
I ponder again whether I should tell him, and with a deep gulp of courage, I blurt out, “My wish is that this is the year I find myself.” There. It’s been said.
A frown mars Harold’s handsome face. “Find yourself? I’m not sure I understand.”
Oh shoot, I knew I should have kept my mouth shut. “It’s just that we married so young, and the boys came so quickly. I’ve just been someone’s daughter, wife, and mother all these years, and sometimes I wonder who I really am.”
The pain in his eyes flashes quick and hot. After forty years of marriage, I’ve seen this a handful of times, and it kills me each time. I watch my husband and hold my breath as he processes this.
“I see.” He pushes away from the table and walks out of the kitchen.
“Harold, wait.” I follow him into the living room, where he has dropped into the ratty blue recliner I wish we could get rid of, but he’s threatened to go on a hunger strike more than once if I follow through with my threats. Oh, I’d love a petite Queen Anne chair made of floral material instead of this mammoth man chair. But he loves it, so I do, too.
I kneel in front of him and take his hands. “I’ve hurt you. I never want to hurt you. Tell me what you’re thinking.”
He sighs. “You’ve never been just anything, love.” His thumb rubs over the gold of my wedding band. “From the very start, you were my whole world, and I wasn’t sure I could even share you with the boys. But then I saw you flourish as a mom, and my heart nearly burst from pride. My dear, you are so much more than just a wife and mother. Our world revolves around you.”
“I know. I do. But sometimes I wonder about that girl who dreamed of walking the streets of Paris and jumping out of airplanes to feel the thrill of air rushing past me and the Earth pulling me back to itself. Sometimes, I wonder if that is all forever lost. Adventure was definitely something I saw as being part of my life.”
A small smile played on the edges of Harold’s lips. “Adventure? Need I remind you of the time you walked all the way to the next county just so Tommy could get that ridiculous Otter Scout badge?”
I squeeze his hands and laugh. “No, that one is still fresh in my mind. And I think I still have blisters on my toes even though it’s been thirty years. This life has been grand, but now I want to find myself in this new season.”
Harold stands and pulls me into his arms. “Well, as long as you walk beside me, we will search until you’re found, and your soul is full of new adventures. When should I schedule those skydiving lessons?”
Photo credit: Shelley Evans on Pixabay
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