“What did your mom make?” I asked, trying to keep the mood light, hoping Jamie didn’t think I had intentionally left it behind in the kitchen. “Was it one of my favorites?”
He walked into the kitchen and returned with the container, with an excited look on his face.
“No,” he replied, a bit too proudly. “It’s just that her food is always better. You know, you can’t really trust anyone else’s cooking.”
The room turned silent, with only the music adding to the ambiance that was slowly changing. I was offended. Of course, I was. But I didn’t want to have a confrontation with Jamie. Instead, I smiled at the table.
“Well, why don’t we all try some of Jamie’s mom’s food?” I asked.
As nods of agreement circled and the food was sampled—it was delicious—but still, the initial sting of Jamie’s words lingered. I decided then that a subtle lesson was in order.
As the dinner plates were clearing, my mother brought out the birthday cake, and everyone toasted and sang for me.
The next day was part two of the birthday weekend. I had wanted the same group of people to go go-karting and excitement buzzed around us. Jamie was gleaming with anticipation until I called out just as he approached the kart next to me.
“Sorry, Jamie,” I said, as my father, dressed for the occasion, joined us. “Dad will drive with me—I can’t really trust anyone else driving me.”
Jamie’s smile faltered, his eyes flickering with realization as he connected the dots. He ended up waiting alone as everyone else teamed up, the irony not lost on him.
Despite the fun on the track, the drive home was quiet, the air thick with unspoken thoughts. Jamie and I met at a coffee shop, ready to discuss our relationship a few days later.
“I just felt so embarrassed at the track,” he admitted, his voice low. “And at your birthday dinner… I didn’t realize how my words came off until it was too late.”
I sipped my coffee. I needed to choose my words carefully. The truth was that I had been over Jamie for a while. I just needed to be sure. And now, I was.
“I wanted you to see how it felt, Jamie,” I explained gently. “Sometimes, what we say can hurt, even if we don’t mean it to.”
He nodded slowly, but the hurt had settled deep. As we paid the bill, we concluded that it was best to go our separate ways, the strain too much for our already fragile relationship.
By the time my next birthday rolled around, I was introducing everyone to Tom, my current boyfriend. Despite the ghosts of birthdays past, I was hopeful but cautious about having him in such an intimate space. This time, I had gone a little bigger and a bit more lavish with the birthday plans.
I hired a chef so I could spend more time with my guests. Since the previous year, we had all gotten rather busy, and we didn’t see each other as much. This was our time to catch up and just be together.
Everyone arrived and were taking Polaroid photos at the booth I had set up, just wanting to make silly memories. I had organized signature cocktails for this birthday, and wanted everything to be perfect.
Tom arrived—and immediately seeing his arms full, I felt my anxiety flare. It was as if history was repeating itself. There stood Tom, with two large Tupperware containers in his arms.
“What’s that?” I asked, pointing to the containers.
“Take the flowers first, birthday girl,” Tom said, smiling, as he opened his arm slightly for me to take a bouquet from under his arm.
Behind me, I knew that my parents and my friends had tensed momentarily—a collective flashback stirring. But Tom, being the complete opposite of Jamie, laughed at everyone as he went around the room hugging everybody, ensuring to kiss my mother on her cheek.
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