1 Five of Cups Another spoonful will dull the painful truth. My youth is gone. A carton of ice cream is gripped between my legs like my life depends on it not slipping from my clutches. A cool autumn breeze flits through the open window next to my whitewashed sleigh bed, and I shiver as it races up my exposed arms. I consider closing said window but refrain, too comfy to move from under the heavy down comforter and matching gray sheets I'm currently curled beneath. My lips wrap around a tarnished silver spoon-a wedding present from my mother-and a chill settles over me. Whether from the draft or cold dessert, I'm not sure, and I couldn't care less either way. Less than nine hours remain of my fortieth birthday, and I'm alone, eating my ice cream as though it's my last supper. My eyes are fixed on the harvest-yellow walls, a color I adored once upon a time but now resent because I'm no longer the carefree wife and mother who chose that cheerful shade. Birthdays come and go, and the next may not be promised, but it's just a day. Tomorrow, all the calls and messages will stop. I'll be one year closer to my own death, with nothing but wrinkles and cellulite to keep me company. Dramatic much? My phone chimes from the nightstand and I ignore it. It's been going off all day with messages commemorating a day I'd rather skip from family and friends who know this yet refuse to oblige me. Almost immediately, the phone rings, and I know that either I answer or risk a wellness check from the police, courtesy of my well-meaning friends. There's no doubt it's Lanie or Nina on the other end of this call. Both of my best friends are dogs with a bone, and neither will stop until I shut off the phone or scream down the line that I'm alive. Sighing, I grab the black smartphone and push accept. "I'm breathing. You can stop calling," I drone, sounding pathetic even to my own ears. "Well, that's a relief." Lanie's dry tone just barely hides the irritation she works so hard to conceal. "I thought you'd managed to drown yourself in Chocolate Salted Fudge Truffle or that nasty riesling you adore." I hear Lanie's deep breath before she continues. "Alyssa, you can't hide from your birthday." "But I'm going to give it my best try," I say, eyeing the now-empty ice cream container with contempt, sending a thanks up to the gods that she didn't attempt a video chat. If Lanie Anderson saw my current condition, she'd stage a full-on intervention. All traces of irritation and worry vanish when she says, "Ava called." I groan, silently cursing my far-too-perceptive daughter for calling my overprotective best friend. This wouldn't be the first time. In fact, it seems to be happening far more often than reasonable. I know Ava doesn't want me to be alone today, but I don't want her worrying when she should be focusing on studying for her exams. She's a little over an hour away at a prestigious boarding school for the arts, and if it were her choice, she'd give up her dreams and come back home. "She shouldn't have done that. I told her I was fine." "She doesn't think you are, Ally. You haven't left your house for more than a grocery run this week. It's your fortieth birthday and you aren't celebrating, when we all know that birthdays are a big production with you." "I left my house," I say indignantly, blowing a wayward piece of hair out of my eyes. "Don't be cranky. It's unbecoming of a woman in her prime." Her teasing lilt is meant to make me laugh, but I don't. "I'm not cranky and I'm not in my prime." "Sure you are!" she says far too cheerfully when moments ago it was all doom and gloom. "Forty is a prime number." "It's not." "It isn't? Hmm . . ." she murmurs, and I can see her clearly in my head, full lips pursed and one perfectly microbladed eyebrow cocked in contemplation. "Well, I guess you're right. Nothing prime about forty." "I hate you." "You don't," she practically purrs. She's right. I cherish our friendship. Even more for her part in picking me up off the floor on numerous occasions over the last two years. Lanie has been a constant friend. One who hasn't allowed all of me to break into the million tiny pieces it wants to. A fate my poor heart didn't escape. Two years ago, my soul was crushed, and it wasn't with one hard knock to my front door. The harsh reality is that I was sitting next to my husband Garrett the day he died. My head hit the side window, and the last thing I remember is a bright light and the color red. For over a year, I relived the accident nightly. I didn't have dreams; it was always the same nightmare. One I couldn't wake up from. Garrett died. I survived. And that truth has haunted me for a long time. My eyes catch on Garrett's ashes, which sit in a generic, unmarked container on top of my dresser. Too cliché for a life as beautiful as ours had been. A tear slips down my cheeks unbidden, and I swipe it away. Not today, Satan. My current grief is brought to you by my birth. I only have room for one trauma at a time. "Earth to Ally," Lanie sings through the phone. I shake my head, clearing my mind. "What did you say?" "It's your birthday, and it's Thursday wine night. I know you said you didn't want to celebrate, but you must. Nina and I are headed out, and you're coming." I chance a glance into the floor-length mirror resting against my wall and grimace. My wavy strawberry-blond hair is matted at the crown of my head, and I have dark circles underneath my bloodshot eyes. The entirety of my face is blotchy and swollen, a byproduct of crying. I'm a hideous beast today. "No, thank you." My spoon scrapes the bottom of the empty ice cream carton, and the tears stream briskly down my cheeks. It's been two years and I know this breakdown isn't about him. It's about a number. Forty always sounded ancient and here I am living it and feeling every ache and pain that decided to start on this very day. How convenient. "I . . . I'll be . . . fine," I cry. "I'm just so . . . ugly." The wail that accompanies that last part resembles that of a dying animal, and I'm sure Lanie is beyond concerned about my mental state. "You're not, babe. You need us." The tenderness she uses is so unlike her. She's my bossy, no-nonsense friend, who's more likely to slap the sense back into me than to allow the moping. "As much as I don't want to be the overbearing friend on your day, this isn't a situation that I'm going to back down from. I'm coming to you." "No, I-" It's no use. The line is dead, and I know without a doubt that Lanie and Nina will be here at some point regardless of any protest on my part. Forty wasn't supposed to look like this. I'd had every intention of marching out of my thirties with my head held high, ass tight and no lines to be found from the corners of my eyes to my hairline, seventeen years into a blissful marriage. Exactly none of those things are my reality. I have tracks deeper than an off-road path lining my forehead and a scar that runs from my temple to the corner of my right eye, a permanent reminder of all I've lost. Lanie is right. I'm wasting away in this room. If Garrett were here, he'd tell me to pull myself together, get dressed, and plan on a headache in the morning. But he's not here, so I'll eat my ice cream and feel sorry for myself until the birthday hijackers I call friends arrive. At five o'clock on the dot, I hear the key turning in the lock in the door. I gave spares to both Lanie and Nina in case of emergencies. Apparently, my breakdown earlier constitutes an emergency. Seated in a dark corner of the living room, with a clear view of the front door, I watch Lanie pop her head inside. The sun has long set, and darkness blankets the room, shielding me from her view. "Alyssa?" she calls out, as though she cares about my privacy. "We're coming in." Lanie flips a switch, and the overhead lights beam down around us. Lanie's brown eyes are wide, one black-and-white-Converse-covered foot still in the door as if she fears what she'll find. I'd laugh if I wasn't having too much fun watching these two tiptoe around like some ghost is about to pop out at them. Nina's head peeks around Lanie's body, her blond hair hanging loosely over one shoulder, and our eyes lock. My lips tip up in amusement. "Hi, love," Nina says, pushing Lanie through the door when she sees me sitting in my comfy chair. I raise my hand and wave, not wanting to speak for fear I'll start laughing and pee myself, which has been a danger ever since giving birth. Yet another less-than-sexy problem I deal with on the regular. "I'm glad to see you're not in your bed," she says, sitting down on the arm of my chair and pulling me into a hug. Nina is a high school counselor and very adept at handling grief, which is a real pain in the ass for someone who's trying to avoid talking about her feelings. "How you doing?" she asks, backing up and looking me over, her gaze lingering a little too long. If they see that I've managed to pull myself together, they'll insist on birthday shenanigans, and I'm not quite fond of that idea. I showered, hoping to wash away the remnants of my earlier wallowing, but it was no use. My pale complexion can't hide the stubborn splotches of distress, even with a Sephora's worth of makeup plastered over my face. "I'm struggling." A complete exaggeration. My head lowers, shaking back and forth, playing up the misery card. Based on how her eyes are narrowed in on mine, she knows better. I've managed to fake it till I make it before, but tonight, I'm failing. "We know better, Ally," Lanie cuts in, walking toward her typical spot on the outdated ottoman, complete with a gaudy floral print. It's a hand-me-down from my mother, which is about the only thing that woman has ever given up to me. "You're trying to avoid a celebration for the big four-oh, and we are not here for it. You and I both know you'll regret it eventually." Lanie gets comfortable, stretching her long, lean legs out on the couch as Nina takes a seat on the floor at my feet. "She's right, Alyssa. This happened on your thirtieth and you still to this day whine about not throwing a party." "We promised we'd never let you do that again. So pull up your big girl panties and embrace your midlife hotness." Lanie says, earning a stern glare from Nina. Nina springs back up, putting her arm around my shoulder. She pulls me into her embrace again. "Don't listen to her. We all know she's about as comforting as sitting on a cactus." The most unladylike snort rips through me. Lanie's mouth opens and then closes like a fish out of water. "I didn't say anything bad." Nina rolls her eyes, turning her focus back on me. "I know you're struggling, love. We won't push you into going out if that's not what you want," Nina coos, hand running down my untamed hair soothingly. I look up into Nina's ice-blue eyes, framed by the longest non-manufactured eyelashes I've ever seen, determined to change the subject. "Have I gained weight?" She nods and Lanie gasps. "Nina Joy Dunbar, what the hell's the matter with you?" Lanie's high-pitched squeal is enough to pull a smile from me. I try to smash my lips together to contain my laughter, but it's no use. A fit of pre-teen giggles escapes me. Nina's eyes widen as her head bounces back and forth between us. "Huh? What did I say?" Lanie rolls her eyes this time. "Pay attention. You're not typically the space cadet." Nina ignores her, gaze settling on me. "I'm sorry, love. I'm . . . distracted." I want to ask her why, but she forges ahead, beating me to the punch. "My mother called. She wants to come to town for the holidays." Nina isn't distracted, she's distressed, and I can't blame her. Samantha Woods is equal parts obnoxious and terrifying. "Why?" Lanie says, parroting my thoughts. "I'm sure she needs more money." Nina sighs, picking at her fingernails. "She had a botched cosmetic surgery and is tapped out of funds to fix it." "Oh, please. The woman is fake from her head to her toes. What more can she need?" Lanie practically spits the words. None of us are fond of Nina's mother, but Lanie in particular despises the woman. "This time it's true. I heard it myself via an unwanted video call." My eyes narrow. "You heard it? What, pray tell, does that mean?" Nina's lip tips up. "She went back to get bigger implants and now her boobs squeak." She waggles her eyebrows, grinning so widely her brilliant white teeth are on full display. "Squeak?" Lanie asks. "Like a rubber duck?" Nina's head bobs. "Let's just say that the neighborhood dogs follow her around. And I am not exaggerating." We all burst into laughter. Of all the people for something like that to happen to, the universe got it right this time. Lanie wipes under her eyes. "Don't you dare help her fix that. Let her suffer in squeaking until she finds Husband Number Six to pay for it." I take a good hard look at my friends, recognizing how lucky I truly am, despite the hardships I've endured. Having Lanie and Nina by my side today is something I've rejected, but, man, am I glad they didn't listen. "I needed this. You two being here," I explain, and Nina offers me a wide smile. "No matter what I said, I'm glad you ignored it." "If I'd known my stories would make you laugh like this, I would've been here sooner." Nina frowns as she rubs her chest. "I'm sorry I waited so long to barge in, Alyssa." I wipe under my nose, grunting. "I ate a carton of ice cream and chugged half a bottle of wine. I was fine. Wonderful, even." Excerpted from An Enchanting Case of Spirits by Melissa Holtz All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
