2019-09-26 - Happy Birthday, Princess

As she plugged in the code to the front door, Clarissa dreaded actually opening it. It was hard to come home on any day. The big house had never really seemed full even when Pierce was alive, but at least then it was empty in a promising way. One that left open the possibility of bedrooms being converted to nurseries and then to children's rooms. Of silence being filled with laughter. It was the emptiness of a box that was just waiting for a gift to fill it. Gifts. She grimaced. She'd never liked birthdays. Dreaded them really. Her mother was always so quick to point out what could happen to women when they aged that it had been instilled in Clarissa since she was little that growing older ultimately meant fading away. Being seen for less than you were as your beauty faded. Maybe that was the reason her vanity was filled with so many bottles and jars of cosmetics, each one carefully applied at different times of day in order to hide even the hint of crows feet or, god forbid, a freckle that might actually be an age spot.

Pierce had laughed at her fear of birthdays when they met. He thought it was funny how much she dreaded something everyone looked forward to. Didn't she like the cake at least? She'd quoted him the amount of calories one slice of chocolate buttercream cake contained. He found that hilarious and from then on made it a point to win her over on birthdays. It hadn't been easy but, she had to admit, he'd done it up right. He declared the whole week a week of celebration and every day always brought something new all wrapped up in a big silver bow for her to find: A box of chocolates from a little town in Belgium they'd visited on their honeymoon tour of Europe. A bottle of champagne from a vineyard in France where they'd vacationed while dating. A handbag from her favorite designer. A sparkling piece of jewelry to go with her growing collection. A pair of new Louboutin heels, her absolute favorite. A donation in her name to her favorite charity in Africa. And finally, on her actual birthday every year, she'd come home to an entryway filled with red roses. So many that the smell would linger for weeks. Always accompanied by a note with a special message just for her. They’d eat chocolates and drink the champagne and fill the emptiness in the house with music and dancing and laughter. She told him every year he didn't have to, that it didn't really matter to her, but he'd won her over so quickly she secretly looked forward to it every year. Getting older wasn't the horrible death sentence her mother always predicted. Not when someone could celebrate her so thoroughly. Make her feel so special, laugh lines and all.

Even when Pierce started getting distant it was how she knew he still really cared. Sure, he spent more and more time alone and at the office and then in his office at home, and when they were together sometimes he scared her, but he always remembered her birthday week. The gifts always showed up and touched her heart and let her know that the old Pierce she loved was still there. Maybe just a little lost, but surely still there enough to find his way back from whatever it was that was making him that way. He could remember to purchase those gifts every year, with all those special memories attached, so that was something. Something big.

But not big enough. It had all been a vain hope. And the silence that had existed before the gunshot was nothing like the silence it left behind. Empty of promises. A void of hope. In the months after he died she dreaded her birthday all the more. It would be so empty. There would be no celebration.

And yet the gifts had appeared. She thought it was a miracle at the time and cried her eyes out when the first box of chocolates arrived. He must have placed the order before he died. And so she celebrated one last birthday week in memory of him, even keeping some of the rose petals from that last delivery.

Then came this year. One she knew would be hollow and empty. And instead it was once again filled with gifts. But this time she was not touched to see the box of chocolates arrive. Or the champagne. Not even the shoes. The box of jewelry sat unopened on a table. And she’d finally realized that these gifts that she had once seen as the epitome of romance had been bought and paid for long in advance. Orders that required no thought. Maybe that was unkind of her to think, but the idea of things she’d held so close to her heart as being meaningful being merely routine made her furious. How dare he. How dare he still impact her life after everything else he did! And he wasn’t even here to hold accountable. She’d tried to have the orders cancelled. Had her assistant call up every company. And when he failed she called them herself. But they all apologetically told her that they’d been paid far in advance. Surely, they explained sympathetically, it showed how much he loved her. Husbands are so forgetful, he just made sure he never would. And so the deliveries would continue.

It made Clarissa hate him. It made her feel like a fool. And it made her utterly loathe her birthday all over again. She took a deep breath and opened the door, but it didn’t matter. She could already smell them from the outside. Dozens of red roses arranged in silver vases all tied with silver bows. She hated the way they made her eyes water. She hated the way they stood out against the mostly white interior, impossible to ignore. And most of all, she hated the way they made her miss him.

She slammed the door and pushed past them to the kitchen, choosing anger and indignation over any other emotion that bubbled to the surface. Might as well drink the champagne and then more and celebrate in style on the beach. In doing so she knocked the pristine white card that had been set up on the end table onto the marble floor. She didn’t bother picking it up, just left it there as she passed. She already knew what it said. It said the same thing every year.

‘Happy Birthday, Princess. You shine too bright to ever fade.’