At Fiancé's Birthday, He Let Assistant Wish First; I Canceled Registration

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On my fiancé's birthday, he let his assistant make the wish for him:

"The girl brings me luck. Let some of it rub off."

He sat her beside him and looked after her, careful with every little thing:

"She's never been to something like this. Go easy on her."

My mother's heirloom signing pen, he turned around and pressed into her hand.

The shrimp dish I loved most, he told them to swap for the mango dessert she liked.

He only remembered she disliked anything fishy. He forgot I was allergic to mango.

Later he came and stood under my building with roses and a ring, saying he knew he was wrong, that he could change.

I pulled up the new appointment I'd booked at the county clerk's office and showed him:

The man's name on it was no longer his.

1

Matthew Morton's twenty-sixth birthday had come.

We'd grown up together, and the plan was that once we finished this dinner, we'd go file for our marriage license.

But he was forty minutes late.

It didn't sit well with me, but I didn't say anything.

Tonight was the birthday party I'd put together for him, with both families there.

I'd chosen the menu myself, and I'd even begged my father to open a bottle of the liquor he'd kept hidden for ten years.

And when Matthew walked in, there was a girl in a white dress following behind him.

Her head was down, her eyes timid, like it was her first time at anything like this.

It was Marlene Fox.

The college student Matthew had once sponsored, who'd insisted on coming to work for him after graduating, and was now his assistant.

He tilted his head toward her.

"Her birth chart brings me luck. I brought her along so some of it rubs off."

I froze where I stood.

My mother's smile didn't change, but she glanced at me.

My father didn't let anything show, but he didn't speak right away either.

"It's my birthday, so I figured I'd bring her along to liven things up."

"She doesn't have any friends over here on her own."

Matthew pulled out the chair beside him and turned to the girl.

"Marlene, sit here. Close to the birthday boy."

The seat closest to him. It had always been mine before.

Marlene had already settled sideways into it. She stole a glance at me and said in a small voice,

"Mr. Morton, it doesn't feel right for me to sit here…"

"It's fine."

Matthew bent down and poured her a cup of warm water.

"We're all family now."

The table went quiet.

Matthew glanced over the dishes and frowned.

"Waiter, take this buttered shrimp away."

"Marlene doesn't like the fishy taste of shrimp."

"She grew up in the mountains. She's not used to seafood."

My father frowned and looked at me.

That was the dish I'd loved most since I was a child. My father had made a point of telling the head chef the shrimp had to be the freshest they had.

Marlene, in that chair, said quietly,

"It's all right, Mr. Morton, don't mind me. As long as everyone enjoys the meal."

But Matthew looked over the menu.

"Swap it for the mango dessert Marlene likes."

Something in me wanted to laugh.

I'm allergic to mango.

When I was seven I took one bite of mango pudding and broke out in a rash all over, my fever spiking to a hundred and two.

Matthew had run into the hospital room and leaned over my bed.

"Marina Summers, don't be scared. I'll wipe every last mango in the world off the face of the earth."

He kept that up for sixteen years. He never once let me lay eyes on a mango.

Until tonight, when I watched the waiter carry off the shrimp and bring the mango dessert back to the table, setting it down in front of Marlene.

Matthew even reached over and plucked the mint leaves out of the dish, because he remembered:

"Marlene isn't used to mint. It's too sharp for her."

My father's hand rested on his glass, but he didn't lift it.

Marlene seemed to finally catch that the mood was off, and she got up in a fluster.

"Mr. Morton, I really should go sit at the other table. This side is all the elders…"

"Sit here."

Matthew pressed a hand to her shoulder, his voice gentle.

"It's your first time at a family dinner like this. Don't be nervous."

"The project came through thanks to the good luck you brought. Sitting next to me for the fortune, is that so wrong?"

He was looking at Marlene as he said it, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

That smile. I'd seen it many times.

He'd smiled like that when he was seven, wiping out mangoes for me.

He'd smiled like that at fifteen, carrying me on his bike through Maple Lane.

He'd smiled like that at twenty-two, kneeling by the river to propose to me.

But right now that smile was aimed at someone else.

Matthew's mother, Aunt Mamie Morton, smoothed things over.

"Oh, young people care about their superstitions. Wanting a bit of good luck, it's normal, perfectly normal."

She snuck a look at me, like she was watching for my reaction.

Under the table, my mother took my hand.

I knew what she meant. If I was upset, I'd better decide what I was going to do next.

I lowered my head and took a sip of tea.

The waiter brought out the cake.

Six tiers, pink and white, with a "26" candle on top.

I'd ordered it a week ahead. He loved the cakes from this shop, and I ordered from the same place every year.

Starting the year he turned seven, every one of Matthew's birthday wishes had been mine to make.

He'd push the cake in front of me and say,

"Marina, you make it. My wish is just for you to be happy."

Tonight, Marlene sat beside him, her eyes shining as she watched the flickering candles.

"Marlene, come make a wish."

For the first time ever, Matthew didn't look at me. He reached out and nudged the cake toward her.

"A young girl like you must have plenty of things she wants, right?"

I went still for a second.

This was the first time he'd handed that chance to someone else.

Marlene lit up, a little bashful, and said quietly,

"But… it's your birthday today, Mr. Morton."

"It's my birthday, but if you make the wish, it works just the same."

He laughed.

"Since you bring me luck."

Aunt Mamie and Uncle Mason Morton laughed along.

Except for my parents, whose faces were going darker and darker, no one was paying any attention to me.

I sat in that chair, watching the candlelight throw light and shadow across Marlene's face.

Her eyes were closed, like she really was asking the heavens for something.

My father set down his glass, glanced at me, then looked toward Matthew.

I was looking at Matthew too.

The things you said as a child don't count anymore, is that it?

That boy could never have imagined that, so long after, he'd carry a mango dessert over and set it down in front of another girl with his own hands.

And that I, the one he'd sheltered since we were small, would be sitting right beside him, watching all of it.