When We're Thirty by Casey Dembowski (beautiful books to read .TXT) 📕

me the honor of informing Henry that he gets to cover the Atlas Genius show?”

The kid had lyrics from one of their songs tattooed on his arm. Hannah wasn’t even that hardcore.

“Yes, please,” Riley said, resting her hand on her ever-growing belly. At nine months pregnant, Riley looked ready to pop. Hannah didn’t see how that baby girl was going to stay in there much longer. “Anyway, happy birthday! Hope you have something fun planned tonight.”

Hannah waited until Riley padded away, the drag of her feet on the hardwood one of the most comforting sounds in Hannah’s life, before snapping a picture of the bouquet and sending it to Kate. Thanks for the flowers.

I didn’t send you flowers, weirdo, Kate wrote back.

What? Hannah typed. She’d been certain they were from Kate. No one else would send her white carnations.

Your parents?

I don’t think so, Hannah replied. They got me tickets to that off-Broadway show.

That’s right. Who brought them to you? Maybe you have a secret admirer.

Hannah laughed. Riley.

The typing ellipses appeared, followed by a flurry of back-to-back messages:

She would be the first one I’d suspect. ;-)

Heading to a meeting.

I’ll pick up wine, you get dinner.

Meet you at your place.

Hannah put her phone down and looked back at the flowers. If Kate hadn’t sent them, who had?

THE FAMILIAR CREDIT music of Kate’s podcast, Bitching about Boyfriends, wound down. Hannah pulled out her earbuds and wrapped them around her phone. Leaning back against her living room couch, she went through the script again in her mind, processing it. Across from her, the television was paused on the end credits of the last episode of the sappy drama she was currently binging with Kate. The preview for the next episode taunted her with the promise of tears.

Kate had disappeared into the kitchen with an expensive bottle of wine a few minutes earlier. Hannah could hear her digging through drawers for a corkscrew. There would be no twist-off tops tonight. Thirtieth birthdays warranted high-class wine, a precedent Kate had set when she turned thirty at the beginning of the year. The kitchen went quiet, and a moment later, Kate returned with two overfilled glasses of Riesling.

She handed one to Hannah. “So, these flowers...”

Hannah worried at her cuticles. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the flowers since they’d arrived at her desk. Who’d sent them? Her parents didn’t do that type of thing, and in the eighteen months—on and off—she’d been with Brian, he’d only ever gifted her roses. She didn’t have the heart to tell him otherwise. And it wasn’t as if she kept carnations around her apartment, from which he could have gleaned her preference. Fresh flowers weren’t exactly part of her weekly budget. “Have you ever mentioned to Brian that white carnations are my favorite?”

“Brian and I don’t exactly talk when you’re not around,” Kate said between sips of wine.

Hannah rolled her eyes. “Can you blame him? You talked about his penis size on your podcast and didn’t even try to hide his identity.”

“It’s not like his parents listen to my podcast.”

Hannah shook her head—Kate logic. “Still. Maybe they could be from him?”

“Brian doesn’t have enough romantic sensibility to send you flowers at your job on your birthday.”

“But—”

“And if he somehow came up with the idea to send you flowers, he would abso-fucking-lutely send a card, because he would want credit for coming up with such a fabulous idea.”

“Kate—”

“Not to mention you have never told him that you love white carnations. And I certainly didn’t tell him, and he in no way asked for my help on the matter. So no, I don’t believe the flowers came from Brian, and you don’t either.”

Disappointment coursed through her. Hannah didn’t know if it was because the flowers weren’t from him or because she knew they would never be from him. “I know, okay?”

Of course she knew. She’d known for months. That didn’t mean she didn’t love him or that deciding to end her relationship was easy or simple.

“Can’t I just pretend until I see him tomorrow?” she asked and took a sip of her wine.

Kate shrugged, her standard reaction to all things Brian. “What’s one more night when you’ve been pretending for over a year?”

Hannah flinched. After a decade of friendship, she was used to Kate’s bluntness, but Kate usually softened the blow. It was a trait Hannah sometimes loved and sometimes loathed about her best friend. Kate never meant to be cruel; it was just her way. She was a mirror, always reflecting the truths that Hannah wouldn’t voice.

“Sorry,” Kate said, putting her hand over Hannah’s. “That was too much, and I didn’t even mean it. God, and on your birthday. I promised myself I would lay off Brian for the day. It was part of my gift to you.”

Hannah forced a smiled and squeezed Kate’s hand. “Then I guess you owe me another gift.”

“I guess I do.” Kate sighed. “Brian’s not even the reason I’m pissed... for once. Remember Teddy?”

Hannah wished she didn’t. Teddy was the yoga instructor Kate had dated for three months back when Kate and Hannah lived together. It had been years, but the memory of walking in on Kate and Teddy attempting some insane, next-level Kama Sutra pose wasn’t something she would soon forget. Hannah stared at her incredulously for a few seconds.

Kate, being Kate, stared right back, waiting for a response.

“Yes,” Hannah said, laughing. “I remember Teddy, particularly his backside.”

“At least it was a well-toned backside,” Kate said with a shrug. “Not like the memories of flabby backsides you cursed me with.”

“You’ve never walked in on me having sex.”

“I just didn’t squeal like a little girl and slam the door when I did. It’s called tact.”

Hannah bit back a loud laugh, but the tiniest of giggles still escaped. “Yes, because tact is your specialty.”

“Anyway...” The ghost of a smile played across her face. “I ran into Teddy at yoga class. I avoided him for years and two weeks ago—poof—there