Make Me Bad(3)

He turns to me, his thick black-framed glasses barely hiding the guilt lurking behind them as his frown turns into a blatant please-don’t-kill-me smile.

He’s about to ditch me on my birthday.

“Don’t hate me, but Kevin called after work. Apparently, he’s had a terrible day and—” I must look pitiful because he cuts off his sentence, shakes his head, and reaches for his phone in the pocket of his jeans. “No. You know what? I’m just going to tell him I’ll be home later. It’s your birthday! We have movie plans!”

I reach out and rest my hand on his forearm. “No, you should go. Kevin needs you, and I’m sure it’s important.”

His brows scrunch together. “You sure? I really don’t want to leave you—”

His phone rings and I know it’s his fiancé because his face drops. I urge him to take the call and the second it connects, I can hear Kevin upset on the other end. He’s a fireman. He does important work. I feel terrible, and I won’t let Eli stay to help clean up the party. Besides, there’s not much to do—most of the streamers have already been ground to dust. I gesture for him to go. Get. I’d kick his butt if I was flexible enough to reach it.

He shakes his head and mouths, “It’s your birthday!” but I scoot around him and plant my hands against his shoulder blades so I can shove him toward the door. He turns back and covers the phone with his hand. “I’m sorry, Madison. I’ll make it up to you. I promise!”

I stand at the door, watching him leave, thinking to myself how adorable he and Kevin are. They’re both good-looking and in shape. They have a dog they dote on, and they frequent farmers markets and brunch spots. Their life is worthy of a magazine spread, and my life is maybe worthy of a footnote near the back, after the Sudoku puzzles and spot the difference pictures. My gaze catches on my reflection in the glass door.

Oh my god.

Surely that’s not me.

This woman standing before me has a mustard stain on her blouse from her lunch. Her jeans are loose around her hips and a little too long. Her dark brown hair is a wild mess, going in every direction as if each strand is trying to jump ship.

I hold my hand up and my reflection does the same.

NO. Ugh. I whip around, turning my back on the terrifying image.

If you’d told me half an hour ago that my birthday party could get even sadder, I wouldn’t have believed you.

It’s already close to eight o’clock, but I don’t rush with cleanup. There’s no point. I tear down the streamers one at a time and toss them into the trash. The fruit and cheese tray goes next. I feel guilty throwing away Mrs. Allen’s cake, so instead, I put it in Tupperware to take home. Just during the transfer process alone, I audibly gag three times. There’s no way I’m eating another piece, but she doesn’t need to know that.

After all evidence of the party is gone, I tidy up around the library, tucking away the toys in the toddler play area and re-shelving the books that were left out on the tables. I straighten my name placard—Madison Hart, Children’s Librarian—and then bend down to eye level to wipe away a microscopic smudge.

When all of my duties are done, I still can’t muster up the will to leave, so I sit at my desk and play a few rounds of solitaire. The library is absolutely silent except for the clicking of my mouse. Lenny, the security guard, isn’t even making his usual rounds.

When the cleaning crew comes in, toting their vacuums and mops, I know it’s time for me to leave. I can’t hide out here any longer. It’s time to face facts: a three-game winning streak in solitaire is as exciting as my birthday is going to get.

I stand and grab my stuff. With my Tupperware, purse, birthday present from Eli (an early edition of Pride and Prejudice), and winter gear, I’m loaded down. I shuffle everything into one arm then lean down to turn off my computer monitor, pausing when I spot my blue birthday candle lying on the floor under my desk. It must have rolled off when I was cleaning up. I frown, overcome with pity for the candle, forgotten on the ground, and for me for never getting to make a real wish on it. It’s silly, but I drop everything onto my desk and reach down to retrieve it.

There, all alone on the floor, I hold it up in front of my mouth, close my eyes, and make the only wish that comes to mind.

Please make this next year more exciting than the last twenty-five.

And then I blow.





I only live half a mile from the library, so I walk to and from work most days. When people ask me about it, I say I like the exercise, but really, I just don’t have the money to blow on car payments and insurance. I’m saving every penny I earn. For what? I’m not sure.

It’s late February, and even in Texas, there’s a biting chill in the air. I wrap my arms around myself and burrow my face down into my coat as I trudge along the sidewalk.

It’s darker outside than it usually is during my walk home. I probably shouldn’t have stayed so late, but it’s not like there’s much to worry about. Our beach town has been growing fast in the last few years, but it’s still small enough to feel safe even at times like this.

A car passes by and honks twice. I don’t get a good look at who’s driving, but chances are, we know each other. In Clifton Cove, everyone knows everyone. I’m about to wave when I realize I don’t have a free arm to do it. I’m really loaded down.