Dave's Birthday

It was a big week for Dave. Tonight he was celebrating his 42nd birthday, and in four days Grace would graduate high school. Seventeen years ago, he had not been at all sure he was going to survive single fatherhood, but here he was, about to launch his daughter into the world, and she had turned out to be amazing.

As he watched Fern, who was celebrating his birthday with him for the first time in four years, leave their table to find the restroom, he knew he owed a lot of it to her. She had made this possible, first by being there for him, and then later, by not being there.

He still remembered the absolute relief he’d felt when she first came over to help him get that giant furniture box out of his car. Part of the reason the toddler bed was still in the garage was that he associated it so strongly with her. (Grace, for her part, had never slept a full night in it, preferring instead to crawl in with her dad.)

There were so many other memories of times Fern had bailed him out. He had promised more than once that he’d pay her back in a big way someday, but it had never happened. There was just no way to repay all the time and attention she’d given him over the years. The most he could do for her was to let her go when his selfish action - kissing her out of the blue, and then acting like she had the plague - made her feel it was time to leave.

That had been the hardest thing, he realized. It wasn’t just that he was sure he’d lost her. It was that, for the first time, he had truly been on his own to look after Grace. He’d had Isaac to help with practical matters like carpooling, but he could no longer run next door at 10 p.m. to rehash the day, and he didn’t have Fern’s steady, reassuring voice cheerleading him along anymore.

Dave didn’t like to admit that the distance between them had been a good thing, but Isaac had been right to say that he and Fern were suffocatingly close. He had never meant to take advantage of Fern, but he had definitely taken her for granted. Only in her absence did he begin to separate his need for her help from his desire to spend time with her for its own sake.

For a little while, he had thought maybe he only cared about her because of what she could do for him. But when he and Grace were forced to be together under one roof all day every day during the pandemic, and they fell into a rhythm that worked for them, he still found himself thinking of Fern. When they started texting again, and then talking on Zoom, and now eating dinner together in restaurants alone, he found that he liked so many things about her that had nothing to do with her skills as a surrogate mom.

As she headed back to the table now, Dave felt his spirits lift at just the sight of her. She was pretty, of course, but it wasn’t just that. She was also creative and funny, smart and direct, loyal not just to him but to her group of friends at work, and she genuinely cared about other people. A little while ago, she had listened to the waiter’s life story, and it was clear she wasn’t just being polite.

“Sorry that took so long,” she said, taking her seat. “I ran into a former student.”

That was another thing. She never forgot about anyone. It was incredible.

“No problem,” Dave said. “I was just taking a little walk down memory lane.”

“It’s hard to believe little Grace isn’t little anymore, isn’t it?”

Dave nodded, though that wasn’t what he meant.

“Are you doing okay?”

“You know,” Dave said. “I am.” He gave Fern a reassuring smile, then, slipping into an old habit, he reached out and laid a hand on hers on the tabletop. “Thanks for celebrating my birthday with me. I’ve missed this.”

"Me too." Fern's eyes lingered on Dave's and something in her expression made him feel suddenly giddy. People kept asking him what he would do now, with Grace leaving for college in just two months, and all at once he recognized that this was it. Sitting with Fern, holding her hand, celebrating milestones - this truly wasn't about wanting a mother figure for Grace. It was about much more.

The waiter approached and set down the entrees, but Dave only vaguely murmured his thanks as, for the first time, his conscious mind put a name to his true feelings for Fern. He wanted to tell her right then, to shout his realization from the rooftops, to ask her point blank if there was a chance maybe she had ever felt this way too, but he decided a public display wasn't what he wanted. He'd find another way, and soon, but for tonight it was enough of a birthday present to love her and know it.

"Happy birthday, Dave," said Fern, raising her glass toward him and he grinned and clinked it with his own.