#Still Bitter.
July 23, 2021
She celebrated her 41st birthday alone. She was in Paris and woke to a feeling, vague and far in the back of her head, that she could be the last person on earth and the loneliness would feel the same. She had the day to herself, to do whatever she wanted. Just a normal day. The city was bustling with tourists and the windows of her hotel room were flung wide open in a feeble attempt to coax even the slightest breeze to blow across her sticky forehead.
She was a world-renowned newscaster, and yet the higher-ups still refused to put her in one of the rare air-conditioned Parisian hotels. The white sheets clung to her ankles like tissue paper and her tank top was ruched up around her chest. The sound of strangers outside on the sidewalk four stories below clawed at her ears. Strange cars, strange laughter, and the smell of the centuries old sewer system heating beneath the blaze of the sun.
She would have liked to stay in bed all day. She had nowhere to be until six when she was due at hair and makeup. But, the heat and the smell and the noise forced her to stumble from the large bed in the center of the room to the white porcelain of the bathroom. She splashed cold water against her feverish face and clenched her hands against the sink. Her eyes flitted across the counter, and never dared raise high enough to make contact with the mirror.
A ding echoed from her laptop, hidden beneath folds of sweaty bedding. Her bare feet stuck to the wooden floor as though it were covered in a sheen of syrup. Her nails dug into her palms and she sat gingerly on the edge of the bed.
She shouldn't look. She knew what it would be. It happened every year without fail. No matter where she was. Stockholm. London. Sydney. Every year.
She clicked on the e-mail.
Happy Birthday, Robin. I hope it's legendary.
She didn't even have to read it. She already knew what it would say, but she did anyway. She read it slowly, drawing her eyes over the dips between consonants and vowels. The world outside went quiet, silenced for a second by the message they both knew he shouldn't have sent.
She closed her laptop and returned to the bathroom. Stripping down she lay in the bathtub, not bothering to turn on the water, but instead allowing her skin to press against the cold, refreshing porcelain.
July 23, 2022
She celebrated her 42nd birthday in Barcelona with a boy she met the night before while out with some of the local station employees. She got delightedly tipsy and woke in the morning to the sun-tanned, rippling back of – Michael? Mitchell? He looked like he was in his early 20's. She sat up, twisting the soft sheets around her naked body. She thought about leaving, but from the sight of her suitcase in the corner she had the sinking suspicion that this was the hotel room she had hurriedly checked into the previous night, before being dragged away by Franca, the beautiful girlfriend of the resident news anchor.
The boy groaned and stretched. Robin felt a swooping sensation in her lower abdomen as she watched his muscles work beneath his taut skin. He rolled over. His dark eyes raking over her body.
"Buongiorno." He hummed deep in his chest. Robin swallowed.
"How old are you, um, Mi…?" She murmured. He raised his eyebrows and smirked.
"Michele." He stated. He raised himself into a sitting position, and his thick arms pressed down on the mattress on either side of her waist. "I am 22." His voice lilted with an accent and his face was so close. Robin paused.
22, Robin! He is 20 years younger than you. Lilly's voice cried out.
What did you actually rob a cradle or were you in charge of babysitting last night? Marshall teased.
Her laptop dinged.
She threw her leg over his waist and pressed him back down against the mattress with the palms of her hands.
"It's my birthday today." She whispered above him.
"Buon birthday…" He gasped beneath her.
"Shut up." She snapped, before leaning down and pressing herself against him.
July 23, 2023
She celebrated her 43rd birthday in New York. She was not surprised that the only member of the old gang to reach out to her was Lilly. Lilly was sentimental. Lilly was still in denial that the gang had not hung out in years. Lilly was told to give Robin Marshall's love. Lilly was gone by eight.
Robin curled in her bed and listened to the quiet that filled her barely lived in apartment. She thought that maybe she should get a dog. She could make it work with her constant traveling.
Her laptop dinged from her desk. Maybe it was the loneliness or the silence or the way her bones felt hollow and she was constantly starving no matter how much she ate, but she jerked towards the noise. Her hands shook as she opened the email and read the unchanging message.
Happy Birthday, Robin. I hope it's legendary.
Robin Scherbatsky hated crying, so for the second year in a row she drank with the intention of waking with a hangover.
There are some things Robin is good at.
July 23, 2024
Her 44th birthday was unremarkable. The day was quiet, and she was happy that after all these years World News had finally decided to send her to Canada. She felt happy and content. She was safe here. She could focus on her work and relax. No matter what happened in her personal life, Robin loved her work.
She would be lying, however, if she said she did not notice the absence of Barney's email.
They had been divorced for ten years, and now he had finally stopped. It itched at the back of her brain all during her newscast. She was offended, even though she knew she had no right.
She never expected to wake up in her dark, cool hotel room to find Barney Stinson knocking at her door.
"Happy birthday."
"It's two in the morning, Barney." She said, her voice strained with sleep.
"No, it's exactly 1:53 in the morning." He grinned. She stared at him. He looked down and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm sorry."
"It's fine. I went to bed early anyway…" She yawned.
"No, I mean – I'm sorry for everything."
She rested her head against her door and smiled slightly.
"It wasn't all your fault."
"I should have tried harder." He stated, something burned in his tone. She looked at him. His hair was messy, his suit was wrinkled, and his lips were raw from worrying.
"Me too." She whispered. His blue eyes raked across her face, and she felt like she was being devoured.
"Forgive me, Robin." He pleaded. She shook her head, rubbing a hand down her face.
"It was both of our faults." She stated.
"No." He burst. "It was mine. You gave me an out, and I was selfish. I was thinking about me and how I felt. I was stupid, Robin. I love you, and I should have fought for you!" She stared determinedly at the ceiling, refusing to get emotional.
"You're an idiot, Barney Stinson." She said, choking back tears. His hands moved to cradle her face.
"So are you."
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