(Noah)

Adam and I are in the middle of an argument about the NBA draft when Gwen walks up and puts a hand on my arm to get my attention.

"Don't be alarmed, but —" Gwen glances to her left, discreetly tipping her head in that direction. I turn my head just enough to see what she's talking about. Elle's there, animatedly talking and laughing with—ah. Megan. So that's what Gwen meant, and that's why she looks concerned.

"Megan knows who she is, right?"

"Yeah, she saw Elle at the party the last time she was here."

"And Elle knows who she is? I mean, that you two —" Gwen looks so serious saying it that I have to laugh.

"Yes. Elle knows, Megan knows, Elle knows Megan knows, Megan knows Elle knows. I appreciate the heads-up, but it's fine. I talked to Megan last time."

"I mean, they look pretty chummy." Gwen comments.

"Should I be taking that as a bad sign?" I'm not actually worried about them talking, and I'm not sure what I'd do about it even if I were. We established long ago that telling Elle what to do, or whom to talk to, is a bad idea. And I'm not surprised they're getting along; everyone loves Elle, and it's not like Megan's a jerk either.

"I don't know. It's just a little weird." Gwen persists.

"What's a little weird?" My friend Matt appears with a familiar-looking girl at his side. Matt played football with me at Harvard and is in med school here now, but I can't quite place the girl.

"Matt, hey. This is Gwen, from work. And I know we've met, but I'm blanking on your name, I'm sorry," I greet the new arrivals.

"Heather Nichols. We had Econ together junior year, and I lived next door to your friend Justin."

Right. Now I'm remembering. We hung out a few times.

"Heather just moved here and we ran into each other last week, I figured you wouldn't mind if she tagged along tonight. So, what's a little weird?" Matt asks.

I roll my eyes. "Nothing's a little weird. Gwen here was just alerting me to the entirely non-alarming fact that my girlfriend is talking to my ex."

"I still think it's a little weird they're getting along that well." Gwen protests.

Heather glances back where Gwen is staring, then pivots back to me in shock.

"Elle's here? And she knows that's your girlfriend?"

Of course Heather remembers Elle. Everyone does. But there seems to be a bit of confusion about the situation.

"Ah, no. I mean, Elle knows who that is. But Elle is the one talking to my ex. Not the other way around."

"But didn't you —" Heather grimaces slightly.

"Split? Yeah. But then we worked things out."

"Wait —" Heather turns her head to stare at Elle again, not even trying to be subtle about it now, then back at me, then back for an even longer look at Elle, understanding slowly dawning on her face.

"Matt mentioned tonight was some kind of baby shower as well as a farewell party... I assumed for different people."

"Nope. Both for me. Well, and for Elle." I don't know why Elle dreaded breaking the news to everyone, because it's been entertaining every time.

"So, you and Elle are back together and shacked up and having a baby? Wait, are you married?"

Not in that order and not quite all of those, but close enough. "Not that last part. But the rest, yeah."

"Why didn't I know this? Matt, why didn't you tell me?"

"I figured you knew. I mean, I told you this was a baby shower, too. And, I don't know, I didn't realize it was that newsworthy." Matt shrugs.

"Oh my god, boys. You have no appreciation for gossip." Heather turns back to me. "Okay, I'm fixing this right now. Who did you tell? Did you post an announcement? No, of course not. You never post anything. Or tell anyone anything."

"I told the people I talk to. And I figured they'd tell anyone else who would care. You realize this isn't just gossip, right?"

I really did think most of my Harvard crowd knew by now, even the ones I haven't talked to recently. Natalie alone probably told half of them after Elle and I took her to dinner to thank her for getting me that interview, but I guess not everyone.

"Fine. Fiiiiiiiine. But can I please just let everyone know? I liked Elle. We all did. And we liked you, especially when you were with her. So I think you'd be surprised how many people will be glad to hear this even if they haven't talked to you since graduation."

Speaking of Elle, she finally notices Heather and Gwen's incredibly obvious staring and walks over to us. I shouldn't be surprised that Elle remembers Heather's name right off the bat, and once the three of them are chatting, Heather eager to get all the details I've apparently so cruelly withheld from her, I go find Adam again.

"Did you find out what they were talking about?"

"Elle and Megan? Nope."

"Aren't you a little curious?"

"I'm not surprised they got along, and I can't see what either of them could tell the other that would make them mad. And Elle will probably tell me all about it later. But I don't actually need to know."

"Oh, come on. You don't have a regrettable tattoo hidden somewhere they could have been making fun of together? Incredibly embarrassing habits they could compare notes on?"

"I guess you'll have to ask Elle."

"Well, now I definitely will. And you know she'll tell me."

Again, I frequently question the wisdom of having introduced Elle to Adam.

We spend most of Sunday packing. I keep telling Elle she doesn't need to help, that anything I don't get done the movers can finish, but she's in one of her moods where the mere suggestion that she take things easy makes her throw herself into the task with even more fervor. By mid-afternoon we've gotten an astonishing amount accomplished and I manage to convince Elle we're done for the day. Given her sigh of contentment as she stretches out on the couch afterward, it was definitely time to get her to stop.

"I know you pointed out we don't have a lot of childfree evenings out left, but can we just stay in and be lazy tonight?" Elle asks.

"Can we compromise? Be lazy for a while now, order dinner in, but there is somewhere I wanted to go with you tonight."

"Where?"

"Somewhere you'll like."

"Where?"

"Nope. It's a surprise. But they do have ice cream."

"You're infuriating."

Infuriated or not, Elle's definitely exhausted, because she's asleep on the couch by the time I get back from a run to the store for more packing supplies. Elle flies home Tuesday, on Wednesday afternoon the movers show up, and by Thursday afternoon I'm on a plane to LA. Friday is the last day of classes here, but it's also Elle's graduation, so I'm cutting out a day early. And then, on Saturday, Elle and Lee's joint graduation and birthday party. A busy week for sure, so Elle is right we could use a lazy evening... but there is somewhere I want to take her. At least she's getting a nap.

By the time Elle wakes up, dinner has been delivered and her grumpiness at not being consulted about the order turns to delight once she sees I got her lasagna. It's like she forgets both how predictable she is and how long I've known her. The nap clearly helped as she's back to chattering a mile a minute, bugging me about where it is we're going after dinner right up until we park outside.

"An arcade? Were you hoping to take advantage of my present condition to beat me at DDR? Because I promise you that even this pregnant I can still destroy you."

"Nope, and your thinly-veiled attempts to goad me into playing never have worked and never will. Besides, I made sure this place was free of such machines."

"So why are we here?"

"Because what this arcade does have is the original Simpsons pinball."

Elle's eyes light up, and any fear I'd had that she might have forgotten evaporates. Our parents weren't thrilled about Elle and Lee taking the bus to the arcade alone at first, and I had to do something to entertain myself all those times I was made to accompany them. I got rather good at several of the games there, but it was the Simpsons pinball machine I gravitated to because Elle loved that one too, which meant she'd almost always come over and challenge me when she needed a rest from dancing.

"Oh my god. I haven't played this in years, but I bet I can still crush you."

"Elle, I beat you like ninety percent of the time." I laugh.

"No! As if! I beat you plenty of times."

"Yes. You won precisely sixty-five times, and I won the other two hundred and three."

"You can't possibly remember that. You just made those numbers up."

"Oh, Shelly, so little faith. Would I ever lie about something as important as Simpsons pinball? Here, take a look if you don't believe me."

Elle takes the phone I'm holding out to her, her skeptical air turning outraged when she sees the screen.

"You kept a log?"

"That summer Mom made me take you guys to the arcade all the time was also the summer I got a cell phone; I thought being able to take notes in it was cool. And now it's all paying off."

"And you've kept this ridiculous log all this time? Moving it from phone to phone? A constant reminder of what a petty bad sport you are?"

"Well, I was thinking of it more as a reminder of all that time we spent together... but sure, we can go with your version."

"Unbelievable. Whatever, sixty-five to two hundred and three isn't you winning ninety percent of the time, it's barely three quarters."

"The numbers are skewed, Einstein. The last few dozen don't count."

"Really, why?"

"Because once we were dating I usually let you win."

And apparently I'm going to need to let her win again tonight, judging from the glare I'm getting. Which is fine, because I'd mostly wanted to watch her play. Her ridiculous agitation and trash talking when she plays video games? Yeah, she perfected that over years of trying to deal with how much better I was at this game.

A couple of hours, many quarters, and an enormous sundae later, Elle admits her thumbs are sore and concedes defeat. I did try to let her win, but she caught on and yelled at me to play for real, then got even madder once I did. She calls me a bad sport, but hell hath no fury like a Shelly trounced at Simpsons pinball.

"Come on, almost-birthday girl. Let's get you home before it's actually your birthday."

"Was this my present? The arcade outing?"

"No, this was a present to myself. Your present, you'll have to wait until tomorrow."

"And what are we doing tomorrow?"

"Something you'll have to wait until tomorrow to find out."

"A little hint? Please?"

I shake my head. "That's not how surprises work, Shelly."

"But there is a plan, right? And presents?"

"Probably. I think so, but I seem to have forgotten. I'm sure I'll remember by tomorrow, though."

"Have I already told you you're infuriating today?"

"Pretty sure."

There is, in fact, a plan for Elle's birthday, and one I spent way too much time debating before telling myself not to overthink. My track record with Elle's birthdays has been uneven, to say the least. The early ones I don't remember in great detail; she and Lee always wanted something ridiculous for their party and they almost always got it. I would usually escape to my room and my video games once their friends got too annoying, and reappear only for the cake. The last half dozen or so birthdays have been more memorable, though, for reasons both good and bad.

Elle's sixteenth birthday, when she walked into their party in a shimmery blue dress and it suddenly hit me exactly how pretty she was. I'd realized by then that I really didn't mind Elle constantly hanging around the house, but I hadn't quite thought through why yet. Nor did I particularly want to think it through, which is why I spent most of that party making out with some girl Tuppen had invited along.

Elle's seventeenth birthday—that one started disastrously but ended excellently, and thus that one goes down in the books as a win. I'd already delayed my departure for Boston a day to get one last chance to see her, even if I was trying to give her the space she'd asked for. I don't know what it was she told Lee at their party, but when he came to tell me I had to go talk to her, I wasn't going to stop and worry about how conflicted he looked about it. Of all our anniversaries, Elle seems to care most about this one. At least, before this year she did; it remains to be seen if she'll declare one of our more recent milestones more important.

Elle's eighteenth birthday—probably the worst. Our breakup was barely ten days old and we hadn't spoken since. I'm not proud to admit I flat out bailed on this one. I wished Lee a terse happy birthday in the morning, then drove to San Diego to see some Harvard friends. I don't recall if Lee even acknowledged those birthday wishes or just glared at me as he'd been doing for the past ten days.

Elle's nineteenth birthday—a great one. She and Lee planned a huge party that year since it was also the first opportunity many in their class had to see each other again after their first year of college. A fun birthday, but also a blessedly uneventful one from my point of view; we'd made it through a year in Boston together and things were great. I took Elle to dinner before her party and we mock argued about whether it still counted as our second anniversary given last summer's ridiculous breakup. Even with that, it seemed crazy that it had already been two years. Well over two years if we counted from that first kiss, which I always have.

Elle's twentieth birthday—possibly the best one yet. I don't remember much about the party other than both of us being so jetlagged that we'd fallen asleep on a couch despite all the music and people around us, but I do remember our ride to Santa Barbara the next day to celebrate our third anniversary. We weren't teenagers anymore, and for some reason that transition felt meaningful, like this wasn't a high school thing, like it wasn't ridiculous to think this could be a forever thing.

Elle's twenty-first birthday—back to terrible. Well, maybe she had a good time, but I wouldn't know because I was already in San Francisco. If I'd been less of a bullheaded idiot I'd have called her, or better yet shown up, but I wasn't, and I was still mad she hadn't shown at my graduation party a week earlier. So I texted Lee to wish him a happy birthday and spent the day finishing unpacking. Ironic that that would be the day I opened the box with those photo albums Elle made. I shoved them into a desk drawer and tried to forget about them. A few months later I came across them again and decided hiding from pictures was pathetic; the albums went into my book shelves. Well, not all of them. The one that was just ours stayed out of sight, because I'm not a masochist. That, and my new friends were nosy enough as it was, no need to give them a whole new source of unwelcome questions.

Elle's twenty-second birthday—maybe slightly less terrible than the last, but only by comparison. I didn't have to come up with an excuse for skipping Lee's party that year because there wasn't one; instead, he and Elle went to New York with friends. I asked Lee to wish her a happy birthday when I texted him, and his only response was that her number hadn't changed. I should have called, and I almost did, not that almost counts for anything.

Which brings us to tomorrow, Elle's twenty-third birthday. The party isn't until next weekend, but I want to celebrate her actual birthday on the day itself. I struggled a while with how to celebrate, which is always a challenge with Elle. She loves a grand gesture, but she hates admitting it, so the difficulty is finding something as romantic as possible without crossing over into cheesy. It's also the last birthday we'll celebrate without a kid in the picture, which seems like its own kind of milestone.

I considered taking Elle on a tour of my favorite local landmarks, all the places we'd have gone if we'd stopped being idiots sooner, or doing something to acknowledge each of the birthdays I missed. In the end, though, I don't want to attempt any kind of do-over; there's no point trying to run from the reality of the last couple years. I decide to stop overthinking and just pick something I know she'll enjoy, regardless of whether it's exactly right or not. At least the gift was an easy decision, that one I've had figured out for a while.

Either Elle has forgotten it's her birthday or she's really sleepy, as it takes a good minute of shaking her shoulder increasingly forcefully and then finally stealing her covers to wake her up, and she doesn't look pleased about it.

"What?"

"Breakfast time."

"You have to go to work. I don't." Elle tries her usual grumpy roll away, but it's a lot less effective these days with a belly in the way.

"You're going to want to get up. There's coffee. And cake."

"Cake?" Now Elle opens one eye, peering at me suspiciously.

"Yes, cake. Birthday cake, dork."

Now her eyes snap open.

"Holy crap, I forgot. Okay, yes, cake. I'll definitely get up for cake. And presents, right? There are presents?"

Elle is up and out of bed instantly, and I'm glad I thought to get a cake for this morning. Baking's not my thing, but when I asked Adam where to buy a cake he offered to make one for me, especially after I told him what I was looking for. There is only one kind of birthday cake, according to Elle, and it's funfetti cake, slathered in frosting, covered in more sprinkles. And not a nice cake from scratch. No, it has to be a box mix cake, store-bought frosting, and the most artificially colored sprinkles possible; exactly the same as what she and Lee first baked themselves at the age of six. The rest of the year she has fancier tastes, but for her birthday it has to be funfetti.

"You made this?" Elle looks delighted. The cake does look unmistakably... well, homemade would be the tactful way to put it.

"Not quite. Adam did, after telling me no self-respecting bakery would be willing to provide a cake meeting your requirements."

"Hush. This is what birthdays taste like. And at least wait until I've served you a slice before you insult my cake. Now I'm not sharing."

"I have the coffees. I'm pretty sure you'll agree to a trade."

Her cake is exactly as painfully sweet as I remember it, which means she declares it perfect and even pauses between slices to send Adam an effusive thank you.

"Sooooo, presents? There are presents, right?" Elle looks at me with hopeful eyes.

"The real present I figured would wait until dinner tonight. But, before you start giving me that murderous look, I do have something. And there's a present from my mom, too, which definitely needs to get opened this morning."

The something is mostly a joke, but a traditional one. The first time it occurred to me I should get Elle a birthday present of my own was when I was eleven, and my best guess back then of what she'd want was candy, so I'd bought her a giant bag of peanut M&Ms. She demanded the same every year afterward, and this time I've found the largest bag yet, a five pound beast I had to order online.

My mom's present is no joke, though. She's booked Elle a prenatal spa day at a hotel downtown, which is another reason why I needed to get her out of bed this morning rather than letting her sleep til noon. There are massages involved and a pedicure and I'm not even sure what some of the listed services are, but Elle seems to and looks thrilled.

"Noah, this is ridiculous. This is too much."

"Do you want to call my mom and tell her that?"

"No, of course not, I know there's no point. I just felt the need to say it, for the record. That this is ridiculous."

"You're her favorite, and now you're providing a grandchild. This is reasonable and restrained, given that."

Elle was supposed to be done by four, but when I come pick her up after leaving work the spa staff informs me that she fell asleep in one of their lounges and that they feel bad waking her up. Which I do too, even if I do plan on teasing her for this. I settle in to wait with a book, and an hour later Elle finally emerges.

"I'm not even going to apologize for making you wait. Oh my god, that was the most comfortable recliner I have ever sat in. And there was a fountain gurgling. And they gave me the softest blanket. And all day they kept bringing me fresh cups of tea and cookies. And juice. I take back everything I said about this being ridiculous, this was amazing and I want to live here now."

"Don't say that around my mom unless you actually want her to make it happen, because you know she would. And I'd rather you not move in here, since I'll be in LA and I'd been hoping you'd be there too."

"Maybe your mom would buy me that recliner for our place. And the blanket. And the fountain."

"Again, don't say that unless you're serious. I really think you underestimate her lack of restraint when it comes to you. Now, you ready for a drive?"

I can tell Elle is scanning the parking lot for my car when we step outside, and she gives me a quizzical look when she sees where I'm headed.

"That's not yours, is it? Or have you been holding out on me this whole time?"

That is a mint condition MG convertible, and no, it's not mine.

"Sorry to disappoint—it's on loan from a friend. A friend who made me promise my firstborn if anything happened to his baby, so try not to be too distracting while I drive." Not that she's ever not distracting.

"Don't tell Lee, but this is the coolest car ever. Is my present that I get to drive it, too?"

"Ah, no. Alan needs at least a year before he trusts anyone with this car, and he hasn't even met you yet. But since you're not getting anywhere near a motorcycle right now, I thought this might be a decent substitute for a birthday ride up the coast. You haven't even been outside the city yet."

"We could come back to visit, you know. This isn't our last chance."

"Oh, we will; I've already promised people at work we would. But do I actually need a reason to take you on an adventure? And besides, you'd get cranky if you had to walk to where we're having dinner."

Elle had loved our trips across the bay on her last visit, which is why I'd decided on this drive and the restaurant it's taking us to. After crossing the Golden Gate bridge, we follow the Pacific Coast Highway north through the national park areas and up the coast before finally arriving at our destination. I haven't been here before, but Gwen promised this was the place to go if I wanted an ocean view, and she wasn't lying. As irritating as her over-interest in everyone's personal life can get, she is a useful resource.

Once I'd decided to stop overthinking what to do for Elle's birthday and just pick something fun, a scenic drive and an oceanside dinner had been an easy choice. I even convinced the restaurant to give us the deck overlooking the ocean to ourselves, so other than our waiter's occasional appearances it's just us, the waves, and the slowly setting sun, and Elle is as relaxed as I've seen her all spring.

"Alright. Presents. I was told there would be a birthday present at dinner, and I know you're not foolish enough for that to have been a lie." Relaxed, but still laser focused on her priorities.

"What, you don't want to wait for dessert?" Yeah, I know she doesn't, but I also like driving her nuts. "Kidding, Elle. Here."

The envelope I hand her is thin and nondescript, but she tears into it with curiosity. The card inside is just a normal birthday card, but it's once Elle opens it that she looks at me in confusion, then back at the card, unfolding the torn-out notebook page tucked inside and suddenly recognizing it.

"You kept this?" She finally asks, her voice a little rough.

"Of course. I mean, of course at the time I kept it. And then I found it again this spring."

One bitterly cold weekend of my junior year, Elle insisted on coming over even though a blizzard had just dumped a good two feet of snow. She made it to the subway, but got caught in a windy burst of freezing rain on her way from Harvard Square to my dorm. She showed up half frozen and ranting about how much she hated Boston winters, and she kept on complaining even after I got her into a warm shower and dry clothes. As usual when the weather was this cold, she grumbled about transferring somewhere warmer, and finally I told her that if she could manage to survive long enough to graduate, we'd go sit on a tropical beach until all memory of Boston winters had been burned away. Of course, never make Elle an offer you aren't prepared to back up, because she latched on to the idea immediately and wrote out a whole itinerary for us. Even if I'd tossed the idea out without giving it much thought, it was definitely an appealing one, and we spent a lot of time that winter talking about that graduation trip. When I found Elle's itinerary notes this spring, tucked into that photo album she'd made me, I decided we were finally going to get our trip.

"I know we can't go right after your graduation like we'd planned, but I figure sometime next year we'll be ready. Maybe we'll bring a babysitter with us. Or leave Dinah with my mom. We can figure that all out later. But you pick the island and we'll go."

"I didn't make good on our deal, though. I mean, I didn't stick it out through the Boston winters."

"Seriously? It wasn't the snow that made you transfer. You've still more than earned your tropical escape."

Elle stares at the note with a pensive look another minute, then laughs softly.

"What?" I ask.

"Just... we spent so much time talking about this trip, but I never thought to include babysitting in the planning."

"Things that turn out exactly as planned are boring."

Elle rolls her eyes at me. "Is that from your inspirational quote page-a-day calendar?"

"Too cheesy?" I laugh. I hadn't meant it to sound that trite, I was just trying to steer Elle away from another conversation about having done this all out of order.

"By far. But also accurate."

"You're not mad your present is something I'd already promised you, are you?"

"Are you kidding? This is amazing. And perfect. As is knowing you kept that note."

The sun is starting to disappear into the ocean and I watch Elle watch the sunset, enjoying how transfixed she is. For a moment I regret not having brought the ring along, but only briefly. The coming week will be hectic enough without that kind of decision and the reactions it would elicit, and I'd rather let tonight be just a birthday, just about Elle and not about us. It's not the most momentous or dramatic of her birthdays, but it's definitely one of the great ones.