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A Birthday Surprise

The next Tuesday, which happened to be my twenty-third birthday, was a very happy day for me. Without even knowing it, Zoey gave me the best present I would ever receive.

Charles and Sean had still been unsuccessful in catching the Grey's at home, which was a disappointment, but considering the other events of the day it was easy for that short-coming to slip my mind because Zoey wrote me a letter.

I'd already bought my own drink- and paid for hers- when she walked in. Like clockwork. There were more flowers waiting for her at her table. I'd decided to get her more because she seemed to like them so much.

"Hey, Billy," Zoey said, sounding a little nervous.

"Afternoon, Zoey. Bought and paid for," he told her, scooting her already-made mocha forward.

"What would the two of you do if I decided to change it up and order something else?" Zoey asked sourly.

"Well, I don't think Ha- he would mind, but I would have an extra mocha laying around," Billy mused easily.

Meanwhile, I had a coronary because he'd almost said my name. That was much too close. I scowled at my book.

Get it together, Billy!

Zoey snorted, and then seemed to recover herself. It seemed she hadn't noticed Billy's slip.

"Would you give this to him when you see him, please?" she requested, holding out a neatly folded sheet of paper.

My heart sank. Was this a written request to leave her alone, to stop doing these things for her? What would I do with myself then?

"Sure. What's it say?" Billy joked, pretending like he was going to open it.

"Don't you dare," she threatened flatly.

"I won't, don't worry. Marcy would kill me if I did," he laughed, half-serious. "But tell me something, Zoey. You're not letting the kid down easy, are you? Telling him to stop with all this? Because I promise you, he doesn't mean any harm by it."

The note fluttered between his fingers. His concern for my feelings warmed my heart somewhat.

"After all these years of marriage, you still don't understand women at all," Marcy's voice griped, before Zoey could reply. The older woman had appeared in the doorway to the back room, with crossed arms and a reproving look aimed at her husband.

Zoey laughed. "Just give it to him, please," she told Billy, and then she went to sit down.

Her smile got even wider when she propped the flowers I'd gotten her up where she could glance over and see them. She seemed to be almost vibrating with nervous energy, wondering how her letter to her secret admirer would be received.

I, meanwhile, was fighting to stay in my seat. I felt like a child being told to wait on Christmas morning, though all the while I knew that there were presents in the living room just waiting for me.

Billy, the sly dog he was, made a motion to show that he was placing the letter on the counter closest to the bathroom, where I could pick it up surreptitiously. Thankfully Zoey didn't appear to notice- she was back in the magical world of cellular mechanics, playing with her hair.

I nodded slightly, to show Billy that the message had been received.

I waited until another customer got up for a refill to grab the letter meant for me. Instead of hiding in the bathroom to read, I hid among the bookshelves, unable to allow myself to wait until I went home.

"Dear-

You know, I don't know what to call you? I suppose 'my secret admirer' would work but it sounds so corny.

I'm writing you this letter because I wanted to thank you myself for the sweet things you've been doing for me. I don't understand how exactly I got your attention, but it's very flattering, to say the least. On no account should you feel obligated to continue, though should you chose to do so you have my sincere thanks.

When you first started buying my mochas for me I felt this insatiable curiosity to find out who you are. And though I still wish that you would reveal yourself, this burning determination to discover your identity has somewhat passed. I have my suspicions, which I will not share here for fear of guessing incorrectly and hurting your feelings, but I think I understand now why you refuse to divulge who you are.

As long as we continue like this, you can be my fairy tale prince, and I your princess. We can build castles in the air about each other and dream of a happily ever after (where my prince is frustratingly nameless and faceless) as much as we want. But if we were truly to meet, what then? I have a secret, my admirer, that could make you turn away in fear and loathing. And if you did, where would we both be afterwards? Our fantasy crushed, the fairy tale left with an unsatisfying end. Can we both agree that this strange 'relationship,' of sorts, means something to both of us?

But while I understand this, should I even be right in my analysis of your motives, I still want to meet you. Because what if you are everything I hope you to be, and I am for you? It's a chance worth taking, don't you think?

Feel free to write me back, if you'd like. Or speak to me...? You know where I'll be every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon. I would love to hear anything you're willing to share about yourself. And again, thank you for your kindness.

Sincerely,

Zoey Dubois"

A wide, stupid-looking grin spread across my face. This was the best birthday present ever.

I knew without stopping to analyze it that I would treasure that letter for the rest of my days. Zoey understood, at least to some extent, my reasons for not revealing myself to her. She was so clever, so compassionate...

I immediately began to formulate my response in my head. How could I resist this opportunity to "speak" to her, after a fashion- and in a way that wouldn't make my head explode with nerves? I would be able to think over my answer in plenty of advance.

It didn't even occur to me to not reply to Zoey's attempt to reach out to me. Of course I would write back to her. My eagerness was another sign of the progress I'd made. Another baby-step.

The letter was placed into my pocket with care, and then I went back to my table. I wondered who of the possible candidates she thought her admirer was? The idea that she knew it was me was too much to hope for.

There must have been an extra spring in my step when I went back home for dinner. It did not go unnoticed.

"Something's different," Charles remarked after everyone had wished me "happy birthday," much to my chagrin. I hated being the center of attention.

I sat down at the dinner table with a heaping pile of pot roast feeling very red in the face. Moira gave me a reproving look, like any good maternal figure would do, for having no vegetables on my plate. I grinned at her, feeling uncharacteristically playful.

It's my birthday. I could eat cake for dinner if I wanted to.

"Did you speak to Zoey today?" Charles guessed, seeing my light-hearted expression.

"No."

"Then what's with the dazed and confused look?" Alex asked.

I frowned. "'Dazed and confused?'"

"No, that's not right. He looks happy. And that's just weird for Beast," Sean (resident expert on 'dazed and confused' due to his previous pothead persona) commented. "He's usually all broody and stuff."

My friends, I tell you.

"Thanks," I said sardonically.

"What happened today, Hank?" Charles pressed.

"She wrote me a letter," I replied reluctantly, knowing I was about to get teased mercilessly. My buoyant feeling was very much in danger of evaporating.

Alex snorted. "Beast, you're so-"

"I'd advise you not to finish that statement, Alex," Charles said firmly. "Now, are you going to write her back?"

I nodded, unable to stop myself from smiling at the thought. Then I became more serious. "Have you had any luck speaking to the Grey's?"

"None. I think they're on a trip of some kind. But we'll keep trying, Hank."

"Thank you."

I went to sleep with a smile on my face, my mind floating away with all the possibilities of what I would write to Zoey. I felt... hopeful. Happy.

Oh, and Sean and Alex had gotten me ten boxes of Twinkies. So it wasn't a bad birthday at all.