Tomorrow is the real surprise

Tomorrow is the real surprise
Violet’s pov
For the first couple of years after my father passed away, my mother completely forgot about my birthday. The day would come and go, and the only sign that it was special was a coupon in the mail from a store I used to visit. Last year was a little better, she actually bought me a card. She even slipped a twenty-dollar bill inside. I had a feeling it was her current boyfriend who nudged her into it, but I still appreciated the effort.
Things had been very different when my dad was alive. Birthdays were celebrated properly, with flowers, balloons, and a big dinner where the birthday person got to choose their favourite meal, whether at home or in a restaurant. There was always the cake of our choice too. So when my mother invited me for a birthday dinner this year, it stirred something warm and familiar inside me.
I was not too worried about what would be served; all I wanted was for the five of us to sit together peacefully, without fights or criticism, just for one evening. To my surprise, my mother had left work early to start cooking. When I offered to help, she quickly sent me out of the kitchen.
“No, no,” she said, swatting a dish towel in my direction. “The birthday girl does not cook. I am making chicken for you.” She held up a large pack of boneless thighs. “My therapist gave me a gluten-free carbonara recipe. It has garlic, onion, and some Italian herbs, but you can handle that, right?”
I smiled because, for once, she seemed to be making a real effort. “A little will not hurt me. Just this time.”
Her face brightened. “Good! I will make pasta for everyone else, with roasted vegetables on the side. And dessert, well, I know you cannot eat cake anymore, but it would not feel like a birthday without one. You can at least blow out the candles.”
I laughed, and the sound surprised me. It had been a long time since I felt so at ease. “What kind of cake did you get?”
She smiled proudly. “When you were little, you always asked for coconut cake, so I ordered one from Half Moon Bakery.”
That was not true. My favourite had always been strawberry shortcake with extra berries and cream, back when wheat did not upset my stomach. Coconut cake had been my father’s favourite. For a moment, the mix-up hurt, but I drew a long breath and let it pass. Sharing his favourite dessert felt almost like having him there with us.
“Are you sure you do not need any help?” I asked again.
“Absolutely not. Go work on your writing, Violet. I have everything under control.”
So I left her to it and went back upstairs. Richard and Michael were nowhere to be seen. They had some last-minute business to finish, which left me feeling slightly abandoned on my own birthday.
But I was not completely by myself. Nash moved quietly after me, always close, like an extra shadow. By now I was used to him being around. I had even grown to like his calm presence. He hardly spoke, but when he did, his words carried weight, thoughtful and steady.
I sat on the edge of my bed while he lingered in the doorway. Then he cleared his throat, and I looked up, curious. He shifted slightly before saying, “I got you a birthday present.”
“Really?” I gasped, unable to hide my surprise. Nash never struck me as the kind of man who thought about gifts.
He reached for the worn knapsack he had tucked behind my bedroom door and pulled out a clumsily wrapped rectangular box. Without a word, he held it out.
For the first time since I had known him, Nash actually looked uncomfortable. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other while I tore through the paper. Inside was a wooden box, polished but simple. I lifted the lid and found three throwing knives with carved wooden handles.
“Oh, wow!” I breathed, sliding one free. It settled into my palm as though it had been made for me, perfectly balanced.
“I made them for you,” Nash said quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Your hands are smaller than the standard grip, so I adjusted the size.”
He took the knife from me, tossed it into the air a few times, and then, in a blur too quick for me to follow, launched it at the closet door. The blade sank into the wood with a solid thunk.
“That is amazing!” I grinned, eager to try. I mimicked his throw, but my knife bounced off the door with the wrong end and tumbled onto the carpet.
Nash laughed, really laughed, for the first time since I had known him. “We will practice,” he said, picking up the knives and handing them back. I carefully returned them to the box.
“You made these yourself? That is incredible.” My fingers traced over the smooth carvings.
His ears reddened at the compliment. “Yeah… it is just something I do on the side.”
I stepped forward and gave him a quick hug. “Thank you. That is the first birthday present I have gotten today.”
The gesture seemed to startle him. He went stiff as a board until I let go, then backed up like I had set off some kind of alarm. “You are welcome,” he muttered.
Richard and Michael came home about an hour later. Richard walked in carrying a huge bouquet of roses mixed with baby’s breath, all arranged in a blue glass vase.
“These are gorgeous!” I pressed my face into the flowers and breathed in their rich scent. “They smell wonderful. Thank you so much for this!” I placed them carefully on my dresser, right next to the Joker bobblehead I kept there.
“I wanted to bring flowers too, but Richard beat me to it,” Michael said, his voice edged with irritation. “So I got you this instead.” He pulled out a gift bag and handed it to me.
I dug through what felt like endless layers of tissue paper before finally pulling out a stainless steel water bottle, the kind built to last forever.
“It is the largest size they sell,” Michael said quickly. His eagerness reminded me of a child desperate for approval.
“I love it. It is perfect,” I said, flipping open the straw, then unscrewing the lid to peek inside.
Richard smirked and leaned against the dresser. “Those are just warm-ups,” he said smoothly. “Tomorrow is the real surprise.”
“There is more?” I squeaked, torn between excitement and nerves. The flowers and water bottle already felt like more than enough.
Richard stepped closer, but instead of kissing me roughly like I expected, he pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “So much more,” he murmured.
My eyes stung suddenly, and I blinked fast to chase away the tears. I did not want to cry, but the truth was, this meant everything. It was not about expensive gifts. It was about the effort, the way they had tried to make the day feel special. I could not remember the last time my birthday had felt like this.
“Now,” Richard said, straightening up again, “what about this family dinner? Do we need to dress up?”