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“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DEB!”
Glasses clinked as my friends, already half drunk on Prosecco, giggled their way through their toasts. Please don’t let them mention my age.
“Here’s to another fabulous forty years!”
My cheeks burned. It wasn’t that I didn’t look great for forty. Most people still thought I was about thirty-two. Chalk it up to good genetics and an obsession with skin care. And covering the grays that insisted on popping up in my blonde hair. But did they really need to announce it to the world at large?
“Thanks, ladies,” I said, plastering on a fake smile and an outward calm I didn’t feel.
“Uh-oh,” Kate Wentworth, my former work colleague and good friend said. “I don’t think she likes us mentioning her age.”
Sarah Hastings, my best friend since I moved to London from Brighton twenty years ago, rolled her eyes. We were nearly the same age. She’d recently turned thirty-eight. “Oh, please. You should embrace it, Deb. You look amazing. You have life experience. Own it.”
By “life experience” I was pretty sure she meant sexual experience. Especially with the way she was waggling her eyebrows. It was true, I guess. I had been married, after all. Years ago when I was young and stupid and believed in the whole knight-in-shining-armor thing. He’d been a good man, but that hadn’t been enough for me. Sitting at home with slippers and the paper at the age of twenty-two hadn’t been my idea of fun. Now it was pretty much my life.
“It’s just... I feel old all of a sudden,” I admitted. “I didn’t imagine my life this way.”
“What way?” Kate asked eagerly. “You have a good job. Good friends, if we say so ourselves.” She and Sarah giggled again. “What’s wrong with that?”
I shook my head. “Nothing, I guess. I just wanted... more, you know?”
“Sure,” Sarah said, downing the rest of her Prosecco. “We all wanted more when we were younger, and we all had to come to grips with reality. So what? Cheer up and have another drinkie.” She poured more wine into my glass. I watched the bubbles fizz and dance, a mockery of my mundane life.
“Bull.” Kate reached over and grabbed my hand. “That’s total BS. You want to make your life different. Go for it. Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t have what you want. You can. Believe me, I know.” She winked at me.
She did know. Kate had recently married the love of her life, Adam Wentworth. Yes. That Adam Wentworth. The famous movie star. Nobody had been more surprised than Kate when Adam had shown interest in her. I got it. Kate was extraordinary, and I was glad she was finally seeing herself the way the rest of us saw her. But there was an extreme shortage of hot movie stars in my life.
“Honestly, I wouldn’t know where to start,” I admitted. “I like the security of my job. I don’t think I could change that.”
“What about hobbies?” Sarah slurred a bit. “You should do that. Get some hobbies.”
“I like photography.”
“Oh my gosh,” Kate gushed. “The pictures you took of my wedding reception were amazing. Sarah, have you seen them?” She pulled out her cell phone and started scrolling through. Two heads, one brown and one red, bent over the phone, oohing and ahhing over the photos I’d taken. I had to admit, they weren’t bad. I’d been pretty proud of the way they’d turned out.
“Oh my gawd, who is that?” Laughing, Sarah pointed to a picture. “She looks like a riot.”
“That’s Mrs. Banjeree, my former downstairs neighbor,” Kate said, holding up the phone so I could see the photo. It showed a pic of round little Mrs. Banjeree mid-dance, her fuchsia and purple sari swirling around her, mouth open as she sang along to the music. It was a great picture.
I watched them as they giggled over the pictures, Kate giving a running commentary on the celebration. A thought hit me. Kate had changed her life. Why couldn’t I?
# # #
I WAS STILL ZINGING from the wine buzz when the cab dropped me off at my front door. It had been a good birthday, even if I didn’t want to face the big four-O. I let myself in the small flat and dropped onto the couch. The clock read two in the morning, but I wasn’t quite ready for bed. My mind was still humming with thoughts, ideas, and possibilities.
I wanted more adventure in my life. More excitement. Something totally different. I was tired of the same old routine. How did I figure out what I wanted?
A list. I needed to make a list.
Kicking off my heels, I strolled into the kitchen and rooted around in my junk drawer for a pen and a pad of paper. I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and curled up again on the couch.
Okay, list. What sort of list?
I tapped the pen against my lower lip. Why not a list of things I loved? My passions. Yes, that was a good start. Question was, what was I passionate about?
Photography, of course. I’d always loved playing around with photos. That went on the list. Travel, naturally. Although I hadn’t travelled nearly as much as I wanted to, I’d always enjoyed the adventure of exploring other cultures and countries. Dancing. I’d always wanted to take dance classes, but I’d never gotten around to it.
On the list went, getting longer and longer. My vision started to blur as the numerous glasses of Prosecco took their toll. The clock read three. With a sigh, I set down the pen and paper and went to get ready for bed. Tomorrow was soon enough to change my life.