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“It’s not early for people who have classes,” I reply.

“It’s not everyone’s birthday morning, and it’s okay but it’s mine today.”

She gets back to bed, sitting and rubbing her eyes like she used to when we were kids and I’d sneak up to Edna’s house. “Okay, come in before I change my mind and cry about how emotionally unavailable I am at 7 a.m.”

I stepped inside showing the cake box I was hiding behind my back and set it down on her desk.

“Wait,” she says instantly. “Is that for me?”

“You know damn well it is,” I say.

She laughs as I sit next to her, lighting the only candle I had in my car. “Make a wish,” I tell her.

“If I tell you, it won’t come true,” she says, closing her eyes dramatically.

“Keep it a secret, then,” I smile as I see her expression turning serious.

She hums like she’s thinking very hard about something life-changing, then blows out the candle. “Done,” she says proudly. “I wished for you to be slightly less emotionally constipated this year.”

I blink once. “Denied.”

She laughs again, softer this time as I reach into my pocket and look back at her.

“I got you something,” I say.

“Yes, I love gifts, give it to me!,” she mutters, already reaching for it.

She opens the box, the bracelet catches the light, with two small intertwined pinkies. For a second, she actually goes quiet, then she smiles. “Okay,” she suddenly says, holding the bracelet up. “I’m going to cry, so close your eyes.”

“Why would I close my eyes?”

“Because I have a reputation to maintain.”

“Do you like it?” I ask, watching her instead of the bracelet.

She looks down at it again, and her expression softens. “Are you kidding?” she says, voice already cracking. “Of course, it’s…us.”

“Don’t cry,” I say immediately.

“Too late,” she whispers, wiping under her eye with the back of her hand. Then she smiles. “This is actually kind of perfect.”

“Yeah?” I ask quietly.

She nods, still smiling through the tears. “Yeah.”

“Look at what’s written on the back,” I say.

She turns it over, and she starts crying again, but she’s laughing at the same time like she’s annoyed at herself for it. I end up laughing too.

I wanted her to like it. I wanted today to feel good for her.

Pinky promise, you’re someone’s favorite person.

She runs her thumb over the engraving. “That’s so sweet of you,” she says, all gentle now.

“It’s not,” I say immediately.

“It is,” she insists, slipping it onto her wrist. Then she holds her arm up like she’s showing off a trophy. “Look,” she says. “Proof I’m your favorite person.”