Happy Birthday

ROWAN

Many girls dream of spending their twenty-first birthdays in Mexico, but I saved every penny for the last four years to make it a reality.

Sara and I added tips from our waitressing jobs to the "Cabo Vacay funds" jar daily, dropping quarters, and rolled up bills through the tiny hole in the top. It took us a total of ten overflowing mason jars and endless night shifts to come up with our goal for the trip: four thousand dollars. But we did it!

"I can't believe we're here!" I say as we follow a tiki lit path in the sand, leading to a massive tent where the beach party has begun. The moon dances across the serene water and sparkles when a small wave comes in to ripple against the shore. There are just a handful of swimmers laughing in the gentle waves now that the sun has faded and brought on the night.

"I'm actually surprised you came." Sara pulls out her cell phone to take a quick snap of the peaceful view of the ocean.

I scoff, "I've been waiting for this vacation since we graduated from university."

"I know, but you're not exactly well known for your spontaneity, Rowan."

Yes, I know.

She thinks I'm boring because until now, I haven't been old enough to drink with her. I haven't been able to get shit-faced with her and her other friends every other weekend. Not that I would have if I could anyway because I do like my solo nights at home. That way, at least then I can choose to be alone instead of being ignored or pushed to the background like I usually am.

And I don't use dating apps to hook up with random guys like she does. I swear there's a new man sneaking out the front door of the apartment we share every morning. They all think I can't hear them leave her bedroom that's only across the hall from mine. But I always do.

She hasn't always been so busy with distractions, though. It's a recent change after discovering her father's terminal cancer six months ago. Lately, she's been so occupied with finding some new way to take her mind off from her father's illness and impending death that she buries herself in meaningless flings, and I don't say anything to her because she needs time to process her grief in her own way.

Besides, her father kept his cancer a secret for almost a year, so I think she deserves that much.

A fast-paced Spanish song plays from a stereo as we near the tent where men and women dance and sway to the music, with coconut drinks in their hands. Everyone is wearing a bathing suit. Some women even parade around in bikinis that leave nothing to the imagination, breasts, and asses hanging out like a hip-hop music video.

"How is that even remotely comfortable?" I ask after we pass by a group of girls who look to be our age, all wearing bikini bottoms that are wedged up their asses like dental floss.

"You don't feel it after a while." She shrugs.

She would say that because her own palm-tree bikini doesn't cover her ass all that well either. Feeling slightly self-conscious from all the bare skin being shown off around me, I look down at my own bathing suit; a neon green and purple paisley bikini that modestly shields my breasts from the eyes of drunk men walking around.

"Are you going to take your shorts off?"

"I feel better with them on."

"Ro, we're in Cabo. Let loose, will you?"

Let loose. I wish i could. But the man who fathered me has made it nearly impossible to do. His business choices have tainted my world, put a big stain on my life, and a huge target on my back — which is why I use my mother's last name. I want all the distance from that bloody empire as possible.

I hang back and stare off into the flowing waves of the water as she walks to a table to order a drink. It's been a few hours since sunset, so the evening air is cooler now, with a gentle breeze wafting in from the ocean, bringing with it a sense of tranquility. The moon appears brighter tonight, somehow bigger in the dark sky.

I'm frozen in thought when she returns with a mixed drink served in a coconut just like the other partiers have, sending a text message before pocketing her phone. She cocks an inviting eyebrow and holds the one with a tiny blue umbrella to me. "It is your twenty-first birthday."

I sigh, considering, and she rewards me with a nudge of her elbow. "Come on, Rowan. We've been in Mexico for three days now and you've refused every fancy, fruity drink offered to you."

I haven't, have I?

"You said so yourself how you wanted to have fun. You said you were going to let your guard down for the first time in your life." She reminds me of the very words I'd recited when we boarded our flight to come to the country. I was too high off from jet fumes to even know what I was saying. It felt like a good speech to give in the moment, as we were in line to get off the plane, but now that we're actually here, it's harder than I thought it'd be to throw my cares out the door and embrace living in the moment the way she does.

There's a reason I keep to myself and don't let down my wall of reserve. A huge reason that would put me in danger if I were to accidentally reveal who I was and who I'm related to. A reason she knows all too well.

"I suppose I should have one drink on my birthday — now that I'm legal and all." I giggle sheepishly and take the drink from her.

The first small sip slides down my throat smoother than I expected it would. It's a lovely mixture of Rum and coconut and as we head for a billowing bonfire, I gradually sip at it. We reach the crowd gathered around the fire and join in. Sara bounces up and down in the sand as the music changes to a song with an energetic beat, calling to the party girl she is deep down. She grabs my hand and I follow her lead, jumping to the infectious rhythm with our arms thrown high over our heads, our drinks riding the waves of the movement.

"I love this song!" She cheers, the glimmer of the fire brightening the wide smile on her face.

"Me too!"

As the song fades into a slower melody, I finish the coconut drink and wait for my heart to stop pounding from adrenaline. Sara's panting by the time she stops dancing and sits down on the sand. She leans back on her hands and crosses her ankles, nodding for me to follow suit. The sand feels cool to the touch when I plant my ass beside her, bringing my knees to my chest to rest my elbows.

"This is actually really good." I say, taking a big pull from my drink. "It's intense, but it's yummy."

Sara leans up and offers her umbrella drink to me, "If you like it so much, have mine. I'm ready for something stronger."

"Did you get the same thing?" I ask, noticing a pink umbrella instead of the blue like mine has.

"Yes. They were all the same. All Rum and coconut." She rolls her eyes and pushes the drink into my hand.

I slurp the last of my drink up, and then go right to work on hers, sucking a dried coconut flake through the straw. A cough forces its way out and Sara laughs as she pushes herself up.

"Okay, well, you try not to die and I'm going to get a shot of something strong." She snickers, bending over to pat me on the back playfully. The coughing fit passes so I risk another pull from the straw.

As she walks off, I turn my attention to a pair of guys on the other side of the billowing bonfire, the taller one catching my gaze through reaching flames. The fire casts his face in dark shadows, but his eyes are bright and gold, and they are so intense that I feel a chill shoot down my leg. I observe him for a moment, noting he's not moving to the music the way others around him do. He's standing completely still and staring at me, right through the smoke. I stand up and brush the sand off to get a better look, but Sara returns with two shots of clear liquid.

"I got you one too." She smiles.

"I've had enough tonight." I shake my head to refuse, turning around to face her. The flames of the fire somehow feel hotter on my back now, and I can still sense the mysterious eyes watching.

"Ro, you had one drink." She sighs, "Come on-- birthday shot?" She nudges my elbow with an overly dramatic wink.

I deliberate for a second. I deserve to let loose and have the kind of fun she has. I should be able to let my hair down and enjoy life once in a while. I shouldn't have to be concerned about my last name and what it brings. Today is my twenty-first birthday, and I should celebrate the occasion the way normal people do. Besides, I have Sara to look out for me if I get too drunk and make a fool of myself—or put myself in jeopardy. She knows about my family. She's aware of the risk that surrounds me. She would never let anything happen to me. She's like the sister I never had, and I trust her with my life.

"Ya know what?" I say, tossing the coconut back to slam the remaining sips. "bring it on!"

She waits for me to toss the empties into a nearby trash bin before handing me a shot. "This is Patrón. It's Tequila."

I give the small glass a little swirl and lift it to my nose for a whiff. It smells strong. "Happy birthday to me!" I cheer, and we clink the shots together before we simultaneously toss em' back. My throat burns instantly as the smooth liquor makes its way to my stomach, and the face I make throws Sara into a laughing fit. She grabs my shoulder as she laughs harder, bending at the waist.

I take another curious glance around the fire as we head further down to the shore, searching for the man with the honey pot eyes. No such luck, he seems to have disappeared into the night.

Sara chooses a spot just beyond the reach of the water with a perfect view of the flowing reflection of the moon. When I take my spot beside her, her face looks tight with emotion.

"Rowan, you know how much I love you, don't you?" She stares into my face, her own eyes full to the brim with sincerity. I want to brush it off because she gets weepy when she drinks and is always saying something like this to me. But something different in her tone makes me take her seriously. There are three types of drunks: Angry, frisky, and emotional. Sara is an emotional drunk. Every time she gets wasted, she ends up apologizing to me, but she never explains why.

"Yes, of course I do, Sara." I give her a grin, the corner of my lip pulling up to ease her mind. I carefully reach over to brush her hand in the sand.

"No matter what." She insists, "You're my sister."

I don't know why she continues to drink alcohol if it messes with her emotions like this. I hope I don't become weepy soon too. "Is there a secret you need to get off your chest or something? Did you sleep with an ex-boyfriend of mine?" I ask, concerned, but also sarcastic. I've just had one serious boyfriend in my life, Mitchell Abbott, and that relationship only lasted a year because like every other man in the world, Mitchell was scared off by my overbearing brother. Even though I don't talk to Vincent or my father, I'll still never be free of them. I left home because I didn't want to go into the family business of weapon distribution. I don't want to taint the earth with any more carnage, even though that's exactly what I was born to do.

She starts tapping her foot as she shakes her head, "I wish that was it." She's a ball of nerves and I've never seen her this way.

"Maaaaybe, you should lay off the liquor for a while." I suggest, dragging the sentence out for drama. "This isn't a good look on you."

She smirks and tries to hide her giggle, and just like that she's back to her old spunky self. "Let's go back up and dance some more. I need to forget about this little episode." She stands and holds her hand out to me, tilting her head for my response.

I want to push her to explain what she was thinking just now because my gut feeling tells me it needs to be addressed, but she shimmies her hips and shakes her shoulders to get me to follow. With a heavy breath I take her hand and follow her up the small hill where the people dancing around the bonfire welcome us back with cheers and raised cups.

Happy birthday to me.