Chapter Eight - Birthday Wishes

"Do you have the cake, Jackson? Make sure you have it! And the balloon—don't forget the balloon!" 

Aura chirped as she skipped down the corridor of the Warren Institute, Glenwood's mental health hospital for children and young adults. Her curly ponytail bounced with every step, and her voice echoed brightly through the otherwise sterile hallway.

Today was Harper's sixteenth birthday.

She couldn't be at home to celebrate it—not this year. So Aura and Jackson had made a pact: if Harper couldn't come home for her birthday again, they would bring the birthday to her. Like always. It had been a few weeks since Harper got sent back to Warren and this time, feelings were different. 

Jackson followed behind her, juggling a pale pink cake box in one hand and gripping the ribbon of a glittery "16" balloon in the other. His brow was furrowed in concentration. "Yeah, yeah, I'm trying my best," he muttered. "Sadly, I've only got two hands."

Aura didn't slow down. She weaved past nurses chatting behind clipboards and patients curled up in corners of the common area, offering a few polite smiles along the way. Room 11 was just ahead—Harper's room. She knew it by heart.

She didn't bother knocking.

Aura gripped the doorknob and flung it open with an excited flourish. "Happy birthday, Harper!" she shouted, practically bouncing into the room.

Inside, Harper sat cross-legged on her bed, a thick paperback balanced on her lap. Her head jerked up at the sound of her sister's voice—and a wide smile bloomed across her face.

The room was small, the walls a washed-out, lifeless white. No photos. No posters. Nothing personal. The only pop of color came from a set of warm fairy lights strung above Harper's bedframe—tiny glowing bulbs gifted by Millie last Christmas.

Aura flopped onto the edge of the bed. "Where's Jackson?" Harper asked with a laugh.

"Give him a sec..."

Just then, Jackson stepped through the doorway, breathless, the balloon bobbing behind him as if it had a life of its own. "Happy birthday, Harp," he said, smiling. He crossed the room and gently placed the cake box on Harper's lap, then tied the balloon to the corner of the bedframe.

Harper blinked at the cake, then carefully opened the box. Inside was a small vanilla cake frosted in soft pink, with white icing delicately spelling out Happy Birthday Harper. Her face lit up.

"Oh, you guys... you didn't have to do all this."

Jackson shrugged, grinning. "Well, we did."

"Have Mom and Dad messaged?" he asked, perching himself on the window ledge.

Harper nodded and reached for a plastic knife from her breakfast tray. "Yeah, they called earlier. Said they'll stop by later with gifts after work. Harriet texted too, but I left her on read." She smirked. "Cody and Millie said they're coming by later."

Jackson snorted. "Poor Harriet."

Harper sliced into the cake, wiping the knife with a tissue before lifting a small piece to her mouth. She closed her eyes as she tasted it, licking the sugary frosting from her upper lip.

Knock, knock.

All three turned toward the door.

Jackson walked over, eyebrows drawn, and opened it cautiously.

Standing on the other side, holding a pale blue envelope, was Vivienne.

Harper's mouth parted slightly, caught off guard. She hadn't seen Vivienne since the party. Not once. Not a text. Not a call. Nothing.

Vivienne looked just as startled to see Jackson. Her brows knit slightly. "Sorry—uh... is Harper in? I have something for her."

Jackson's voice turned ice-cold. "You know, I don't think she really wants to see you right now."

"Jax, it's okay" Harper called softly from behind him.

Jackson hesitated, then stepped aside. Aura, reading the tension instantly, rose from the bed.

"We'll come back later, yeah? With Mom and Dad." she said gently, brushing cake crumbs off her skirt. She took Jackson's arm and tugged him toward the door, casting one last glance at Harper. "Text us if you want us back."

Vivienne stepped hesitantly into the room as they exited. The air seemed to shift—thicker, heavier, like something unspoken was hanging just above them.

Vivienne perched awkwardly on the edge of Harper's bed and placed the envelope gently in her lap. She didn't speak right away. Neither did Harper. They just looked at each other for a long moment.

Harper glanced down at the envelope, her fingers tracing the edge of the paper before she quietly slid it onto her bedside table, stacking it with the others.

"I think I have some explaining to do, huh?" Vivienne finally said, voice barely above a whisper.

"You do," Harper said honestly, her tone cautious but calm.

Vivienne swallowed hard, then began. "First, I just... I'm really sorry, Harper. For leaving you alone at the party. For everything. I got caught up in it all, and I didn't think about you. I didn't know you were on medication—if I had, I swear I never would've suggested we go. I just assumed it was harmless. Everyone does it. I was stupid."

Harper nodded slowly. "I know. You didn't know. I didn't want to seem lame. I'd never been to a party before. I was just... curious. I hated it, though. I looked for you, but I couldn't find you. And then—" she paused, her voice tightening, "Millie found me. Thank God."

Silence followed.

Vivienne's eyes brimmed with guilt. "Harper, why are you here?" She asked finally, not unkindly. "Are you sick?"

"I have bipolar." Harper admitted, gaze falling to her lap. "Diagnosed when I was ten, I had a really bad episode... and I tried to do something really stupid. I haven't had one like that since. My parents had me admitted to keep me stable. It's not permanent—I get to go home every now and then. My aunt Julia takes me out. But after the party... I don't think they trust me much anymore. I'm trying to earn that back. They think I can't be home alone.."

Harper's throat tightened, her own story swelling in her chest like a secret she couldn't keep.

Vivienne reached out and gently took Harper's hand in hers, their fingers brushing before settling into a quiet clasp. Her hand was warm.

"For what it's worth." Vivienne said softly, "I don't think you're lame. I think you're the coolest person I know. And I've been a terrible friend. But I really hope... I really hope you can forgive me."

Harper exhaled, her eyes misting over. Slowly, she turned her hand over in Vivienne's grip until they were properly holding hands—firm, steady, real.

A beat passed.

"I think I can do that."

Just then, a light knock tapped at the door.

"Harper?" a woman's voice called gently.

Vivienne pulled back, standing as the door creaked open.

A tall woman with dark curls pulled into a loose chignon stepped inside, her face lit by kind brown eyes and a no-nonsense expression softened by maternal warmth.

"Hi aunt Julia.." Harper smiled slightly.

Julia's face broke into a smile. "Happy birthday, my sweet girl. Back so soon?"

Vivienne smiled softly, giving Harper space and alone time with Julia.

"Text you later?"

Julia smiled warmly, holding her hand out.

"Let's go for a walk."

The hospital garden was quiet in the late afternoon, golden light filtering through the sycamore trees. Harper sat cross-legged on a stone bench, picking at the hem of her sweater. The wind carried the scent of freshly cut grass and something faintly sweet—maybe honeysuckle.

Julia sat beside her, a paper cup of coffee in her hand. She'd taken off her coat, revealing a simple navy blouse dusted in flour. "Sorry I still smell like pastry. I didn't have time to go home and change."

Harper shook her head. "You smell like vanilla and... something lemony? It's kind of nice, actually."

Julia smiled over the rim of her cup. "Lemon buttercream. It clings to everything."

They sat in silence for a few beats. Vivienne had gone back inside, giving them space. Julia had a way of letting the quiet speak without needing to fill it.

"Do you hate me?" Harper asked suddenly, her voice tight.

Julia blinked. "What? Of course not."

"I drank. I took my meds and drank at that party.. and now I'm here." Harper's voice cracked. "It's like I detonated my whole life. I wasn't even home long.."

Julia placed her coffee down and turned to face her fully. "I don't hate you. I worry for you. But I don't hate you."

Harper swallowed hard, guilt pressing down like a weight. "Mom and Dad barely even asked what happened. They were just embarrassed."

Harper sighed, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "I just... I wanted to be someone else for a night. Not the 'broken' kid. Not the girl with a pill organizer and a therapist. I wanted to be normal."

Julia was quiet for a long time. Then she leaned back slightly and chuckled softly, "You remind me of me when I was sixteen."

Harper looked up, startled.

Julia chuckled softly. "Oh, honey. I was angry. I was lonely. Your mom was always the golden one—Miss Perfect. Meanwhile I was skipping school, sneaking out to clubs, drinking warm vodka out of plastic water bottles. I went through it all.."

Harper blinked. "You?"

"Me!" Julia confirmed. "I once passed out in a friend's bathtub. Your grandmother grounded me for three months. Told me I was wasting the Baldwin name. Whatever that meant. I never listened."

Harper laughed softly, surprised. "I thought you were the responsible one."

Julia raised a brow. "I became responsible. The world forced me to. But back then? I didn't care about anything but escaping. Being someone else. Sound familiar?"

"Too familiar." Harper murmured.

Julia reached out and took her niece's hand. "You're allowed to fall apart. What matters is how you rebuild yourself. I didn't have anyone back then who saw me for who I really was. I was lucky to find cooking—something about the rhythm, the focus. It kept me from spiraling too far."

Harper's brow furrowed. "Is that why you became a chef?"

Julia nodded. "It was the one place no one could tell me I was wrong. I didn't need to be the pretty sister or the smart one. I just had to make something people wanted to eat. It saved me in a way."

Harper was quiet, processing. "I wish I had that."

"You will" Julia said gently. "Maybe not in a kitchen. Maybe in writing. Or music. Or helping other kids like you. But there's something waiting to anchor you. I believe that. I think you'll write a good book when you're older.."

Harper leaned against her aunt's shoulder, feeling—for the first time in days—safe.

"I don't want to be numb anymore.." she whispered. "I want to be better."

Julia squeezed her hand. "Then we start there. One breath at a time."