Chapter 5
The next afternoon, I was in the kitchen making Ryan's nutritious soup.
His "doctor's orders" said he needed soft, easy-to-digest food.
For four years, I'd gone through every recipe I could find, learned over twenty different ways to make soup, and made sure it was never the same two days in a row.
Now that I thought about it, he probably never gave a damn about what I cooked.
Anyway, the moment I turned my back, someone else would show up with a fancy meal for him.
The soup was bubbling on the stove as I made my way to the bedroom door, planning to ask him what sides he wanted for lunch.
The door was left slightly open. Low voices drifted out from inside, barely above a whisper.
"Everything's booked. The Grand Crest Restaurant's main hall, six o'clock the day after tomorrow. Just come. You don't have to worry about a thing," Ryan said.
"You're the best, Ryan." Emily's voice was sugary sweet over the phone. "I want the imported bakery's cake. I saw a seven-tier castle cake online. Can you get it for me, Ryan?"
"Already ordered. How could I let my little princess stress about anything?"
I lingered at the doorway.
The day after tomorrow was November 17th.
That was my birthday, too.
Emily and I were born on the same day.
Back when our parents were still around, every year on November 17th, we'd have two cakes at home. One for me, and one for Emily.
After our parents passed away, Ryan still remembered to celebrate my birthday for the first couple of years.
But after the bankruptcy and everything that happened, I stopped celebrating my birthday.
It wasn't that I wanted a cake or anything.
It was that sometimes, when I got home late from work to an empty rental apartment, I'd remember how we used to gather around and sing "Happy Birthday" as a family when I was little.
"Ryan, Claire's birthday is the day after tomorrow too. Aren't you going to get her anything?" Emily's voice carried a deliberate hint of mischief.
"Her?" Ryan chuckled. "She hasn't celebrated her birthday in four years. She probably doesn't care anymore. And with my situation right now, I can't really do much for her. Once your situation is sorted out, I'll make it up to her."
"Alright," Emily drawled. "Don't forget that I'm wearing my new custom dress the day after tomorrow. Help me pick out some jewelry to match, okay?"
"Okay, bye."
I heard the sound of a wheelchair rolling inside.
I retreated into the kitchen.
The soup had boiled over, spilling all over the stove.
I turned off the heat and slowly wiped it up with a rag.
My hands moved sluggishly, and my heartbeat felt slow. It was as if something had drained out of me, leaving me hollow from the inside out.
I brought the soup in, and Ryan was already sitting at the table.
"What kind of soup is this? It smells amazing," he asked.
"Creamy tomato soup," I replied.
He took a sip and gave me a thumbs-up. "Claire, your cooking's getting better and better.
"When I'm back on my feet, I'll cook for you every day and fatten you up a bit. You're way too skinny. It really pains me."
When Ryan said it pained him, I felt like a needle driving into a wound that had long since gone numb.
It didn't hurt anymore. I could no longer feel the pain.
"Ryan, take your time eating. I'm heading out for a bit," I said.
"Where are you going?" Ryan asked.
"The pharmacy. You're almost out of pain relief patches."
"Don't bother," Ryan called out, stopping me. "Those patches don't really help anyway. Save your money."
After four years of insisting on those imported pain patches every single month, now he was suddenly generous enough to let it go.
Probably because the birthday party coming up was going to be pricey, and he didn't want me noticing any extra spending.
I smiled. "Alright. If you say so, I won't buy them."
After I left the house, I didn't go to the pharmacy.
Instead, I headed to Ryan's old study.
After we moved into the rental, everything from the study ended up stuffed in the cabinet on the balcony.
I dug around for a long time before finally finding a locked metal box.
The password was Mom's birthday.
The box opened.
Inside were two golden lockets.
They were small, barely the size of my palm, beautifully crafted. On the front, they were engraved with "peace and good fortune," and on the back, each had our names and birthdays. One for me, and one for Ryan.
When Ryan and I were born, our grandfather had a famous jeweler make two delicate golden lockets and hung them around our necks himself.
Grandpa said these were the Cooper family's heirlooms, symbols of our bloodline. We could never lose them, never sell them, and when we died, we were supposed to take them with us to the grave.
After our parents passed away, Ryan kept them safe for me.
I used to think he was afraid I'd lose them.
Now, I wasn't sure what he was planning.
I clutched the golden Locket with my name engraved on it in the palm of my hand.
I held it tight.
It was cold.