Birthday Queen Era? Part 1
My pulse races, the fear of losing the one man I’ve clung to for years threatening to knock me off my Birthday Queen pedestal...
Hey! I’m Candi, and welcome to Candi Cane Corner where I share some of my spiciest and realest relationship/situationship stories. Enjoy Part 1 of Birthday Queen Era? in honor of author and Corner of Press co-founder Sujeiry’s birthday yesterday! She kindly asks that you gift her with a share or a like. Also, this post includes audio if you’d like to hear the story in Sujeiry’s own voice.
I smear my signature, fire engine red lipstick on my full, luscious lips. With a fluff of my 3A curls, revived thanks to Rizos Curls Refresh and Define Spray, I stare into my large, almond-shaped eyes and coo, “Happy birthday to youuuuuuuu!”
I laugh, excited to celebrate my solar return with a birthday bash at Vivere, our local hangout in Washington Heights. It’s my birthday, guys! And this chica is ready to paint the town fuchsia with my bestie, Yo, her annoying yet tempting twin brother, Joel, and the rest of the gang.
This year will be different. No more toxic men. No more unrequited love. Just me, myself, and I... and my friends, of course... and the man I am manifesting to come into my life and treat me like a Queen! I am in my Birthday Queen Era! It’s time to attract the love and relationship I’ve always wanted.
I ruffle my curls one last time before grabbing my pink pleather jacket and heading out the door.
“Bzzz!”
I hear my cell, ignoring the buzz momentarily while I step onto the NYC street. The sound of birds chirping lifts my spirits even higher. It’s like they're singing a melody just for me!
“That’s right, birdies!” I shout, my arms wide open. “It’s my birthday! Thank you so much!” No one pays me any mind. It’s NYC. We mind our business.
“Bzzz!” My phone buzzes again, snapping me out of my birthday diva behavior.
“See you tonight, sexy.”
I bite my lip. “Shit.” I forgot I invited my off-and-on…well, more off than on…situationship to my birthday two weeks ago. That was before I caught him picking up a girl at the 168th Street stop on the 1 train. I jumped out of the hot ass elevator, hoping to catch the downtown 1 train so I wouldn’t be late for my audition. As the doors shut in my face—despite the conductor witnessing my sprint—I saw George’s lips inches away from the skinny lips of this dirty blonde, skinny bitch. Freaking gentrification.
We got into it, of course. We may not be official. But after two years of this bullshit I desevered…something, right?
I stare at his text, unsure of what to do or say. “Yo will help.”
“Hey, babe! Happy birthday!” My bestie answers the phone drowsily.
“Thank you! Did I wake you? I know you were up all night with a delivery, but I need advice.”
Yo yawns. “Yes. That baby refused to evacuate the premises. I am beat, but I’m here. What’s going on?”
“It’s George.”
“Babe. Not this again. Leave his noncommittal ass alone. You deserve better. And I’ll keep telling you until you believe it.”
I sigh. She’s right. In this personal new year, I decided to leave all this bullshit behind. I love love, but I should love myself more than I crave it. I’m in my Birthday Queen era, dammit!
“You’re right. It’s just that I invited him before what happened.” My cheeks grow hot, anger rising, as I remember that girl inches from his lips.
“Who cares. Take him off the list.” Yo states bluntly. She’s all logic, a great balance to my hopeful romanticism.
“And just leave him outside?” I squeak.
“Just like that, babe. Adios, asshole.”
I lean against the side of my building, unsure of what to do about the situation. If I leave him off the list, he may never speak to me again. That would close the door—for good. Two years of my life—our connection, the intimate moments, the sex… God, the sex is so good… our past—done. My pulse races, the fear of losing the one man I’ve clung to for years threatening to knock me off my Birthday Queen pedestal.
Loving this story? Buy Heights of Love: Candi, a spicy romance novel by Sujeiry Gonzalez. Available on Amazon (ebook and paperback).
“Do it,” Yo says firmly.
“I’ll…think about it. I just need a minute, okay?”
Yo sighs. “Whatever you decide, I’m here for you, babe.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, my eyes welling up with tears.
I end the call with Yo and inhale deeply, fighting back a cry.
“Not today. Not this year. I will not cry on this birthday.”
I talk myself out of a mascara-running, telenovela-level sob fest and turn back to my phone. I find Jorge’s text.
“See you tonight,” I whisper before sending him a peach emoji.
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