The air felt black and oily, suffocating her as she sat there. No one spoke as they all remained still, watching her.

She frowned as she looked at her uncle pleadingly and shook her head, unable to give him her answer out loud.

“Are you sure?” he asked calmly, and even though his voice was quiet, it was far too loud in the stark silence of the kitchen. Even the kids had stopped squirming in their seats.

Violet nodded, begging him to understand. But she didn’t need to worry. He didn’t question or second-guess her when she needed him.

When he left the kitchen, her mom and her aunt made polite small talk rather than pretend that they weren’t listening, trying to hear what was going on out at the front door.

But Violet couldn’t sit there and pretend any longer. As soon as she heard the front door close, she excused herself without explanation. “I’m going up to my room,” she said flatly, unapologetically.

Nobody tried to stop her or ask her if she was okay. Her parents would tell her aunt and uncle good-bye for her, and later—much later—when she was feeling more like herself again, she would apologize.

But right now she didn’t have it in her to be polite or to make nice with well-meaning family members. For now, she just wanted to be alone.

She was finished with her birthday.

Violet waited until the house was silent before going downstairs again.

She’d stayed in her room, trying to slip back into that state, the stupor in which she’d dully existed until Jay had arrived at her party, crashing through her poorly constructed composure. But no matter how hard she tried, the feelings were just too strong, and too close to the surface to stuff back down.

So instead she wanted cake. Maybe a good sugar fix could take the edge off.

She crept quietly toward the kitchen, and when she got there, she smiled. Her dad must have known she’d be back down.

On the counter, which had been cleared and cleaned after the party, sat a plate covered in plastic wrap. And beneath the transparent wrap was a gigantic piece of her birthday cake.

Violet felt a rush of emotion, but in a good way. In the very best way.

Next to the plate was a small pink gift bag stuffed with pretty tissue paper. Violet ignored the bag, only briefly eyeing it before going to the fridge to get the milk.

Only when she sat back down in front of the plate and unwrapped the cake did she wonder about the gift sitting beside it.

She thought she’d already opened all her presents, the ones from her parents and from her aunt and uncle, but she must’ve left the party before they’d had the chance to give her this one.

She lifted one bare foot onto the stool and propped her chin against her knee as she took a bite of the cake. It was perfect, exactly what she needed right now. How was it possible that something as simple as a slice of birthday cake could make her feel so much better?

She reached over and fingered the delicate tissue of the present; the iridescent sheen of it sparkled slightly in the faint glow from the light above the stove. Violet smiled again, wondering if the sugar was already hitting her system or if she was just that shallow, if receiving a present wrapped in such a pretty package could really make her this happy.

Shallow, no. But she was still a girl, after all.

She let the paper slip from her fingers long enough to take a gulp of the cold milk, washing down the rich frosting just so she could start all over again. She wasn’t in a hurry. She didn’t have any better place to be at the moment.

After she swallowed, she took another bite, licking the frosting from the tines of her fork before finally setting it down on the plate. She pulled the bag toward her and peeked inside.

Whatever was in there was wrapped in the same pretty tissue paper.

She pulled out something small but solid. It fit in the palm of her hand. She removed the shimmering paper, unwrapping it, and inside was a bifold photo frame.

Violet wondered who it was from, admiring the delicate filigree work around the frame’s borders as she opened it. But when she saw the photographs that were already framed inside, she froze.

It was from Jay.

The gift. The photos. He must have left the present with her uncle when he’d stopped by earlier.

Her stomach lurched. She hated him for making her feel so confused, so conflicted.

The pictures inside were from the second grade, each of their school photos from that year. That particular picture of Jay had always been one of Violet’s favorites, mostly because she’d been the one responsible for his hair.

It was the year that the photographer had passed out those little black combs to all the kids as they stood in line, and Violet had decided to “fix” Jay’s hair. She’d led him over to the water fountain and doused his hair and then slicked it down around the crazy, crooked part she’d made with the free comb. She’d thought he looked perfect.

And now, looking at the picture, with his goofy hair and his brand-new oversized grown-up teeth in the front of his mouth, she saw that he did.

In a completely ridiculous way.

It didn’t matter though. The gift would have been thoughtful and sweet at any other time. But not now.

His gift didn’t change anything.

He didn’t trust her. He didn’t believe her. And that was all that mattered now. He couldn’t take that back by dropping off a present . . . not even an adorable one.

It was the worst possible gift he could have given her at a time like this. And it was exactly the kind of ending Violet should have expected from the worst birthday of her life.