by Tom Misuraca

Linus popped his head over our shared cubical wall.

“It’s your birthday today,” he more told me than asked me.

I nodded, knowing there was no point in lying to him. I didn’t tell anybody it was my birthday because I hated the attention of having my cubical decorated with balloons and streamers. But, Linus put two and two together. Probably because he’d heard my phone ring with outside calls more than usual. Followed by my profusely thanking the person on the other end.

Yes, his name was Linus. And yes, his parents named him after the Peanuts character. But that’s where the similarities ended. He was the most secure person I ever knew. Though not the smartest guy in our department, he was the kindest and most hard working. He may not have spouted wisdom, but he was the kind of person who’d drive you to the airport at rush hour, then slip you a twenty to “go have fun”.

He was a production manager like myself, assigned to the cubical in front of mine, or behind mine he’d often say, depending on which direction you were looking. From day one, he invited me to lunch at least once a week with a group of co-workers from various departments.

“Happy Birthday!” he exclaimed so loudly that it triggered a round of well wishes from anybody within earshot.

“So what festivities will you indulge in this evening?”

With a hint of embarrassment, I told him, “I’m not doing anything until the weekend.”

“What?” I thought his head was going to shoot through the fiberglass paneled ceiling.

“None of my friends want to go out on a work night.”

Actually, nobody had offered to take me out nor had I planned something for myself. In the last couple of years, I found myself drifting form my friends. I’d met most of them in college, so half lived out of state and neither of us were putting in the work to maintain a long-distance friendship. My local straight friends were getting married and having kids, so they didn’t want to go out on a “school night” and weekends were starting to fill with kids’ activities. Meanwhile my gay friends had either settled with a partner and only hung out with partnered friends, or thought they were still twenty-two and did nothing but hit the clubs and circuit parties. Neither of those worlds currently appealed to me.

“Lame! Then it’s settled, I’m taking you out.” Before I could protest, he added: “I insist.”

If Linus insisted, that means it was happening. He wasn’t pushy, but often nudged me onto the right path. Like suggesting I take a lunch break during the busy season, to keep me from stressing. So I knew I had no choice.

And to be honest, I was happy to have something to do.

At five o’clock sharp, he was standing at the entrance of my cubicle.

“Let’s roll.”

“Where’re we going?”

“Your place.”

That took my by surprise. “We gonna order in?”

“No. We’re gonna drop off your car so you can drink.”

“Oh.” I highly doubted I’d drink that much, but it was nice to have the freedom.

“Is Ellen joining us?” I asked about his wife when I got into Linus’ car.

I’d met Helen at a few post-work Happy Hours. She was the perfect compliment to Linus. Just as fun and generous, but with a little more sense of responsibility, which probably kept him grounded. They’d just returned from his honeymoon when I started working there.

“I told her it was your big day and she was cool with it.”

From what I knew of her, I wouldn’t doubt if she insisted he take me out.

“What were you thinking for dinner?” I asked him.

“That we’d have it later. First, we drink.”

Linus brought me to Harry’s Bar, the home of those post-work Happy Hours. It was fairly crowded for a Wednesday. For a moment, I thought Linus might have organize a surprise party, but thankfully I didn’t spot any of our co-workers. 

“What’re you drinking?” Linus pointed at me.

I shrugged. “I dunno. Beer?”

Linus scoffed. “Let’s be classier on your birthday. How about whiskey?”

“Why not?”

He ordered me the finest whiskey in the house.

“Cheers!” Linus toasted. “And happy birthday.”

“Cheers.” Our glasses clinked. With the first sip, my body relaxed.

As Linus settled back, he asked, “So how does a nice guy like you end up with no plans on his birthday?”

The floodgates open and I found myself venting about how I’d grown distant from my friends.

“Lucky you met me,” Linus said, not arrogantly but as sincerely as his namesake. “Helen and I will take you in.”

That made me sound like a charity case. And maybe I was.

We moved on to a more general “getting to know you” conversation. Covering where we grew up, what our families were like, our college life and everything that brought us to this moment.

The conversation bubbled over into dinner. Linus suggested The Well-Done, one of the finest steakhouses in town. It felt a little extravagant for a run-of-the-mill birthday. But Linus insisted.

“If we can get a table,” I replied.

“It’s Wednesday,” Linus dismissed.

Sure enough, we were seated immediately.

Over dinner I nursed a Manhattan. I didn’t want alcohol to diminish the good conversation and scrumptious meal.

I’m not sure when Linus told the waitress it was my birthday, but at the end of the meal, she brought me a scoop of ice cream with a candle in it.

“Make a wish,” Linus encouraged.

I wished that all my birthdays would be this fun.

When the check came, Linus pounced on it like a tiger.

“It’s too much,” I insisted.

“You treat for my birthday.”

“Deal.”

Though I’d cerebrate many of his and Helen’s birthday in the future, we never went out for them. They always had me over for dinner, spoiling me more on their birthdays than they did mine. But at that moment, the thought of treating Linus in the future made me relinquish the check.

“Thank you for making this a great evening,” I said as we got back in the car.

“It’s not over yet.”

“It’s almost ten o’clock!”

“It’s your birthday! You gotta stay out until midnight or at least eleven.”

“Not sure I can drink any more.” I didn’t want to sound ungrateful, but it was true.

“Who said anything about drinking?”

We pulled up in front of a bowling alley.

“Bowling?”

“No, water polo.”

I couldn’t remember the last time I went bowling. It was a high school activity staple, but once I went to college, it wasn’t something that leapt to mind when planning an evening out. Which meant I now sucked at it. Linus made a few, well-spirited jokes at my expense.

“You’re supposed to hit the pins,” he’d smirk after I threw a gutter ball.

“I’m trying!”

When I struck down only a corner pin on my first ball: “Great. Got rid of that troublesome one, now try for the rest.”

While playing two rounds, I ended up consuming multiple beers. Linus made no comments about me breaking my own rule.

“Have another beer,” he joked at one point, “maybe it’ll help you roll straight.”

“Beer usually has the opposite affect on men,” I replied.

“Can’t argue that.”

After turning in our shoes, I stumbled into Linus’ car.

“That was awesome!” I exclaimed.

“Great. My job here is done.”

But it wasn’t. When we got back to my place, he parked his car.

“I’m good,” I told him. “I live right there.” My wobbly finger pointed to my apartment building.

“The night’s not over until I’m sure I got you home safely.”

Linus helped me out of the car and into my apartment. He guided me to the couch.

For a fleeting moment, I feared all of this was a ruse to get me back to my place drunk. Was Linus a closet case looking to hook-up behind his wife’s back?

He poured me a glass of water and handed me the remote control.

“Just try to stay up another hour and drink some water,” he suggested.

I wanted to say something cool and elegant, but mumbled: “Awww… thanks man. For everything.”

“Get used to it. Because you’re stuck with me now. I’ll make sure all your birthdays are a blast from here on out.”

And he did. For a while.

“Really?” I deadpanned as I saw my cubicle. It was covered with balloons and streamers.

Linus popped his head over his cubicle. “Happy birthday!”

“Thanks.” I knew this was his doing, so begrudgingly enjoyed the attention. All morning, people stopped by to wish me well. Linus organized a lunch with our co-workers at my favorite Chinese restaurant.

A week before, Linus and Helen interrogated me about my favorite foods. In the past year, we hung out almost weekly. Helen loved cooking for us, and enjoyed trying out new recipes on us.

“Are you thinking something hearty, or light?” she asked.

“Hearty.”

“Not farty!” Linus added.

Helen and I groaned in unison.

After a few questions, Helen said, “I got a few ideas.”

“Anything else you want?” she asked before signing off.

“A man.”

“Not on your birthday,” she kindly turned me down. “We want you to be yourself. Next week we’ll go prowling.”

Helen had fixed me up with some co-workers and a friend of a friend. None went further than a coffee date, but it was nice to have somebody looking out for me. And I agreed, a night with them was more fun than any date.

Helen didn’t disappoint with a dinner of beef stroganoff. Linus tried his hand at a Manhattan before dinner.

“No bowling tonight?” I asked Linus at one point.

“I don’t want you humiliating yourself on your birthday again,” he teased.

I couldn’t believe that was just a year ago. In that time we went from co-workers to close friends. They knew everything about me. That was illustrated in the goodie bag filled with gifts they presented to me that evening. It overflowed with fun, geeky t-shirts, CDs, movies, and books I’d only mentioned in passing that I may want to read.

Helen made a homemade cake, dedicated with colored frosting. They presented it with a candle, but Linus noted, “We won’t torture you with our singing. Though you still gotta make a wish.”

“I’m going to wish you guys have kids,” I told them. “So you can spoil them as much as you spoil me.”

“We’re good,” Helen said.

I was never sure if they really didn’t want kids or tried and couldn’t. There was no doubt they’d make great parents, but they seemed content in their lives as is.

“Vegas birthday, baby!” Linus exclaimed as we stepped on the plane.

It was boys’ weekend in Las Vegas. Linus and Helen treated for everything. It made me a little uncomfortable, but I’d been laid off a few weeks before and was still searching for a new job. My invite to dinners doubled and my “doggie bags” home tripled in size.

 I’d also recently been dumped out of an intense six month relationship.

“He was fun,” Helen consoled, “but you had to know he wasn’t The One.”

“He was just a filler until you find The One,” Linus added.

I knew they were right, but it still felt like a one-two punch. I did my best not to reveal my depression to Linus and Helen, but they called me out on my oversleeping and unkempt appearance. They offered the Vegas trip in a not-so-veiled attempt to cheer me up.

“It’s too much,” I protested.

“You treat next year,” Linus said. Even if I did, it’d take many years of trips for me to catch up to all they splurged on me.

On the way to the airport, Helen handed me a birthday card filled with cash.

“Enjoy yourself,” she insisted.

I wasn’t a big gambler, but Linus and I had a blast sitting at slot machines and drinking. During the day, we sunned by the pool and indulged in fruity cocktails. Linus treated me to the best restaurants in town, and a few breakfast buffets. We hit a comedy show one night for some much needed laughs.

“Thank you,” I said when we settled in our seats for the flight back home. “I needed that.”

“Anytime, buddy.”

The following year, we both had new jobs. I missed not seeing Linus every day, but we got together every weekend. His new co-workers slowly began to join our festivities. They were all a little odd and quirky, but good people with great senses of humor. Linus had a way of zeroing in on and befriending the workplace misfits. Though I missed our more intimate gatherings, it was nice to have a larger family.

“Was hoping your Mr. Right would be one of my new co-wokers,” Linus told me. “No prospects yet, but don’t worry, we’re still hiring.”

“When it happens, it happens,” I responded. At that point in my life, I felt complete.

That birthday dinner was the largest I’d had in years. All of Linus’ new friends joined us. Followed by a night at a gay club. It was very cool of them to do that, since there was only one other gay guy in our group, and he was coupled. We all danced nonstop.

Little did I realize that would be my last time at a club. I don’t miss them.

The next year, Linus called me first thing in the morning. We chatted for over an hour.

“Sucks we can’t get together tonight,” Linus sounded genuinely upset, “but Helen and I have been working crazy hours.”

“It’s OK,” I assured him. “We’ll party twice as hard this weekend.”

“You know it!”

It felt odd not spending the night with Linus and Helen. But I ended up having dinner with David, a guy I’d been out with on a few dates. I insisted he not make a fuss, but he treated me to dinner at an upscale restaurant and bought me a gift bag filled with “safe” gifts like body lotion, lip balm and candles.

We shared a dessert back at his place and I ended up spending the night.

That weekend, Linus and Helen hosted a birthday dinner for me and our now double-the-size group of friends. When they asked what I did on my special day, I told them all about my night with David.

“I think this is The One,” Linus said.

“Me, too,” Helen concurred.

They were right.

Linus called me at lunchtime on my next birthday.

“What’s David doing for you?” Linus asked. The four of us has become fairly close in the past year. We’d had some double dates as well as the usual weekend festivities with all of Linus and Helen’s friends. The best feeling in the world was watching David hit it off with Helen, Linus and the rest of the gang.

With the addition of David’s friends and family, I couldn’t attend every function Linus and Helen hosted. But no matter how much time passed between get togethers, we always pick up right where we left off.

“Just a quiet dinner at home,” I told him our plans. I was looking as forward to that as I did my nights with Linus and Helen.

“Nice!” Linus sounded genuinely happy. “Come by Saturday night. We’re having a game night and’ll celebrate then.”

There were more work friends at the game night than usual. They talked and joked about co-workers we didn’t know. David and I sat silently most of the night.

The cake and presents felt tacked on to the evening. Most of the people I didn’t know continued to talk amongst themselves as the others sung “Happy Birthday” to me. And the only gift was from Helen and Linus.

I didn’t have the heart to mention that they got me the same book they did last year.

“We’ll take you out in a couple of weeks,” Linus promised when he called me the night of my birtday.

They never did. I wasn’t sure what to do in that situations. Say: “Hey, when are you guys going to take me out?”

I was invited to a game night about a month later. I thought they’d surprise me with a cake, but no.

As we were leaving, Linus said, “And don’t forget I owe you a birthday dinner.”

He never mentioned it again.

I received a text from Linus the following year:

“Have a wonderful year. I know you’ll make the best of it and have a blast. I got the coolest present for you. Can’t wait to give it to you when I see you next.”

When next I saw him, it was weeks later, and there was no mention of a present he’d been holding on to.

There was no mention of my birthday at all.

“Happy Birthday!” he texted the following year along with every emoji known to man. As well as a GIF of a dancing cat.

I responded with a smiley face, heart and prayer/thank you emoji.

I though about sending a GIF, but decided against it.

The following year he just texted: “Happy Birthday!”

“HBD!” last year.

This year. Nothing.

Tom Misuraca studied Writing, Publishing and Literature at Emerson College in his home town of Boston before moving to Los Angeles. Over 130 of his short stories and two novels have been published. His story, Giving Up The Ghosts, was published in Constellations Journal, and nominated for a Pushcart Prize in 2021. His work has recently appeared in voidspace, Art Block and Speakeasy Mag. He is also a multi-award winning playwright with over 150 short plays and 13 full-lengths produced globally. His musical, Geeks!, was produced Off-Broadway in May 2019.