The day bleeds into night, leaving behind a house full of emptiness and too many casseroles. Mom and Lydia are asleep on the couch as Footloose credits roll silently across the TV screen. I kiss Mom's forehead, my chest tight with love and worry. The clock reads 11:34 PM—marking the clear divide between my life with Dad and without.

A polaroid on the fridge stops me in my tracks—the last photo of Mom and Dad together, taken with the camera Dad gave me for my fifteenth birthday. They're smiling, unaware it would be their final picture. My fingers trace Dad's face through the tears. How is it possible to still have tears left?

When I make it back to my room, Jake's there by the window, funeral suit disheveled in a way that somehow makes him look more put-together. His sleeves are rolled up, collar loose, hair a mess from running his hands through it all day.

"Didn't think anyone was still up," I whisper.

He turns, leaning against the windowsill. "Had to escape Ollie's Grand Theft Auto rampage. Kid was about to demolish the controller."

The silence between us feels comfortable, weighted with understanding. Jake moves to sit beside me, close enough our shoulders touch.

"I feel like I'm barely hanging on," I admit, the water bottle crinkling in my grip.

"Well that's understandable." His arm slides around my shoulders, solid and warm. "Nor, you're not alone in this."

"Could you stay?" The words slip out before I can stop them. "Just for tonight?"

Without hesitation, he nods, pulling off his dress shirt. I try not to stare at the lean muscle underneath—when did Jake start looking like that?—as he tugs on the hoodie I'd taken from the lake house last summer.

"So you're the hoodie thief," he teases.

"Borrowed," I correct, my cheeks warming. "And it's mine now."

We settle into bed like we've done a hundred times before, during backyard campouts and storm-scared nights. Jake tucks me against his chest, his heartbeat steady against my back.

"Hey Jake," I whisper into the darkness.

All I get is a drowsy "Mmm," his voice thick with sleep.

"Happy birthday for yesterday."

There's a pause, followed by a sharp intake of breath. "Oh fuck, Nor." His body tenses behind me. "It's 12 AM, it's..." He trails off as realization dawns on him.

My sixteenth birthday.

Jake's arm tightens around me. "Shit, I'm so sorry. With everything happening, I didn't..." His voice cracks. "I should have remembered."

"Don't say it, please." I fight back tears but it's useless because they're already flowing, dampening the pillow beneath my cheek.

Jake shifts, propping himself up on one elbow. In the dim light, I can see the guilt written across his face.

Birthdays going forward will forever be tainted by this day.