“My parents were always working when I was a kid, so I spent a lot of time with nannies,” he says as he hands the whole cake over to me, which is probably the sexiest thing he’s ever done. “This isn’t some sob story about how I was neglected. My mom made sure she was home every night to put me to bed and my dad… made sure my tuition was paid. And I don’t know… maybe this is selfish because I know people had it worse off than I did. Sad little rich boy whose parents buy him expensive things to keep him happy. I sound like a spoiled prick.”

“I mean, money’s nice, but there are some things it can’t buy.”

“All I wanted was for one of them to remember that my favorite color was orange. Isn’t that sad? My parents didn’t know what my favorite color was. Or that I didn’t like bananas. Or that I had nightmares about Ronald McDonald for an entire summer.”

My mom remembered everything. Even the things I didn’t want her to remember. Like how I broke her favorite candy dish. Or how I brought her bra in for kindergarten show-and-tell. Even that snide comment I made under my breath in the car at 12:38 p.m. on the third Tuesday in June of 2009. My side of the pizza always had pepperoni. My eggs were always scrambled. No sandwich ever had crusts. To this day, I still don’t know how she managed to do it all by herself.

I don’t think I ever thanked her.

“I started coming up with these really outlandish requests just to see if they paid attention. A train set with green and purple train cars. A snowboard with yellow and orange stripes. A cake with peanut butter, strawberry jam, and marshmallow frosting. A tropical fish tank with eleven blue fish—”

“A double-toasted cinnamon raisin bagel with extra cream cheese? A venti half-caf quad-shot half whole milk half almond latte with three sugars and five dashes of cinnamon?”

“And it’s still never right.”

I don’t realize my legs are in his lap or that my fingers are twirling a strand of his hair until he turns to me and smiles.

“He didn’t even wish me a happy birthday today,” Asher says. “I rode the fucking elevator up to the office with him and do you know what he said to me? Your brother’s not coming in today. I need you on a conference call in ten minutes.”

“Ash—”

“I don’t think he’s ever told me he loves me,” he says. “And you know what? It’s fine. I don’t love him either. He’s a bastard.”