I wipe my eyes dry with the corner of the sheet and sit myself up. I open my messages, hoping I’ll have birthday wishes. A dozen notifications roll in, making me smile. Paula, Dave, Lucy, and yes … Oliver. Paula and Dave promise to call later, and Lucy has sent a beautiful card with my head on a pretty swallow she’s drawn herself. So talented. I reply, asking what happened with Malcolm at the antique fair; did he come? I hope it went well.

I’ve saved Oliver’s for last.

There’s no message, just a video.

I press play.

It’s a mashup. Snippets of my favourite pop songs, selfies we’ve taken together, heads smooshed as close as we can get, and clips from the places we like to hang. He’s filmed the small scribbly-bark tree we planted in memory of Mum and counted all the new leaves sprouting. I remember how Oliver and I had walked from our gala dance, after I’d taken off my uncomfortable heels, up the hill to the spot where you can see the whole valley. I knew he was special right then—how he’d managed to both respect my grief and make a romantic gesture was nothing short of perfection.

The video has titles and captions, and he’s even made short animations with words popping up and fizzling away like soda bubbles. The end is a time lapse of him writing ‘happy birthday’. The speed slows and he turns the camera to his face and blows me a kiss. He must have spent hours editing it, and it’s the coolest video I’ve ever seen.

As I take a shower, I think of Mum’s words: ‘Surround yourself with good people. People who love you for you.’ I think I’ve done that, haven’t I? I contemplate the people in my life, my father now included, as I hum the pop songs.

‘After you, birthday girl.’ My father opens the restaurant door. We’re right on time for the birthday dinner he’s planned.

‘Can I take your coats?’ the hostess asks. It’s super toasty inside, and my father and I peel off our layers, passing a mountain of jackets, gloves, hats and scarfs to the hostess. I look around. Fancy. There’s a bar with hundreds of bottles lit from behind, and hanging lights illuminate the centres of dark mahogany tables. The light makes the cutlery shine and white linen serviettes glow orange. On the walls are a series of canvases painted with spring flowers. My mum would have liked them.