"Happy birthday dear Luna! Happy birthday to you."

For the first time today, the smile stretching my lips was genuine, even if it was a bit sad as I leaned forward to blow out the single candle adorning the overly iced chocolate cupcake. But that's all I seemed capable of managing these days. Sad smiles or forced. The big, infectious ear to ear grins my father used to tell me were his favorite had retired the night he died.

"Thanks Dad," I whispered, tapping the cell phone to restart the video.

"Hey baby girl. Today is a big one. 3-0."

My father pushed his black-framed glasses up his nose as he peered into the camera. Strawberry blonde curls fell over his forehead and obscured his green eyes more often than not. The left tab of his collar pointed upward, and there was a mustard stain on his breast pocket. Such minor details that together equaled all the best things I loved about him.

Gold foil birthday balloons floated behind him, and every so often, I glimpsed numbers other than three and zero. When the doctors told him his diagnosis was terminal, he didn't bat an eyelash. Kevin Quinn was nothing if not a planner, and his affairs stayed in order, which is why I wasn't overly shocked to discover he'd spent an entire day filming multiple birthday videos like this one and scheduled them to be emailed to me every year. This was the third one I'd received.

"Trust me when I tell you my thirties were way better than my twenties. But—" Tears welled in my eyes as I waited for what he said next. "That might be because you came along then. If you want to be twenty-nine forever, that's fine too. Happy birthday to you..."

An incoming call interrupted the rest of the song. I considered not answering it, but it was my former college roommate, Jones, and he wouldn't stop calling me until I did—or worse, he would show up at my apartment.

I hit the answer button. "No."

"Ah, come on. You don't even know what I'm going to say."

Adopting my best impression of him, I said, "Girl, you are coming out and getting wasted face tonight! I'm not taking no for an answer."

Silence reigned on the other end of the line. Then he snorted. "Okay, so maybe that's a version of what I was going to say, but Luna. It's your birthday!"

"And it comes around every year."

"You used to go all out."

"Used to. Past tense."

I picked at the fuzz on my pajama pants and winced as the fuzz turned out to be a frazzled thread that left a hole in the center of a reindeer's face when it pulled loose. Christmas was three months ago, but these were my favorite pants.

"You're turning thirty. I refuse to let you sit at home in out of season pajamas." I sat upright and glanced around the living room, searching for a hidden camera or a hidden Jones. "If you don't celebrate tonight, you might as well go ahead and start picking out your retirement home because you've given up."

"Ouch. That's harsh." He usually didn't push this hard and rarely was he so blunt. "Look. We just have different opinions of a good time. I'm perfectly happy with curling up on the couch with my book and a bottle of wine."

"Faerie porn."

"Excuse me?"

"Are you reading another one of your Faerie porn books?"

"N-no," I lied, flipping the book over as if he could see the cover with the scantily clad, dark-haired, shirtless Fae ravishing the human girl.

"If you came out tonight, you might meet a real boy. One who can give you real orgasms."

That made my lip twitch, and I couldn't resist saying, "The orgasms the Fae prince gives me are very real."

Jones burst into laughter. "Okay. Fair enough, but please come out. Just put on a cute dress, slap some makeup on that sickeningly gorgeous face, and come out for a couple of drinks."

Nothing inside of me wanted to do what he suggested, but as I peered around the apartment, noting the lack of personal touches and stacks of takeout boxes, I realized that was precisely why I needed to do it. So what if I was turning thirty and my life wasn't where I thought it would be? Hiding from it wouldn't change things.

"Fine," I sighed. "Just a couple of drinks. A couple. That means two."

"Yes!" He shouted. "Wear the shimmery pink dress your tits fall out of. Your complexion literally glows in it."

I was already in my closet, hand on the exact dress he mentioned. "Maybe lead with the glowing complexion and not the breasts."

"Honey, I don't even like breasts, and I appreciate how they look in that dress."

"Stop!" I shouted, tossing it on the bed. "I'll see you in an hour. For two drinks. Remember, we're thirty now. We can't drink like we're twenty-two anymore."

"Cross my heart, honey. Two drinks and you're home."