From Now On I Grow Toward Spring Chapter 01
For the fifth time since I’d married him, no one remembered my birthday.
While making dinner, I cooked an extra plate of shrimp pasta for myself.
After everyone had helped themselves, I had just picked up my fork when Matteo stopped me.
“Talia, don’t eat that. You know Sofia loves shrimp.”
My parents chimed in. “Exactly. You’re the older sister. Let her have it.”
I’d heard variations of that line for years.
I no longer had the energy to argue. I just nodded.
“Then can I have the leftovers?”
Matteo frowned. He set the entire platter in front of Sofia.
Then he casually speared a single asparagus stalk onto my plate.
“You probably snacked while you were cooking. Just have some vegetables.”
I froze, a sharp, sudden pain blooming in my chest.
It was Sofia’s least favorite vegetable.
And I was allergic to it.
“It’s my birthday,” I said, my voice tight.
“Can’t I have even a few bites of the shrimp I made myself?”
The table fell silent for a beat.
“Sis, this is all my fault,” Sofia said, though her hands didn’t move an inch.
“I’ll give you the shrimp right now!”
My mother cut her off. “Give her what?”
Matteo sounded irritated.
“Talia, you’re an adult. It’s just a birthday. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?”
“If you want shrimp that badly, I’ll Venmo you a few hundred bucks. Go buy your own.”
Just a birthday.
But Sofia was only a year younger than me.
Every year on her birthday, Matteo booked restaurants.
He bought lavish gifts. He sent her money at the stroke of midnight.
Suddenly, the whole scene felt ridiculous.
I smiled.
“No need.”
“Matteo, let’s get a divorce.”
…
Matteo froze.
“Talia, since when did you get so petty? Are you really going to do this over a few shrimp?”
I said nothing.
As if to compromise, he speared a shrimp from the platter, dropped it into Sofia’s bowl, then forked a single cherry tomato onto my plate.
“How old are you, fighting with your little sister over food?”
“It all came from the same pan. It tastes the same. Just pretend you ate some, okay? Stop making a scene.”
He spoke as if soothing a pouting child.
I looked at the scattered vegetables on my plate, then at the mountain of shrimp in Sofia’s bowl, and my smile widened.
“Matteo, did you not hear me?”
“I said, let’s get a divorce.”
His grip tightened on his fork, the easygoing expression sliding from his face.
“Talia…”
Sofia blinked, her eyes instantly welling with tears.
“This is all my fault. With all these other dishes on the table, I just had to want the one thing my sister wanted… I won’t eat it. She can have it.”
She finished by dropping her fork onto her plate with a clatter.
My mother immediately pulled Sofia into a heartbroken embrace, then rounded on me.
“There are five dishes on this table and that’s still not enough for you? You have to make your sister go hungry before you’re satisfied?”
My father said nothing, but his expression had darkened.
“But it’s my birthday,” I said again.
Matteo was already swapping Sofia’s fork for a clean one, too busy fussing over her to register what I’d said.
We had been married for five years.
I hadn’t celebrated a single birthday.
August first. An easy date to remember. But no one ever did.
On Sofia’s birthday, June twenty-third, he never forgot. The moment a new calendar went up after New Year’s, he would circle her birthday.
My birthday was just a few lines above it.
It was as if he’d never seen it.
Sofia sat up a little straighter, one hand pressed to her chest, her voice soft. “It’s my sister’s birthday. Making her happy should come first. I’m fine.”
She’d barely risen from her chair before her body swayed.
Matteo caught her immediately, pressing her back into her seat. He pulled a card from his wallet and tossed it onto the table in front of me.
“Talia, you know Sofia’s heart condition. She can’t handle stress. Are you still going to cling to this?”
“There’s enough on that card for you to buy shrimp for a year. Just let Sofia have this plate, okay?”
The card slid across the table and fluttered to the floor.
In that moment, a flood of memories returned.
Before Matteo, it was the same. Any good food in the house went to Sofia first.
Pretty clothes, too. She always got first pick.
If there was a school event, my parents always stood by her side.
Just because I was born a year earlier—because I was the older sister—I was expected to give in.
Then I started dating Matteo. The first time he came to my parents’ house, he walked past Sofia’s huge walk-in closet and stopped at the door to my tiny, dim bedroom. He took my hand and said, “Talia, from now on, as long as I’m here, you’ll always be my first choice.”
Back then, I’d believed him.
I learned later that the promise had a short shelf life.
Now, the man who had promised to put me first sat across the table from me.
I didn’t look at the card on the floor. I just nodded.
“Give it all to her.”
The shrimp was hers.
This marriage, this family—I didn’t want any of it anymore.
I stood and walked back to our bedroom.
No one stopped me.
Behind me, Matteo said lightly, “Let her go cool off. She probably ate while she was cooking anyway.”
I paused mid-stride.
The last flicker of hope inside me died.
I shut the door and started packing.
There wasn’t much in this apartment that was truly mine. Just a few changes of clothes.
I glanced at the framed marriage certificate in the glass cabinet and gave a short, sharp laugh. I pulled my hand back from it and zipped my backpack shut.
I had just finished when the door opened.
Matteo walked in carrying a beautifully wrapped birthday cake and ruffled my hair.
“Still mad?”
“I had them rush this over from the bakery. Isn’t this the place you’ve always wanted to try?”
I pressed my lips together, my chest tightening.
So he knew.
He just hadn’t cared.
After a few seconds of hesitation, I opened the box.
He smiled, bent down, and wrapped his arms around my waist.
“Decided on a wish? How about we wish for a baby this year?”
I instinctively touched my lower belly and said nothing.
He didn’t notice, his voice continuing in my ear.
“Hopefully a girl. One who looks more like you…”
The next second, his words faded into a dull hum.
I stared at the looping script on the cake, a chill spreading through my entire body.
It said:
Happy Birthday, Sofia.
And it was covered in raspberries—Sofia’s favorite.
Matteo sensed something was wrong. He followed my gaze, and his face fell.
“Talia!”
He slammed the lid shut, his movements clumsy, his hands shaking.
“The bakery must have made a mistake. I’ll have them remake it right now.”
I lifted a hand and pressed it over his.
“It’s okay. Don’t bother.”
That was a famous custom cake shop. They didn’t make mistakes like getting a name wrong.
It was because he’d never ordered a cake for me.
The only name the shop knew was Sofia’s. The only preferences they had on file were hers.
He seemed surprised by my calmness, and his shoulders relaxed. He reached out and pinched my cheek.
“The cake’s already here, so let’s just let Sofia have it.”
“When her birthday comes around next week, I’ll make it up to you with a better one.”
Then he picked up the cake and left.
After the door clicked shut, I said softly to the empty room, “Matteo, there is no next week for us.”
But he was already gone. He hadn’t heard me.
I lowered my head, my hand finding my stomach again.
After a long moment, I picked up my phone.
I scheduled a surgery for the next day.
And a flight to Austin.