“Did you get it, yet?  I checked, and it’s shipped.  I really wanted you to have it by your birthday.  I’m sorry it’s going to come after….” 

The last word swung back and forth along the invisible line connecting their cell phones.  She saw it getting larger, and then smaller, hurriedly rushing at her with the force of resignation, before dancing away in a pathetically hopeful soft-shoe.  Her birthday was still three days away.  “After” no longer meant just her birthday.

She smiled before she spoke, knowing it would sweeten her tone.

“Don’t worry about it.”  She chuckled softly as much for her own encouragement as to ease his angst.  “It will come, and I’ll love it.  I know I will.”  The blinders she’d donned earlier in the day, when he’d called to tell her the news, remained firmly in place as she trained her eyes on a colorless traffic light.  Every word, every action, required a decision and focus.  And though her car sat motionless for several minutes, she maintained a 10-and-2 death grip on the steering wheel.  She only breathed when she had to.

Even before he spoke, she knew he was crying, again.

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen…”, he began.

She interrupted with resolution.

“Yes, you do.  You know what’s going to happen, because it’s the only thing that can happen.  We’ve talked about this.”  She stopped to breathe and drew in the dust of her words.  “From the very beginning we’ve talked about this.  There’s nothing to think about.”

“Ok…”  The second syllable rode the wave of a sob he couldn’t contain.  Both were quiet while he tried harder.  The cars around her began to move, and she moved with them.

“Ok..”  This time he whispered the offending syllable and control powered the rest of his speech.  “…but know this.  I will never forget your birthday.  Every year, on your birthday, you will hear from me.”  The long “e” stretched longer on the end of a quiver.  He cleared his throat, and she imagined him sitting taller in his leather office chair.  The car in front of her slowed, forcing her to shift her feet.

“I promise.” 

The words echoed between them, reminding her of all the promises he had to keep.  He lived with a woman he’d promised to love and cherish until he died, and children, whose care was promised by their creation.  She pictured him wearing a promise fashioned of cloth under one of his sensible suits as he offered an easy smile of welcome to those who would follow in his church-sanctioned footsteps. 

Night had fallen while he spoke, and as she eased the car to a stop under another albino traffic light she tried to imagine him alone, unaccompanied by his promises.  She thought she heard him sniff as he finally swam into view wearing a gaily colored madras shirt; the kind a family man wears on vacation…because that’s all he would ever be.

“Don’t do that.”  Though spoken softly, her words rebuked argument.  “Don’t make a promise you won’t keep…because you won’t…because you can’t…because promises mean everything to you.”

A whispered “I love you” caressed her ear as she made the final turn towards home.

“Promise.”