Candles.

There are supposed to be eighteen of them on this cake. Instead that number stays at ten.

Gemma stares at the dancing flames. Every year, the Lockmans hold a memorial on Cynthia”s, “Cyn,” birthday. Everyone close to the ten-year-old gets invited, so dutifully family, friends, and others associated to the Lockmans show up that to see the flowing tears and mournful words and birthday candles.

Cyn was her best friend.

Even at ten, they knew they going to be life long friends.

Knowing one another since kindergarten, they learned everything together, grown up side by side. Sometimes people thought they were twins because of them being attached to the hip.

Always sat next to each other at lunch, play dates every day, and sharing clothes and secrets.

They were the bestest of friends.

But with secrets came one that Gemma couldn’t handle.

Cyn was sick.

She was dying.

In the quiet of one play date under the covers of her bed, Cyn revealed she had cancer.

And Gemma couldn’t bear to think of life without her.

Her best friend was going to leave her.

Gemma just couldn’t handle that.

She was always an all or nothing type of girl. For meals, she had to like all of it or she wouldn’t eat. With clothes, she would refuse to wear an outfit if she hated one of the elements.

So as Gemma listens to the saddest mantra of happy birthday, she thinks about that day.

If they weren’t going to be life long friends, then they wouldn’t be friends at all.