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“Open, open,” Holland says, with a child-like glee. Channing looks shy, as if she doesn’t really want to open them in front of everyone. She delicately unties the ribbons upon ribbons that Holland has tied around the gift. Then slowly lifts the tape that holds it together, before sliding out two pink envelopes and a packet of unicorn poop bath-bombs. I don’t pretend to understand, I’m a shower person. “Open the envelopes.” Holland is very excited about this gift. Channing opens the first envelope, and it’s a voucher for Sephora.

“Thanks, Hol,” she says. Opening the second one. “Oh, a skydiving experience. Thanks — I think.”

Holland makes a silent ‘oh’ with her mouth, then says, “Sorry,” before looking at me, and quickly to Oakley. “Open Oakley’s.” She clearly likes gift giving. Oakley hands Channing a gift bag, trying very hard to contain her laughter.

“Read the card first,” Oakley says. “Out loud.”

“Welcome, to dirty-thirty,” Channing reads, shaking her head with a giggle. She opens the bag and pulls out some very, and I mean, fucking sexy lingerie. I can’t help licking my lips at the thought of her in those — I am going to get this woman back. If it’s the last thing I do. Channing unpacks the bag; the last item is her very own Thorne Designs business card. Which makes her cry.

Holland, who is so naive and really can’t fathom what this is doing to me or Channing, turns to me and says, “Your turn, Kalon.”

I hand Channing the gift box, it’s not as pretty as her friends’ gifts. Then the card.

“You can open them in any order,” I say.

“Present first,” Oakley blurts out, obviously thinking it’s jewelry based on the box size and shape.

Channing purposely ignores her and opens the card first. She gasps.

“What, what does it say?” Holland asks.

Channing turns to me, with absolute horror. “You did not?” she asks, pulling the bow off the box. Her eyes stay on me.

“I did.”

“He did what?” Oakley chimes in, but we’re sharing a moment that they’re not part off. Words said with nothing but a look. She’s not happy, but she’s happy.

“You are fucking insane,” Channing hisses, and Holland chokes on her drink at the way she cusses. She shoves the box back at me. “I’m not accepting that, Kalon.” I push it back.

“Well, I’m not taking it back. I don’t look half as good in it as you do.”

“In what?” Oakley asks, agitated now.

“The Ferrari,” Channing spits out like it’s a bad word. Oakley starts laughing, and I feel like I have missed some inside joke.

“He got you a car?” Holland looks confused. “Why?” Looking at Oakley now for answers.

“Thank you, but I really can’t accept a gift like this.” Channing tries to give the key back again. “Not from you, not after—”

“It’s your car, Channing, if you don’t want it, sell it.” I’m getting irritated. I bought her a gift.

“Bash will steal it from you,” Oakley chimes in. Her boyfriend's family, they’re car people. Channing glares at her, and I have never been more excited to see a birthday cake appear. The entire staff come along singing Happy Birthday, very loudly, carrying a cake with enough candles to set off a smoke alarm. Next to me, Channing is dying a quiet death of embarrassment, while her friends snap pictures and revel in it. I think it’s time for me to go — let them have their girls’ night. As soon as the song and dance is over, I lean in to whisper to Channing.

“Goodnight, beautiful. Happy birthday.” I kiss her cheek, and add, “I hope you’ll take me for a drive sometime really soon.” Then I get up and excuse myself from the table.