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"Happy Birthday, Evelynn," Amata's breath was warm against her cheek as she kissed it softly. Evelynn could feel herself holding her breath, trying her hardest not to show how much that simple gesture had sparked her excitement.
"Thanks." Evelynn let the word out with a heavy exhale. Amata's smooth fingers slid a cupcake into her grasp. It was clumsily iced and sprinkled, with a red and white striped candle gracing the top in a perfect point. Amata carefully lit a match, sticking her tongue out of the corner of her mouth in concentration as she lit the candle.
"Make a wish," she whispered.
The whole exchange felt very romantic to Evelynn. She wasn't sure if that feeling was one-sided or if it actually had some merit. They hadn't been anything close to a couple for years, not since the two of them decided it would be best to remain friends. Evelynn had felt like that was the right decision at the time but now, every time she saw Amata, she felt a twinge in her heart. She couldn't help it. When she found someone who she cared about, she clung to them for dear life. Even if they didn't care as much as they once did.
Evelynn shut her eyes and softly blew out the candle. She didn't make a wish. She couldn't think of anything to wish for. She considered wishing for Amata, but that was desperate and slightly creepy. So, she didn't wish for anything, just reopened her eyes and smiled at Amata, whose face was inches away from her own.
"How does it feel to be 19?" Amata's voice was light and cheery now, no longer a whisper. The romance quickly faded.
"It feels the same," Evelynn sighed and threw her head back, gazing at the ceiling, searching it as if it were a sky, as if she would find something new after 19 years of looking.
"Yeah. It always does," Amata gave a similar sigh and sat beside her. The two sat in silence for a little while, Evelynn staring at the ceiling, Amata staring at the wall.
"I have your present," Amata spoke up once again as if she’d just remembered, though Evelynn knew she’d likely been carefully planning when to make the announcement, "I hope you like it."
Amata slid a small box in her direction. Evelynn's fingers fumbled with opening it at first, but she was finally able to pry it open. The rusty hinges gave a small groan of protest. Inside was a small locket of worn gold. Evelynn slid her fingernail under the clasp to open it. A small smile lifted the corners of her lips.
"Thank you so much," her voice was becoming thick with tears.
"I asked your Dad about it. I know you never really see pictures of her. He thought it was a sweet idea, so he gave me one."
Inside the locket was a picture of Evelynn's mother. It was small and not in very good condition, but her face was clear. Evelynn looked nothing like her. The only thing in common was their hair and their eyes. Their eyes were unmistakably the same, from the shape to the size, to the way they crinkled when they smiled. Other than that, Evelynn was the spitting image of her father. Her father claimed though, that every once in a while, Evelynn made faces that could only be compared to her mother. Evelynn thought this made no sense. How could she make the faces of a woman who died minutes after she was born?
"I love it," Evelynn whispered, unclasping the locket and putting it around her neck.
"I'm glad."
"Your birthday present isn't gonna be anywhere near this nice," Evelynn laughed, trying to lighten the atmosphere.
"I'm sure I'll love it," Amata said, smiling and placing her hand over Evelynn's.
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Butch finished the last of his whiskey, giving a deep sigh and tossing the empty bottle aside. Everyone was off in their own apartments tonight, no doubt having a better time than him. Freddie was probably trying to get into Christine's pants, Susie was probably jacking off to a picture of some long-dead heartthrob, and Paul was probably asleep.
Evelynn was listening to music. He could hear it faintly. He often could. They lived so close to one another, and besides the constant humming of the vault lights, the place was always silent, so it wasn't hard to hear even the slightest sounds. She never played it as loud as he did. She would always come banging on his door whenever he did that, screaming about how she was trying to read or study or whatever else. He never had to do that with her. He wondered why she didn't play her music loud, why she never got her own little piece of revenge against him. Tonight, she was playing an Ella Fitzgerald song. He thought. He was never very good at remembering who sings what.
Butch laid down on his bed, focusing and unfocusing his eyes on the ceiling. He liked doing that, changing his focus on things, making things blurry then clear, blurry then clear. Evelynn's music fell silent. He heard her light footsteps heading toward the bathroom. He considered going out into the hallway to tease her about something completely irrelevant, but he thought better of it. A few minutes later he heard her walking back and heard her door shut, a sense of firm finality in the noise.
It was almost midnight. He sighed, finally slipping off his boots, deciding it was a good decision to go to bed. He heard his mom stumble into the living room, knocking over a lamp on her way in. The second one this month.
Butch turned off his lights, not even bothering to change into something more sleep-appropriate. He slid under the thin covers of his bed and laid in silence, practicing his focusing and unfocusing once again.
It didn't feel any different, he thought, being 19.
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Evelynn's fingers trembled as she unboxed the snack cakes. The box was refusing to tear, and Evelynn whimpered in frustration, doing her best to keep from crying. She sniffled helplessly and threw the box down in defeat. The gash in her side burned with a sudden pain and it took everything in her not to scream. She could feel the blood pouring from her side as it seeped into her vault suit. She'd used her last Stimpak yesterday and by this point had accepted her fate. She was destined to die in this run-down house, in the middle of the Wasteland. Maybe in a few years someone would find her body and wonder what happened to her, why she was so far away from her vault.
She still hadn't found her father. It'd been almost two months. She knew where she was looking now. She knew where to go, but life out here wasn't easy. Not that she ever thought it would be. She never thought that for a second.
Halfway on her journey to Vault 112, she'd run into some raiders who were absolutely ruthless. Most were, but she'd never run into any quite this bad. One had gotten her pretty bad in the side with a ripper. She'd run out of any form of medical supplies and her thorough search of the house she'd stumbled upon had offered her nothing but the snack cakes.
She hadn't even realized what day it was. She could hardly believe it. Twenty. That seemed like such a long time. Twenty years. She felt old. She felt ancient and used up and alone. She was alone.
The box of snack cakes finally gave in. She pulled one out and placed it on the box. Her last match caught aflame easily, luckily, and she stuck it into the snack cake as quickly as she could.
"Happy Birthday, Evelynn," she whispered to herself before blowing out the match and plunging herself into darkness.
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Susie actually made an effort this year. She really did try. Butch knew it was just because she wanted to get back with him. They'd been off for four months, the longest off period their relationship had ever experienced. She'd baked him a cake, but he blew her off.
He couldn't stop thinking about her. Four months away. Four months out there. He doubted she was still alive. He knew that if anyone in the vault could make it out there it would be her, but four months is a long time. Maybe she had just decided not to come back. Maybe she'd tried to, and the Overseer had her killed.
He hoped she knew that he never really meant anything he said to her. Maybe, in the beginning, he really did mean it, really did think she was a waste of space. Or maybe he’d been jealous of her this whole time. He was smart enough to realize he’d fallen into the habit of using her as a punching bag, a way to deal with all the shit that happened at home. But he'd never hated her as much as she'd hated him. Truthfully, he'd never hated her at all.
He'd walk past her old apartment sometimes. No one had bothered to do anything about the space. The vault had been in a bit of turmoil since she'd left. He never once went inside. He didn't think it'd be right. He didn't even think he could do it, look at all of the stuff she’d been forced to leave behind. All those stupid comics that she'd fought him for, which he knew she'd kept in better condition than he ever would've.
He put on a record and turned it up as loud as he could. He waited for the first song to fade out and sat in the uncomfortable silence it left behind. No one banged angrily on the door and no one yelled at him to keep it the fuck down.
He downed a bottle of whiskey in three gulps. It smashed to the floor. This was the first time it felt different to be older. Twenty years was an awful long time.