“Good evening, ma’am—do you know how fast you were going back there?”
It had been a shitty birthday before she’d gotten pulled over.
Granted, most birthdays after thirty-five were inherently shitty by nature of placing her closer to forty than she was to thirty. Taking her further and further away from being the twenty-something she still liked to picture herself as. The hot young mom that she’d saved on a mental Polaroid had, over the years, become less and less congruent with the woman she’d see in the mirror every morning. Things sagged, they drooped, she had loose skin and more than a few extra pounds…
“License and registration please.”
It didn’t mean that she was ugly by any means. Harper Black still turned more than her fair share of heads whenever she went out. With her curly black hair, obnoxiously large chest and a flaring set of childbearing hips, who could blame them? Her olive-colored skin made her look exotic, and her proud patrician features had aged just as gracefully as her more obvious ones. Sometimes, she didn’t even have to go out—as was often the case with some extra-curious neighbor kids who’d fly their drone into her bathroom window. Harper had always been beautiful, it was just…
How easy was it to feel beautiful at 41?
“Your license is about to expire Mizz… Black, is it?”
The most pressing matter, aside from age, was the fit of her dress. Most women would have died to have Harper’s post-baby body after once, twice, and especially three times after a ride in the stirrups. With Parker and Piper (her older two) the weight had slipped right off, letting her slink back into those little black dresses no worse for wear. Twenty-three years later and forty pounds heavier, she had more than a little trouble squeezing into much of anything she wore back then. But ever since she’d had kid number 3—a chunky little toddler named Hunter, waiting up on her back home no doubt—Harper had struggled with an extra thirty pounds that just refused to go away.
Now she had a little belly smushed underneath her breasts. Now even those were giving her trouble—they’d always been perky for their size, thank God. But as she’d gotten older they’d started to sag more, and with her added weight it had only become more and more noticeable. That was the price to pay, she supposed, but it was becoming harder and harder to remember what she looked like when everything was where it was supposed to be. Her figure, her chest, the laugh lines that creased the corners of her mouth… still in a crappy job, barely keeping a roof over her head now that her other girls had moved out… turning 40 had hit her hard.
Which was why she’d promised herself that this year would be different. She was going to do everything in her power to make sure this birthday was the best one she’d ever had!
But between Piper, her middle child, not being able to drive down, all of her friends at the office canceling, and finding out last week that the guy she’d been seeing was married, 41 looked like it was going to be just as bad as the year before it.
To wit, it had been a shitty birthday before she’d gotten pulled over.
“Everything alright, Mz. Black?” the police officer managed over the rain, “You, uh… don’t look so hot.”
Honestly, that was the last thing that Harper needed to hear right about now. She’d already had to cancel a non-refundable reservation, dumped Hunter on poor Parker, and had been driving around for hours in this godawful rain just so she wouldn’t have to cry in front of her fucking kids—it took every last ounce of self control to not just start screaming right there in front of this fucking police officer.
“Thanks Officer—“ she glanced at the badge, “—Reagan, that’s just what a girl wants to hear on her birthday.”
And that probably wasn’t the smartest thing in the world to say. She was expecting to be reprimanded. Cops and their egos, badges like little penises pinned to their chest, Harper was fully expecting to have a ticket added onto what had already become a very expensive worst birthday ever.
Instead, there was just an awkward little ‘uh’ buried underneath the rain. As she blinked away the hot tears that had formed in her eyes and the ring of self pity and adrenaline faded from her ears, Harper could now fully appreciate the fact that she’d been pulled over by another woman. The blue lights of her police car reflected off of the black slicker she wore over her uniform, the rain running down her nose and dripping onto her citation pad.
“Sorry about that.” She finally managed, visibly red in the face, “Um… happy birthday?”
“Thank you.” Harper rolled her eyes, hanging her head low.
“How, um… how old are you this year?” the policewoman said in an attempted friendly tone
“Look, you’ve got my license—can’t you do the math while you’re writing me up?”
“No no, I want to guess.”
The woman in blue took a long look at Harper’s license, cupping her chin with her free hand. As rainfall poured down, rolling across her and beating down on the small soon-to-expire license, she made an exaggerated “hmmmm” as she looked at Harper, seated in the car.
“35.” She finally said, handing it back to Harper
“I wish.” Harper snorted, “But thanks.”
“Are you, um…” the officer put her hands on her hips, adjusting her belt, and looked off onto the highway, “…the same Harper Black who went to Daven’s Port High?”
Harper cocked a black eyebrow.
“Yeah—class of ‘96.” She said, looking the police officer up and down, “Why?”
“I thought I recognized you!” Officer Reagan said with a much more earnest, friendly smile,
“We went to school together!”
“Yeah?”
“I graduated in ’99—Roxy Reagan!” Officer Reagan said with the most emphatic grin, “I was on the girls’ basketball team and you… were a cheerleader, right? Didn’t I used to see you at the football games when I went to see my brother play!”
“Me? Nooo…” Harper sniffled, a smile coming to her face, “I was… I mean I went to games but not… to actually watch them. What’s the statute of limitations on smoking pot behind the bleachers?”
They shared a laugh as the thunder rolled overhead.
“I hope you don’t mind me saying so, but… you don’t look like you’re having a great birthday.”
“Uuuuugh… I’m not.” Harper’s white-knuckled hands released from the steering wheel as she wiped the ruined mascara that ran down her puffy red cheeks, “My daughter’s at home with my youngest and all of my friends cancelled… my other daughter couldn’t make it and I had to cancel this stupid reservation at this restaurant… I just needed to get out.”
“At 60 in a 45.”
“I needed to get out fast.” Harper offered an apologetic chuckle as that nauseating feeling of talking to a police officer returned, “I’m… I’m sorry, Officer. I’ll be more careful.”
There was a moment’s pause as Officer Reagan pursed her lips in thought. Reaching down, she tapped the windowsill of Harper’s car and smiled.
“Alright—I’ll let you off with a warning, Birthday Girl.” She smiled again, “Just don’t let it happen again.”
“Thank you, thank you so much, Officer.”
“Call me Roxanne—I mean, that is, if you’d like.” She drummed her fingers along the still wet interior of the driver’s side window, “I, uh, hate to ask. I know you’re havin’ a shitty birthday and all, but the weather’s only gonna get worse from here. You seem like you’re pretty upset and I’m off duty in about fifteen minutes and there’s a Waffle House up the road. Do you want to… get a cup of coffee—maybe talk about it?”
Harper looked up at Officer Reagan, who looked back down at the woman she’d pulled over. And as the whole evening flashed before her eyes, Harper couldn’t help but think that there were a lot worse things that she could be doing than having dinner with a police officer and bitch about her problems. It wasn’t like she had anywhere to be. Anyone to be with. No friends, no boyfriend, and she could use a chance to get out of the house… that’s what this whole night had been about in the first place…
“Sure, why not?”
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