Adelle's birthday falls on the 17th of April. It's a Thursday, so she is, of course, at work. She has no one to celebrate it with, and despite the fact that in no way does she want to commemorate the fact that she is getting older, she feels it is only right to treat herself today.

There is a slice of rich chocolate cake ordered from the finest bakery in the area waiting in her fridge when she gets home, and the new shoes she bought the day before for this occasion make her feel strong and invincible. She wears a new dress, too, specially from Paris. It is a lonely, pathetic life maybe—that she fills it with material goods to make up for what she lacks in human contact—but it is hers, and she is content, at least, with it.

There are new flowers on her table from Mr Dominic. Working in such close contact meant the topic of birthdays was bound to come up, and she'd had to share that information with him, though she'd much have preferred keeping it to herself. Much less fuss that way. He'd given her a book also, and an offer of dinner, which she'd declined. He felt sorry for her, that was all. A lonely old woman all alone on her birthday. It was later now, and she'd sent him off with the reassurance that yes, she did have plans.

She doesn't, but he doesn't need to know that. She only needs to finish up a little bit of paper work before she can go home and curl up on the couch with her cake and the book from Mr Dominic.

However, she is interrupted before she can.

Topher comes knocking nervously at her door about half an hour before she is preparing to pack up. He peeks his head in and, upon seeing her, steps further into the room. He keeps his hands clasped uneasily behind his back.

"Ah, Ms DeWitt?" he asks.

"Topher?" she replies.

"What are you...doing here?"

"Excuse me?"

"I mean, it's your birthday." Topher raises his arm to begin waving it around and something he was holding goes crashing to the ground. In the dark, she can't tell what is it. He glances at it quickly, then looks away. "Uh, it's your birthday, and you should be out...with friends...having fun. Why aren't you doing that?"

"I have work to do." She does not say I don't have any friends. She wouldn't admit that. Especially not to Topher, of all people, although, really, he might be the one who best understands. As far as she's aware, he doesn't have any friends either.

"Yeah, sure." Topher gives a nervous giggle, and she throws a warning look at him. He swallows. "Anyway, I sort of assumed that, so I...brought you something."

"You what?" she asks, surprised.

Topher kneels down to pick up whatever it was he'd dropped, and shuffles nervously up to her desk. "I brought stuff. So we could have our own little party."

She sees now that what he places on her desk is a cake. A rather...dilapidated cake, but a cake nonetheless.

Topher, following her gaze, says nervously, "I tried to make it myself but I, uh, discovered I couldn't cook. At all. But I, um, didn't have time to go buy one, so this is the best I got."

There is a warm feeling in her chest and she is touched, immensely, by the compassion of this boy. If she were a lesser woman, she thinks she might cry.

"Thank you, Topher," she whispers.

He glances at her, then away when he sees her glassy eyes. "Hey, you deserve it, boss lady." He punches her arm good-naturedly.

He sings her Happy Birthday in a happy, off-key voice. He'd brought candles—"Exactly forty. You're not going to be forty again."—and he makes her blow each and every one of them out, much to her embarrassment.

The cake is terrible, as promised. They eat it anyway. She thinks of the expensive cake back at her house, and it suddenly seems unappealing compared to Topher's home-made version. It is ridiculous, but that cake was made in a shop, without any feeling for the person who eats it, where as Topher—Topher made his because he cared.

After they've polished off as much as they could of the birthday cake, Topher produces his present. She unwraps in gingerly. Another book, though not a novel like Mr Dominic's. The title reads 'Advanced Sciences'.

"What's this?" she asks.

Topher takes it from her and drums his fingers over the cover. "See, Ms DeWitt, I think you're a lot smarter than you look." She opens her mouth to protest but he shakes his head. "N-not that you're not smart, but I think you just might be a genius, too."

"How so?"

"I looked you up. You worked with stem-cells. You have to be pretty intelligent to do that. And you graduated with honours from Cambridge a year early. You, Adelle, are one smart chicken. And I bet you could understand at least half that book, no doubt more."

"What if I don't want to?" she asks. "You know, Topher, I may be able to work in the sciences, but I prefer working in business."

"It's a challenge then," he says. "Do you accept?"

"Yes." She takes the book back and places it on her lap. "Thank you, Topher. For everything."

"No problem." He grins and she finds herself smiling easily back.

They clear up, and then prepare to leave. She drives him home. He makes her laugh the whole way. She gets back to her dark, empty house, and walks through the echoing rooms. She stops at the kitchen, thinks of that cake sitting there, and then walks on towards her bedroom. She's have it some other time.

She falls asleep easily, surprisingly happy and more than content.

The next day when Mr Dominic asks if she enjoyed her birthday, she tells him yes, she most certainly did.