Shadows By The Poolside

Promises Kept Part II

Sunday morning arrived wrapped in a quiet serenity that seemed almost determined to erase the heaviness of the previous week. Soft rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains of the apartment, illuminating the living room in warm shades of gold while the distant chatter of students returning from early morning jogs drifted in through the slightly open windows.

For the first time in days, there was a purpose that extended beyond lectures, assignments and the lingering discomfort that had settled between old friends.

It was Noah’s birthday.

Twenty years.

The milestone they had once counted down to with childish excitement had finally arrived.

Maxwell was already awake before the others. He had always been that way, preferring the stillness of early mornings to the rush that inevitably followed. By the time Bryson wandered into the living room, rubbing sleep from his eyes and complaining that birthdays should begin after noon, Maxwell had already finished breakfast and was pushing the furniture aside with quiet determination.

Bryson leaned lazily against the doorway, watching him move the coffee table.

“You know,” he yawned, “the apartment was already clean.”

Maxwell glanced over his shoulder without stopping.

“I know.”

“So… why are you cleaning it again?”

“Because today’s special.”

Bryson folded his arms.

“You’re aware Noah isn’t royalty, right?”

Maxwell chuckled softly.

“I’ll remind him of that later.”

The conversation drew a sleepy laugh from Noah, who emerged from his room moments later wearing an oversized sweatshirt and carrying his phone in one hand.

“I heard that.”

“You were supposed to,” Maxwell replied, adjusting one of the cushions.

Noah looked around the room before smiling faintly.

“You really didn’t have to do all this.”

“I know.”

“You always say that.”

“And yet you still appreciate it.”

Noah shook his head with quiet amusement.

“I do.”

The apartment gradually filled with the comforting familiarity that had always defined their friendship. Bryson eventually abandoned his complaints and reluctantly helped move the dining chairs, though he insisted on announcing every task as though he were performing forced labour.

“If anyone asks,” he muttered dramatically while carrying a box of decorations across the room, “I died decorating balloons.”

“You haven’t even inflated one yet,” Noah pointed out.

“I’m preparing emotionally.”

Maxwell couldn’t suppress a laugh.

“You’ve been preparing emotionally for ten years.”

“And it’s exhausting.”

The room echoed with easy laughter, the kind that required no effort and carried memories within it. For a brief moment, it almost felt as though nothing had changed.

Almost.

After finishing the furniture, Maxwell disappeared into the kitchen in search of cleaning supplies, leaving Bryson to untangle what appeared to be an impossible knot of ribbons.

Noah watched him struggle before quietly slipping into the kitchen himself.

The ingredients for the cookies had already been arranged neatly across the countertop.

Flour.

Sugar.

Butter.

Vanilla.

Everything Arielle normally insisted on measuring herself.

He rested both hands on the counter, staring at them longer than necessary.

Every birthday they had celebrated together carried the unmistakable scent of freshly baked cookies drifting through the house long before the cake was ever served.

It had become Arielle’s tradition.

No one had asked her to continue it year after year.

She simply had.

This morning, however, the kitchen felt strangely empty without her humming softly while dusting flour across the worktop or scolding Bryson whenever he attempted to steal cookie dough before it reached the oven.

Noah inhaled quietly before beginning.

The recipe had been copied carefully into his phone years ago after Arielle jokingly claimed someone else should eventually learn it.

He had laughed at the time.

Now he was unexpectedly grateful.

A few minutes later, Maxwell returned carrying a folded cleaning cloth only to find Noah frowning intensely at the mixing bowl.

“Everything alright?”

Noah looked up.

“I think so.”

“You think?”

“I’ve followed every step.”

Maxwell walked closer, glancing into the bowl.

“What have you added?”

“Flour… sugar… butter… eggs…”

“So far, so good.”

“And baking soda.”

Maxwell froze.

For two painfully long seconds, absolute silence filled the kitchen.

Then he slowly turned towards Noah.

“…Baking soda?”

Noah blinked.

“…Yes?”

Maxwell closed his eyes briefly before rubbing a hand across his forehead as though silently praying for patience.

“Noah…”

“What?”

“Are you trying to poison yourself on your own birthday?”

Bryson, who had wandered into the kitchen carrying half-inflated balloons, looked from one face to the other in complete confusion.

“What happened?”

“He used baking soda.”

Bryson stared at Noah.

Then at the bowl.

Then back at Noah again.

A grin spread slowly across his face.

“Well…” he said thoughtfully, “please don’t involve us in your suicide.”

Noah looked horrified.

“I thought that’s what Ari uses!”

“No,” Maxwell replied, trying—and failing—not to laugh. “She uses baking powder.”

“They’re practically the same thing.”

“They are absolutely not the same thing.”

Bryson doubled over laughing.

“I can’t believe this. The birthday boy nearly eliminated himself before cutting his own cake.”

“I was trying to help!”

“You nearly committed culinary homicide.”

“I didn’t even know there was a difference!”

“There is,” Maxwell said between quiet laughs. “A very important difference.”

Bryson wiped tears from the corners of his eyes.

“Imagine the police report.”

“Oh, don’t start.”

“‘Cause of death,’” Bryson continued dramatically, “‘confused baking ingredients.’”

Noah buried his face in both hands.

“I’m never living this down, am I?”

“Absolutely not,” Bryson answered immediately.

Maxwell shook his head, still smiling as he emptied the ruined mixture into the bin.

“We’re starting over.”

Noah looked genuinely apologetic.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“I really thought—”

“I know.”

Bryson clapped him reassuringly on the shoulder.

“On the bright side…”

“There isn’t a bright side.”

“There is.”

“What?”

“You’ve officially created the worst birthday cookies in university history.”

Even Noah laughed then.

The sound filled the apartment with a warmth that had been missing for days.

None of them noticed the strange irony hidden within the joke they had just shared.

“Imagine the police report…”

“Please don’t involve us in your suicide.”

“We’re all going to become suspects.”

They laughed until their stomachs hurt, completely unaware that one day those careless words would return to haunt every single one of them.

Not because Noah would die.

But because someone else would.

And when that day came, laughter would no longer exist where those memories lived.

An hour later, the apartment looked as though a small storm had swept through it before deciding to settle on the living room.

Half-inflated balloons lay scattered across the floor, ribbons dangled unevenly from the curtain rods, and strips of coloured paper refused to stay where Bryson insisted they belonged. Maxwell stood on a chair attempting to straighten a banner for what felt like the tenth time, while Noah tried to decide whether it looked better slightly to the left or slightly to the right.

“It was easier when Arielle did this,” Bryson muttered as another balloon escaped his grip and floated lazily across the room.

Maxwell caught it before it reached the ceiling and handed it back.

“It isn’t that difficult.”

Bryson stared at the ribbon tangled around both of his wrists.

“That’s easy for you to say.”

“You’ve tied yourself into the decorations.”

“I’ve become one with them.”

Noah laughed quietly.

“You look ridiculous.”

“I look artistic.”

“No,” Maxwell corrected. “You look trapped.”

Bryson frowned at the ribbon before sighing dramatically.

“I miss Ari.”

The words slipped out so naturally that none of them responded immediately.

Instead, the room grew unusually quiet.

No one needed to ask what he meant.

Arielle had always been the one who transformed birthdays into something memorable. She somehow knew exactly where every decoration belonged, insisted the balloons had to match the cake, and somehow managed to make even the smallest celebration feel important.

Without her, the apartment felt complete enough to function, but not complete enough to feel like home.

By the time the decorations were finally finished, all three of them stepped back to admire their work.

Bryson folded his arms proudly.

“I don’t think it’s that bad.”

Noah tilted his head.

“It looks… enthusiastic.”

Maxwell smiled faintly.

“I suppose that’s one way to describe it.”

Bryson pointed towards the banner.

“It stayed up.”

“Barely.”

“It still counts.”

The conversation dissolved into another round of laughter before gradually fading into silence once more.

Almost without thinking, all three pairs of eyes drifted toward the front door.

No one mentioned it.

Yet every one of them was hoping to hear the doorbell ring.

******

By early afternoon, the cake had been arranged neatly on the dining table beside the freshly baked cookies—this time made correctly under Maxwell’s careful supervision—and the small bottle of sparkling red wine Maxwell had quietly purchased the day before rested beside several empty glasses.

The apartment was ready.

The only thing missing…

…was the person they had all been waiting for.

Maxwell glanced briefly at the clock mounted above the television.

A little after two.

His hand instinctively slipped into his pocket, his fingers brushing against his phone.

He wondered whether he should call Arielle.

Perhaps send another message.

Perhaps—

The sharp sound of the doorbell echoed through the apartment.

All three of them looked up simultaneously.

Bryson was already halfway across the room before anyone else managed to stand.

“I’ve got it!”

He reached the door, pulled it open—

—and froze.

Standing on the other side was Arielle.

Beside her stood Emily, balancing two neatly wrapped gift bags in one hand while trying not to smile at Bryson’s stunned expression.

For a heartbeat, nobody spoke.

Bryson simply stared.

As though he couldn’t quite convince himself she was actually there.

Then, without the slightest warning, he stepped forward and wrapped both arms around her.

“Ari…”

His voice came out quieter than he intended.

“I thought you weren’t coming.”

Arielle hesitated only briefly before returning the hug.

Truthfully…

She had missed him too.

Missed all of them.

Emily cleared her throat dramatically.

“If you two are quite finished blocking the doorway…”

Bryson immediately released Arielle, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Sorry.”

Emily squeezed past them into the apartment, laughing softly as Arielle followed behind.

The sound of voices drew Maxwell and Noah from the hallway.

Noah stopped walking the moment he saw her.

For several seconds, he simply stood there, surprise written plainly across his face.

Then his eyes shifted toward Emily.

Emily smiled before holding out the small gift bag she carried.

“Happy birthday, Art Nerd.”

Noah blinked.

“You… bought me something?”

She shrugged lightly.

“You weren’t getting away with having a birthday without telling me.”

A smile slowly spread across Noah’s face as he accepted the gift.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“But I’m still apologising.”

“You should.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

The warmth of their exchange made Arielle smile quietly before she turned toward Noah herself.

For the first time since arriving, uncertainty crept into her expression.

She extended the larger gift bag towards him.

“Happy birthday.”

Noah accepted it carefully, looking from the bag to her before pulling her into a gentle embrace.

“I honestly thought you wouldn’t come.”

She smiled against his shoulder.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

He pulled back slightly.

“I didn’t know if you were still angry.”

“I was.”

“Were?”

She looked at him for a moment before answering honestly.

“I still am… a little.”

Noah nodded.

“I understand.”

Silence lingered briefly between them before he spoke again.

“I’m sorry, Ari.”

His voice carried none of its usual calm certainty.

“I never wanted any of that to happen.”

Bryson stepped forward almost immediately.

“I’m sorry too.”

He looked genuinely uncomfortable.

“I know saying sorry doesn’t fix anything, but… I really wasn’t thinking. I just couldn’t stand there after what Damian called you.”

Arielle looked from one boy to the other.

Then she sighed.

“I know.”

There was a softness in her voice that hadn’t been there a few days ago.

“I wasn’t only angry because of the fight.”

They listened without interrupting.

“I was angry because I felt like none of you trusted me enough to handle things myself.”

Bryson lowered his head.

“I know.”

“And I shouldn’t have pushed all of you away.”

Noah shook his head immediately.

“You had every right to be upset.”

“Maybe.”

She smiled faintly.

“But I still handled it badly.”

Before the conversation could become any heavier, Emily slowly turned in a circle, taking in the decorations for the first time.

She blinked.

Then blinked again.

“…Who decorated this place?”

Arielle finally looked properly around the living room.

For two full seconds she said nothing.

Then she burst into laughter.

“Oh my goodness…”

She covered her mouth, still laughing.

“What happened here?”

Bryson immediately pointed at Maxwell.

“He did.”

Maxwell’s eyes widened.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You were in charge.”

“We all decorated.”

“No,” Noah interrupted with perfect seriousness. “You supervised.”

“So did you!”

Bryson nodded enthusiastically.

“I’d like that officially recorded.”

Maxwell looked from one traitor to the other.

“I can’t believe this.”

Emily laughed.

“So… this artistic disaster wasn’t intentional?”

“It absolutely wasn’t,” Bryson admitted.

Arielle walked over to the uneven banner, gently straightened one side, adjusted two balloons and retied a ribbon that had been hanging upside down.

“There.”

She stepped back.

“Much better.”

Bryson stared.

“How did you do that so quickly?”

She smiled knowingly.

“Practice.”

“I suddenly respect decorating.”

“You should.”

A few minutes later, everyone gathered around the dining table.

The birthday cake stood proudly in the centre while Noah carefully removed the lid from the gift box Arielle had given him.

His eyes widened.

“Sneakers?”

He lifted one from the box.

“They’re perfect.”

“I hoped you’d like them.”

“I love them.”

Emily smiled quietly before pretending to study the cake, carefully avoiding Arielle’s amused glance.

Everyone laughed.

The candles were lit.

They sang loudly—some more in tune than others—and Noah laughed so hard halfway through the song that he nearly forgot to make a wish.

When he finally blew out the candles, applause filled the apartment.

As slices of cake were being served, Maxwell quietly disappeared into the kitchen before returning with a small bottle of sparkling red wine.

He placed it gently in front of Noah.

The room fell silent.

Bryson’s mouth slowly dropped open.

“…Is that what I think it is?”

Noah looked equally shocked.

“Max…”

Maxwell uncorked the bottle before pouring a small amount into Noah’s glass.

“Twenty years.”

He smiled.

“I suppose you’ve earned the right to keep your promise.”

Noah stared at the glass in disbelief.

“You actually remembered.”

“I remember everything.”

Bryson pointed dramatically at Maxwell.

“Who are you…”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“…and what have you done with Mummy Max?”

The room erupted with laughter.

Arielle laughed so hard she had to wipe tears from the corners of her eyes.

Emily looked between them in complete confusion.

“…Mummy Max?”

Arielle smiled.

“Bryson started calling him that years ago because he’s always looking after us.”

“And acting like everyone’s mother,” Bryson added.

“I do not.”

“You absolutely do.”

Maxwell sighed in surrender.

“I really walked into that one.”

Noah lifted his glass.

“To all of us.”

Everyone reached for their drinks.

“To all of us.”

Their glasses met gently in the middle of the table.

For the rest of the afternoon, the apartment echoed with laughter, teasing, old stories and familiar jokes that somehow never grew old. For a little while, the hurt of the previous week faded into the background, replaced by the comforting certainty that some friendships, no matter how strained, always found their way back to one another.

As sunlight slowly faded beyond the windows, Arielle looked around the room at the people who had become her family. Noah was laughing at another one of Bryson’s ridiculous stories, Emily was quietly shaking her head at their endless antics, and Maxwell sat watching them all with the quiet satisfaction of someone whose greatest happiness came from seeing the people he loved together.

In that fleeting moment, everything felt exactly as it should.

None of them could have imagined that this would be the last birthday they would celebrate with such carefree joy.

A year from now, there would be no laughter around this table.

Only questions.

Only grief.

And three young men who had once raised their glasses in celebration would one day stand beneath the weight of suspicion, wondering how the happiest memories of their lives had become the evidence people used against them.