**Exhale**
Yesterday, Emily turned 47. Two years ago, her life fell apart. Who would’ve thought such a cliché could so perfectly capture what had happened to her?
Emily found her dress just a few days before her birthday. She called her mum and said she’d bought a blue one. Her mum demanded to see it in person immediately. When Emily put it on, her mum was delighted. “You look absolutely adorable. But it’s not just blue—it’s turquoise.” A different generation. Probably because they used to visit dressmakers, discuss styles, pick fabrics. Every dress was an event back then.
So, the turquoise dress—now fully aware of its prestigious hue—awaited its debut.
Emily had invited all her few relatives and friends for the birthday dinner. The restaurant set up a cosy table for them in the far corner of a small, intimate room.
Her cousin, Lucy, gave a toast that went on for ten minutes. She reminisced about how they got drunk at sixteen, trying to hail a taxi and forgetting how to pronounce “cathedral.” They kept repeating to the driver, “What don’t you understand? We live near the *cath’dral*! The *cath’dral*! Hedgehog Village! Just drive to the centre—we’ll point from there!” Then she jokingly suggested they all get smashed so no one would remember their address—but was promptly reminded everyone was staying at the hotel where the restaurant was. “No romance left in the world,” Lucy laughed. Her husband chimed in, “We’ve stopped climbing through our lovers’ windows! Though, honestly, it’s only because our windows have mosquito nets. Otherwise, we’d still be at it—especially me.” “Right. With your bungalow,” Emily teased, and everyone burst into laughter.
Next, Robert, Lucy’s brother-in-law, raised his glass. He brought up their trip to Blackpool a lifetime ago. At first, they were all winning at the casino, then lost every last penny. As they walked out, Emily announced, “What would you lot do without me? I stashed a fiver for drinks and snacks.” So they all got hammered on that fiver, then stumbled along the promenade singing *Leaning on a Lampost*. “Here’s to the brilliant woman who saved us from a sober, starving death!” Mum’s husband, Nigel, lamented that the restaurant didn’t have scales so they couldn’t weigh themselves for old times’ sake. Then, everyone quietly started singing *Leaning on a Lampost*, whispering by the end, like that famous pub scene.
The evening was perfect. Her husband didn’t give a toast, but he never could. He always joked that he was a techie, not a poet.
The next morning, they all met for breakfast and a stroll in Hyde Park. By evening, everyone had left, and Emily and her husband were alone in their flat.
Staring at the corner where his desk stood, he said they needed to talk. Suddenly, Emily felt uneasy. Truthfully, she’d felt off all day. She hadn’t drunk that much, but something inside her was rattling. He told her he’d met someone, fallen in love, and was leaving—tonight. He just hadn’t wanted to ruin the celebration.
The following year was the Year of P. Pain, packing, pints, prostration, pity parties…
By her 46th birthday, Emily decided to change the letter. She woke up and walked along the shore. Even on her darkest days, she made herself go for morning walks. It was chilly—January—and the beach was empty. The crisp solitude, or maybe the sea’s energy, lifted her from within. For the first time, she knew she was healed. She’d never believed in that spiritual nonsense, yet physically *felt* the darkness evaporate.
There was just one thing—she couldn’t quite exhale fully.
She decided the next year would be the Year of N. New friends, new *her*, but no retreat!
That same day, she made a dating profile. Of all the messages, one man stood out. They met. That was a year ago.
Now, it’s surreal how much her life has shifted again. Do palm lines show it? Maybe hers breaks and restarts. Right here, right now. Emily inhaled the morning air deeply—but still couldn’t exhale completely.
She called her mum to say goodbye.
“I told Claire you were heading off, and she insists you stay the night with them.”
“Lovely, I adore them. I was going straight to the Lake District, but I’ll stop in London for a night. It’s not far from there anyway—I’ll be at the Thompsons’ by lunch.”
The Thompsons—nicknamed “TT” for the triple Ts in their names—were still *her* friends.
By evening on the second day, Emily reached London. Claire and Edward had already set the table and warned her not to fill up on appetisers because they had a surprise. Twenty minutes later, the “surprise” walked in.
“Emily, meet Daniel. Our neighbour. Sadly, he’s moving up to Durham soon. But tonight, he’s treating us to sea bass—his secret recipe.”
“Pleasure,” Daniel said.
“Likewise,” Emily replied. She liked him so much she almost felt guilty about Ian, the man she was meeting in Scotland tomorrow. Daniel was around fifty—not strikingly handsome or athletic, but with a warm, intelligent smile.
“Right, who’s ready?” Edward raised his glass.
Daniel poured Emily a drink. “Shall we ditch formalities? We’re all young at heart.”
“Gladly,” she smiled.
“Young hearts ready! Cheers!”
They all laughed and drank.
“This feels like Christmas dinner! Daniel, I’m not big on fish, but this is divine. Edward, your prawn cocktail is legendary. Blizzard of the century or not!”
“What blizzard?” Daniel asked.
Edward grinned. “Pour another. You’re about to hear the family legend.”
Between bites, Edward launched into the tale: “Our first winter here. Almost thirty years ago. The news warned of a historic snowstorm—updates every five minutes. Schools and offices shut preemptively. So, we prepared. Stocked up on whiskey, I made a vat of prawn cocktail. By six, we were camped at ours with Emily’s parents, drinking. Even let teenage Emily sip some. Snow started—big, beautiful flakes. But no storm. We drank more. Finished the prawn cocktail. Still no storm. Eventually, we walked Emily’s family home, trudging through a few inches. Next morning? *That* was the storm.”
They laughed, ate, drank. Emily wished the night wouldn’t end. But an hour later, Edward dozed off. Exhausted from driving, Emily yawned. Daniel noticed.
“Right, I’m off. Emily, truly a pleasure. If you’re ever in Durham, my door’s open. Edward, Claire—see you soon.”
The moment he left, Claire clapped.
“He *fancies* you! Don’t be shy—visit him in Durham!”
“Claire! Didn’t Mum tell you? I met someone online. He visited me in Cornwall. Nothing happened, but he invited me to Scotland. We’ve messaged daily for a year—know everything about each other. We’ve booked a mountain lodge. You seriously expect me to cancel and chase the neighbour?”
“Fine. Stick to the plan. Sleep now. Fancy a walk in Hyde Park tomorrow?”
“Can’t. Promised the Thompsons lunch. I’ll leave by nine.”
By one, Emily pulled into the Thompsons’ drive.
Oliver popped out: “Brilliant you’re here. Don’t grab your bag—let me pamper the pretty brunette while the blonde fries onions.” They chuckled. “Quick, before Jack loses it.” The second the door opened, a golden Labrador barrelled into Emily. She sat immediately, letting him lick her face. Kissing his cold nose, she said, “Who’s a good boy? You remember me! Guess what I brought you…” She fished out a chew toy, and Jack bolted off.
“Emily! Kitchen. Can’t leave the stove. We’ll gossip later.” They hugged. “Wash up. We’ve made up Alex’s old room for you. Lunch in ten.”
Upstairs, Emily unpacked slightly, texted her mum, then got a message from “Scotty” (her nickname for Ian): *Just wrapped up in Guildford. Heading home—see you at the lodge tomorrow.*
Back downstairs: “My *potential* boyfriend messaged. He was in Guildford, now en route. We meet tomorrow.”
“Well, invite him here! He’s practically passing by. Plenty of space. Leave together in the morning.”
Emily kissed Olivia’s cheek and called Ian: “Hey. I’m in the Lake District already—stopped by friends’. Fancy popping over? We’ll head out tomorrow.”
“Sure. What’s the drink of choice?”
“Anything flammable. See you soon.”
They had *just one* drink. Then another. Before they knew it, Jack barked—someoneBut as she exhaled at last, Emily realized the best chapters of her life were only just beginning.
