“Emma, what’s wrong?” Jason touched her arm and she jumped.

“It’s almost my birthday,” she muttered. “You know how it is.”

Jason shook his head. “Actually, no. I don’t know when I was born.”

Emma stared at him. “Are you serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

“So you have no idea when you’re going to die?”

“Not a clue.”

Emma idly nibbled a cuticle, considering this. “God, I can’t decide whether that’s better or worse than knowing it could happen any year on the same day.”

“Well,” he said, “look at it this way: once your birthday is over, you know you have at least a year to live. I could only have a week, or a day, or a few hours.”

“But isn’t it liberating, too?” she asked. “I mean, you could either spend every day locked up in your house out of fear, or do whatever you want all the time because you never know so there’s no point fretting.”

Smiling slightly, Jason shrugged. “I’m not locked in my house now, am I?”

Emma smiled back and hooked an arm around his neck, kissing him. “No, I guess you’re not.”