We’re almost at our driveways before I find the courage to speak the words. They’re partly for Haven, yes, but they’re mostly for me. An excuse to spend time with her, although I have nothing to offer.
“What are your plans this Saturday?”
Her eyes shoot to mine. “I don’t have any.”
“How do you feel about attending a six-year-old’s birthday party?”
Her eyes light up, and I want to kiss her for that reaction alone. “It’s Haven’s birthday?”
“Yes, we’re throwing a party in the backyard. Bouncy castle, piñata, the whole thing.” I shake my head at the thought of the extensive organization that’s gone into it. Thank God I can pay people to handle those things for me. “Haven wanted to ask you to come.”
Bella smiles, like she’s genuinely touched by the invitation. “That’s sweet.”
“She told me yesterday that she didn’t want you to see the balloons and think you weren’t invited.”
Bella laughs at that, and the sound is more gratifying than I’d expected. It makes me want to earn it again. “That’s so thoughtful of her. Of course I’ll swing by.”
“Excellent. Have a piece of cake, get a balloon animal. It’ll be fantastic,” I say. “A real raver. All of Seattle’s preschool elite will be there.”
She nods, playing along. “I assume it’s black tie?”
“It is, yes, thank you for asking. There’ll be valet parking too, so don’t worry about finding a spot to park.”
She shakes her head, grinning wide now. “I’ll be there.”
“Looking forward to it,” I say, like an idiot, stopping by my gate. “See you then.”
“Wait, what about presents? What does she want for her birthday?”
I shake my head. “Good God, no present. She has more toys than any kid could ever need. No, don’t get her anything.”
“I can’t show up empty-handed.”
“Make brownies, then. You owe me some anyway.”
Her smile is crooked. “All right. Until then.”
“Until then,” I echo, losing sight of her as she walks up her own driveway.
And later, when I look at my smartwatch and the statistics from my run, it doesn’t surprise me at all that while I didn’t reach my target speed, my heart rate had remained elevated the entire time.
5
Bella
On Saturday, the commotion from Ethan’s house starts early. So early, in fact, that the sound of men shouting orders at each other drags me out of sleep and not my trusty alarm.
The guest room window overlooks the hedge. I glimpse something very purple and very large on Ethan’s lawn—is that a bouncy castle?—and smile. A kid’s birthday party. I haven’t been to one in… over a decade, probably. Not since I was a kid myself.
Toast winds his way through my legs when I enter the kitchen.
“I have arrived,” I tell him grandly. “Food is imminent.”
He looks up at me as I fetch his wet food. The second it hits his bowl, he’s on it, devouring every morsel.
“Do you even taste it on the way down?”
There’s no response, just the sound of his furious eating.
“We won’t make a gourmand cat out of you,” I tell him, mock-sadness in my voice. “That career path is ruled out for you.”
He doesn’t answer. Not very talkative, either. Sighing at my own silliness, I assemble my ingredients and mixing bowl on the giant kitchen island. Ethan had requested brownies, but I’m keen to make a different recipe… chocolate chip cookies. All kids like that, right?
It’s one of many questions that whirl through my mind as I bake. The pressing list of things to do is never far away. A place to stay, financial aid applications, writing my thesis…
“Maybe you can help me, Toast,” I say. “How many words do you type per minute with those paws?”
He looks at me over the empty rim of his bowl with wide, golden eyes. You’re on your own, they say.
“Yeah. I figured.”
A few hours later, in a dress and a pair of wedge heels, I head out to the front door. Music drifts over Ethan’s side of the hedge, punctuated by children’s excited shrieks.
The driveway is decked out with balloons, tied to every possible anchor. Pinks and blues and yellows. The front door is open and guests are milling beyond, adults and children alike.
I hold on to my basket of cookies like it’s a lifeline and step inside. I’m nearly bowled over when two kids race past me, one chasing the other. A woman in heels runs after them. “Not upstairs!” she calls.
I weave through a few men in suits to get to the giant kitchen island