"That new coffee shop I told you about. I was gonna go home and crash, but I'm wired now. You'll never guess what just happened."
"Tell me," I say, spotting Kenzie and her mom step out of the car.
Elle is wearing black biker shorts that match her daughter's but are entirely too short for a soccer game. Her hair is the opposite of Kenzie's high ponytail, flowing in big loopy curls past her shoulders, held back by only a hot pink athletic headband. Her makeup looks like she's ready for a runway rather than a soccer field, and I'm pretty sure she just pulled those sneakers fresh out of the box.
"There's a big digital media convention happening in Ashford. It's super exclusive, and only a handful of new people get added every year. Anyway, I guess someone dropped out last minute. They called me and asked if I'd speak on their Rising Voices panel."
"Wow," I say, genuinely surprised. "That sounds…"
"Incredible? Impressive? Incredibly impressive?"
I laugh. "Very unlike you, honestly."
She scoffs. "I know, but you heard me say it was exclusive, right?"
"Oh, so that excuses the fact that it's for mainstream influencers?"
A brief silence follows as if she's contemplating her answer. "Pretty much," she eventually says.
I roll my eyes, partly at her and partly at the group of moms gathered together, whispering while the girls stretch on the field.
"Anyway," Jo sings. "It's tomorrow night. Come with me."
I snap back to the conversation. "Oh, no, I can't. I'm with Ruthie this weekend." I spot her bending down to touch her toes and wave when our eyes meet.
"Fine," Jo groans. The sounds on the other end fade from street noise to the low hum of jazz music and clinking glasses. "How's that going by the way?"
"Good," I say, spotting Grandma Birdie as she crosses the parking lot. "We're about to kick some ass in a parent-player game."
"Aw, that's adorable," Jo sings sarcastically. "And we'll unpack the parent part later, but I meant how's the whole boning your boss thing."
"Jo," I warn, turning my back to the team as if they can hear me. "I told you, Liam and I are not—"
"You're lying," she blurts. "And that's fine. But if you want to, you know… unpack that too, I'm here."
I shake my head in disbelief. "You want to unpack something? How about the fact that my phone went off yesterday with a SweetCheck notification—again."
I can almost hear Jo's eyes fly to the back of her head. "I don't know what to tell you, Tessie. Maybe as my popularity rises, my glucose levels drop. It's not my fault I'm so important now."
"And humble," I add, my patience wearing thin. "And apparently stupid." Irritation rips through me, and I know the moms cackling in the background are partially to blame. "Jo, this is serious. It's been a few months now, and I'm still getting alerts. You have to watch your numbers."
"I know," she says, but I can hear the laugh behind it.
"Do you?" I scan the field, reading Ruthie's body language—her shoulders tense, lips pressed together. "Because you literally have an appthat alerts you when they go too far on either side of normal, and it still keeps happening."
"Well, I fix it once I hear the bell."
"Okay, well maybe you can learn to fix it before it gets to that point. How's that sound?"
"Annoying," she jokes, and at that moment, the coach blows the whistle.
"Jo, I'm serious," I snap, watching the moms finally break apart. "Would it kill you to take a little responsibility for your own health?"
The girls head toward the sidelines to grab their waters, and the coach waves the adults over.
"Jesus, Tess, okay. You don't have to be so—"
"So what, Jo? Caring? Attentive? Responsible?" The girls rush toward their moms, and Ruthie paints a smile as she heads toward me. Something about the way she went from being so excited before we got here to slinking over now adds fuel to the fire my sister started. "Maybe you should try it."
