“I’m looking him up,” she says cheerfully. “Of course.”
“Vivian.”
“What? You can’t just casually drop ‘There was a professional hockey player in my plant shop the other day…’ and expect me not to investigate.” She laughs. “I’m single, and they are usually hot.”
“I asked you to come over to help me plan my son’s birthday party,” I say, turning off the stove. “Not to internet-stalk a man you’ve never met.”
She looks up, entirely unrepentant, flipping her sunlit blonde hair back as her blue eyes flash. “I can do both.”
“You cannot,” I say. “You’ve proven this repeatedly. Last week, you were texting and walking when you ran straight into a parking meter. The week before that, you put your phone in the fridge and your yogurt in your purse.”
“Please. At least I figured out the yogurt before it started to stink.” She flips the phone around to show me her screen, wearing a smug expression reeking ofI told you so. “I already know his stats, his height, and the fact that half the city thinks he’s hot. He was voted Alexandria’s Most Eligible Bachelor a few months back.” She turns the phone back around so she can look at the photo of Sawyer herself. “I must say, I agree with them. His butt looks like an actual peach.”
“Vivian!”
“What? Fruit is good for you.” She grins. This is so Vivan. Her love language as a friend is to torture me slowly, like a sister. “But, fine, let’s stick with the assignment.” She closes her phone and puts it on the table beside her. “Ten years old. Double digits is a big deal. Do you already know what he wants?”
“I do,” I say, dumping the pasta back into the pot. “Which is the problem.”
She sits up, interest piqued. “Lay it on me.”
“Hockey tickets. Skating lessons. All of which made mededuce that he’ll want actual hockey lessons and team camaraderie eventually. And”—I sigh—“he added a dog to the list today. Casually. Like dogs are free.”
Vivian bursts out laughing. “Of course he did.”
“How do I afford tickets to games, lessons to play hockey, and a dog?” I ask, gesturing wildly with the wooden spoon. “Plus everything else. Rent. Groceries. Life. Shoes that mysteriously stop fitting overnight.”
She waves a hand. “We’ll figure something out. We always do.”
“That’s not a plan.”
“It’s a vibe, a gut feeling to trust our intuition,” she says. “Also, look on the bright side.”
I raise an eyebrow. “There is no bright side to a surprise dog request.”
“At least he didn’t ask for a horse,” Vivian says. “Because I genuinely don’t know where you’d put a horse in a two-bedroom apartment.”
I snort despite myself. “Pretty sure the HOA frowns on livestock.”
“Very anti-horse,” she agrees. “Though imagine Theo’s face.”
She’s right. He’d freak out. But no. “Sorry, Viv. No horses, not today and probably not ever.”
“Party pooper.” Vivian leans forward, elbows on her knees, officially in problem-solving mode. “Okay, let’s pivot. What if we do something at the Smithsonian? You take a bunch of his friends, wander around, maybe ice cream after. Educationalandfun.”
“Ten-year-olds doing educational things for a birthday?” I freeze mid-stir. “Absolutely not.”
She blinks. “Wow. That was fast.”
“I’m not wrangling a pack of tiny humans with opinions on the Mall in spring,” I say, pointing my spoon at her like it’s a weapon. “That turns into a school field trip immediately. Otherparents get involved. Clipboards appear. There may be cherry blossoms surrounding us, but I can guarantee no one’s happy.”
“Fair,” she concedes. “Okay, pivot again. Bowling party.”
I stare at her.
“What?” she says. “Kids love bowling.”
“Theo doesn’t,” I say. “He says the shoes smell like sadness, and honestly, he’s not wrong.” I sigh, leaning back against the counter. “I don’t know if I can pull something together right now. Even if I could…he just doesn’t like bowling.”
