Page 70 of Never Your Valentine

I pull away from our shared pillow. “Sassypants?”

“I’m making a point here. Who’s next on your list?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. Who?”

I fling off the blankets and scoot to the other room. I return with my tablet and jump back under the covers. I snuggle up to Grant’s body heat and open my notes. “Truly Penrose. March ninth.”

Grant snorts. “Ugh.”

“You don’t like her?”

“Everyone likes her. It’s impossible not to.”

“That’s why I’m sending her a birthday card.”

Truly Penrose is the rare actress who grew up in front of the cameras without ruining her life in the process. She’s more popular than ever, has become an activist for literacy and women’s rights, and has three movies coming out this year.

Grant taps the edge of my tablet. “What’s this card going to look like? Sunshine and rainbows holding hands?”

“I’ll make something nice. She’ll love it.”

Grant acts like I’ve just announced that I like airline food. “You’re adorable when you’re wrong.”

“I’m not wrong.”

“You are. Her manicurist is going to send her a nice card. The maid who cleans her toilets is going to send her a nice card. Nice cards disappear into the confetti pile. If you send her an interesting card, you might—” He makes a small popping noise with his mouth. “Get her attention.”

I pull in a pillow, prop myself against the headboard, open my drawing program, and unhook my stylus. “Attention, huh? I’m thinking⁠—”

“Not a rainbow,” he says. “Not a smiling cupcake wearing a party hat. Definitely not a smiling cupcake wearing a party hat on a rainbow.”

“I don’t even draw cupcakes,” I say. I absolutely draw cupcakes.

“You know what gets opened twice?” Grant asks. “A card that makes you feel both seen and attacked.”

“That’s not a birthday sentiment.”

“Bet it is in Hollywood. In the land of fake, they’re dying for something real.” He’s on his back again, scrolling through my Instagram photos.

I scowl. “You want me to insult her?”

“God, no. She’d cut you with those cheekbones. I want you to be honest. What do you actually think about her?”

I hesitate. “I think she’s…unfair. Like she was engineered in a lab to make the rest of us look sloppy. She’s talented and nice and she somehow never went through a phase where she wore cargo pants unironically.”

Grant looks at me over his phone. “Go on.”

“It’s annoying that she makes being a former child star look easy. Like, sorry the rest of us didn’t have a PR team by age nine. God, that sounds bitter.”

“That sounds human. Keep going.”

“I also think,” I say slowly. “That she seems, I don’t know, grateful? Like she knows she’s fortunate and she’s not pretending otherwise.”

Grant sits up, suddenly excited. “That’s your hook. What if the card had something like a movie clapboard on it? The movie could be titled Adulthood. Under it, you say, ‘Happy birthday to the woman who made growing up look easy.’”

“A movie clapboard? Do they even use those for real?”