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“Procreate? Of course I know,” Justine said, then paused. “Was it . . . still a secret?”

“It was to me until recently.”

Justine nodded. “I’m sure it wasn’t an easy thing for Aster to bring up. Also,” she continued, breezing by the topic that had nearly toppled Molly not so long ago, “when are you and Aster coming back for Friday game night? Eli, Bentley, and I do not a party make, and I can’t seem to get Alannah and Roy to commit without you there.”

“Friday game night?” Molly asked weakly.

Justine released a long-suffering sigh, holding out the dress for Molly to take. “Every Friday, it’s a standing engagement at Eli’s. We drink, we hang out, sometimes we hypothetically bankrupt each other in games of Monopoly. You have a vicious reputation, and it’s one of my favorite things about you. I think if we’d both decided to go into real estate we’d have taken over the world by now. Benevolently, of course.”

“I usually use Fridays to catch up on reading.”

“I’m pretty sure there’s an upper limit to how much one person should read in a week. You can afford to skip a day. Where’s your phone? I’ll even add it to your calendar.”

Still clutching the dress that had been deposited in her arms, Molly stood there, overwhelmed. Friendships and gifts and birthdays and game nights were all circulating at rapid speed on a carousel inside Molly’s head, too quick to catch.

“Could we slow down a bit?” she asked. “This is a lot.”

Justine blinked. “Right. I—sorry. You know what? Bentley is visiting family in California until next week. We can suspend Fridays until he’s back. Do you think that’s enough time to warm up to the idea?” She’d phrased it as a question while simultaneously posing it as a challenge.

Molly suspected that Justine knew just how tempting she found a challenge. “Should be plenty of time.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Justine smirked. “Put the dress on, Graham.”

Molly rolled her eyes at the order but followed it anyway, slipping inside the closet to change. Justine had guessed Molly’s size almost perfectly; the deep purple knit was fitted without being too snug, stopping just above her knees. It was simple, pretty, and had more of a scooped neckline than Molly probably would have picked for herself, but she had to admit it was flattering.

When Molly emerged from the closet, Justine’s relief was palpable. “You might even convince him to celebrate in that.”

“And why doesn’t Aster want to celebrate his birthday?” Molly asked, sneaking a sideways glance at herself in the dresser mirror.

“He hasn’t had the easiest go of it the last couple of years. Big blowup with his parents over a Christmas dinner.”

Molly had no idea what she meant. “When was that?”

Justine had started rummaging through Molly’s modest jewelry collection. “Four years ago, maybe? Something like that.”

Justine tested a silver necklace against Molly’s skin. She tutted, trying gold instead. With a frown, she reached for Molly’s hand and flipped it palm up, tapping the same unidentified scar Molly had noticed her first night back from the hospital.

“It was a real nightmare.” Justine tapped the scar one more time before clasping the necklace around Molly’s neck. Her eyes flickered to Molly’s left hand and away again in the space of a breath.

Molly touched a finger to her palm. “A Christmas dinner did this? And it was . . . a nightmare, really?” Molly asked, trying to temper her growing sense of doom.

“I’d guess worse than a nightmare if you ask Aster. Being disinherited has really fucked with his head.”

Molly considered herself fairly bright. Ambitious and determined. Her scholarship to Laburnum hadn’t just been need-based; it involved rigorous academic testing. She’d marched herself off to boarding school at fourteen years old, beyond lucky to have Roy attending with her, only to face a social pool of sharks, and she, a lowly minnow.

She’d stayed enrolled in Laburnum even when her dad moved across the country when she was fifteen, determined to prove her fierce independence and academic mettle. It was a boarding school, after all; sticking around over breaks was tough but eased by a rotation of regular invitations to her friends’ houses.

All of which was to say, Molly wasn’t unintelligent, wasn’t unfamiliar with strategic thinking and thoughtful planning. She knew a little something about picking her battles to achieve her ends.

So, after thanking Justine as she left and promising that they were back to being friends, Molly sat on the blue brocade sofa and picked the battle that mattered the most to her in that moment.

One thing at a time.

Had she been so stubbornly single-minded in what she allowed herself to focus on, in what she allowed herself to see, that she’d missed the obvious right in front of her face? As she looked around her cramped apartment armed with fresh context, she choked back an uncomfortable laugh.