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I dropped the knife I’d been using to frost the cupcakes. My heart, beating excitedly, threatened to hammer itself right out of my chest.
“W—What else do you know about him?”
“I know he grew up local,” Addison went on. “South Brooklyn. He lives in the Arizona desert now, but about a year ago he came back for a few days for his mother’s funeral.”
“How the hell do you knowthat?”
“I checked his old address against the obituaries database.”
“Fuck,”I swore.
“Yeah I know,” spat Addison. “It’s invasive. Cameras on every damned street corner. I hate this whole fucking system, but it’s not going anywhere anytime soon. Might as well use it for something good.”
My mind was reeling now, spinning with possibilities. I knew his name. I knew where he lived. This manexisted, and not just in terms of the eleven year-old photos I’d been holding in my greedy little hands. He wasreal.He was flesh. He was blood! He was—
“I have a whole file on him,” said Addison, “believe it or not.”
“Come over,” I told her quickly. “Bring it.”
She balked. “Ummm… why don’t I drop it off tomorrow, on the way to—”
“I have cupcakes.”
On the other end of the phone my friend sighed, then cursed, then sighed again. Sugar was Addison’s weakness, and Funfetti cupcakes were her Kryptonite. I just so happened to be making them for her as a thank you, whether she found this guy or not.
“Have you seen my ass, Juliana?” Addison grunted.
“Of course. Lots of times.”
“Lately, I mean.”
“Look, you can eat the cupcakes or you can roll up your sleeves and squash them with your fists,” I told her. “I don’t care which, and I won’t even be offended. But I need to see that file.”
“Squashing them sounds like fun, actually,” she chuckled. “But with my luck, I’d probably end up absorbing the calories through the pores in my fingers.”
“And your husband will thank me,” I shot right back at her. “Evan doesn’t like your ass tiny, anyway. He told me so, half a hundred times.”
“Bah,” my friend scoffed. “My ass hasn’t been tiny since he put the first of three babies inside me.”
“All the more reason to eat a cupcake.”
There was a measure of silence, during which I already knew I had her. I used the precious few seconds to conjure up the seeds of a plan, now that I knew where my potential donor was.
“I’ll be there in forty minutes,” Addison said finally, “and I’m stopping for milk. We’re going to need milk for what I’m about to do to those cupcakes.”
“I have milk.”
“No, you have one-percent milk,” my friend corrected me sharply. “I’m not sure what planet you’re from, butthat’snot milk.”
I smiled and rolled my eyes. “Fine.”
“No, it’s not fine Juliana. It’s outright criminal!” In the background, I could hear her grabbing her keys. “Why don’t I pick up some white food coloring, and we can just dye some water and call it ‘milk.’ It’ll taste the same as the shit in your fridge.”
“Do they evensellwhite food coloring?” I giggled.
“Maybe,” my friend surmised. “Oh, and do me a favor?”
“Yes?”
