Page 61 of Sleepover

Jonah blows out the candles in a single burst of breath, and his smile gets even bigger when everyone claps for him.

I cut the cake into slices and my mom adds a scoop of ice cream to each plate. The kids eat at the table, the adults hanging back along the walls. Elle’s on one side of me, Diane on the other.

“He looks so happy,” Diane says.

I know she doesn’t mean to, but she sounds grudging, like she isn’t ready for Jonah to be happy on his birthday without Lucy.

I’m ready for it, though. He’s suffered way too much.

“He reminds me so much of Lucy.” Diane leans across me and addresses Elle. “Lucy loved birthdays. She glowed like that. She didn’t give a fig that each birthday meant she was getting older—she just loved that there was a day that was hers. On her birthdays, she’d give herself a massage, take herself out to lunch, buy herself a gift. And Jonah and Sawyer always took her out to Din Tai Fung, her favorite dim sum restaurant, for dinner.”

My mom has drifted near, overhearing Diane. She puts a hand on Diane’s arm. “We went on one of those Din Tai Fung outings. Lucy was like a little kid, she was so excited about the menu and about everything that came to the table.” My mom draws Diane into a hug. “She was a marvelous woman, Diane. You did good. We all miss her.”

I can’t help myself; I look at Elle. Her face is—expressionless. Not angry, not sad, just blank.

“Help me see if any of the boys wants more cake or ice cream?” I ask her.

Elle casts me a grateful glance and we make the rounds, loading the boys up with enough sugar to power a small city.

“I’m sorry about that,” I say.

She shakes her head. “Everyone loved her. They need to be able to talk about her.”

“They think you’re just my friend,” I say. “They don’t realize—”

“I am just your friend,” she says sharply.

I want to correct her, but I don’t know how. She’s right, and she’s wrong, and I don’t want to make this too complicated or put either of us in a situation we can’t handle. So I just say, “It doesn’t feel fair to you. You’re the one who’s here. You’re the one who’s helping out. You’re the one who gave up your Saturday to make things easier for me.”

It feels like there’s more to say. About how she’s the one who’s been there for me and Jonah a hundred times in a hundred ways over the last few weeks—and not just in the scratching-my-itches sense, although God knows I appreciate that. She’s made things easy that should have been difficult. She’s made me smile and listened to words I didn’t know were waiting to come out. Certainly that all means something. Surely instead of talking about a woman who isn’t here, my parents and Lucy’s parents could be asking Elle what she does for a living, who she is, what she means to Jonah—and me?

They could have, if I’d introduced her as my friend, as someone who matters, instead of as “Jonah’s friend Madden’s mom who helped out with her minivan.”

I want to go back and do the whole party over again, just to get that part right.

But what, exactly, would I have said?

“Would you mind,” Elle asks quietly, “if I took off for a bit, just to get some work done? I’m a little behind where I meant to be this week…and Madden’s having such a good time, and I know you want to be with your family—and Lucy’s—and Jonah—”

She bites her lip, but this time, instead of seeing sex in the gesture, I see the vulnerability. And something slips a little in my chest, some resolve, some certainty. I want to put my teeth where hers are, yes, but what I want to do most is to take her in my arms and smooth a finger gently over the lip she’s hurting.

“Sawyer.”

It’s Diane behind me. “Come help me stack the presents up for Jonah to open.”

“You start. I’ll be right there.”

Diane tips her head to one side, eyeing Elle and me, then drifts back to where the presents are strewn across the kitchen counter.

When I look back at Elle, her eyes have followed Diane into the kitchen.

“You don’t have to go.”

Her gaze snaps back to mine.

“Stay for the presents.”

She smiles, faintly, but shakes her head. “Send Madden back when you’re done with him.”

Then she scoops up her purse, does a quick round of polite goodbyes, and is gone.

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