Page 18 of Suddenly Entwined

She laughs at the shock on my face. “I’m just joking around, Berg. You took my door off the hinges this morning, so I think you can take it.”

Why do I get the feeling she’ll never let me live this one down?

I want to make sure I understand her. “You want to come to a seventh birthday party? At a farm.”

“Of course. She invited me,” she says like it’s super obvious. She may as well throw in a “duh”.

“Well, I…”

I did not expect that.

“Text me the details?”

“Sure, right. I…don’t have your number.”

“You know where I live.”

She smiles before letting the door swing shut, the automatic lock whirring as it engages.

***

I’m still in a daze five minutes later, processing that conversation as we approach the school. There I was, ready to explain to Carolina that my kids can’t really take any more disappointment, and then she surprised me. It appears that Caro is into the idea of a petting zoo party, but I’m not sold. We’ll see if she shows. For Louisa’s sake, I sure hope so. Chris has suggested that his sister isn’t the most reliable, and we certainly don’t need any flakiness in our lives.

“I like her,” Lou says from the backseat around a bite of granola bar I didn't even know she had.

I'm sort of worried she found it half eaten, so I don't even ask.

“Mmm hmm,” I reply, not wanting to encourage her too much. “It will be lots of fun. I think Sarah from your class is coming, Chris and Anna, Milly–”

“Daaad! Why did you invite her?”

Natalie makes an exasperated sound in agreement with her little sister.

“I don’t know!” I groan. “It just happened.”

“Inviting somebody doesn’t just happen, Daddy,” says Natalie in a matter-of-fact tone. “That’s why we’re not supposed to hand out invitations in class. Because people get their feelings hurt.”

“Is that why you invited Milly? Because you thought her feelings were going to be hurt?” Louisa asks.

“No, Lou. I didn’t mean to invite her at all, remember?”

Tamara cornered me weeks ago to ask if I was free that weekend. I panicked and listed every commitment I could think of for the foreseeable future. One of those commitments happened to be Louisa’s birthday party. Before I knew it, she’d basically invited herself. That woman has a way of sucking information from you like some sort of advanced vacuum.

“Do you think Caro will come? She said she likes donkeys.”

I can’t make any promises, so I keep my response neutral as I glance at her in the rear-view mirror.

“I guess we’ll see, kiddo.”

That's all I can hope for. Because I like her too. A little more than I should. And I hope she comes too.

Chapter nine

Carolina

Is it stupid to go to your landlord’s daughter's seventh birthday party? I glance down at the invitation that turned up on my doorstep earlier in the week, confirming the address. All the letter b’s are adorably backwards, but I plugged the address into my phone and found it easily enough. A cluster of pink and gold balloons secured to a telephone pole makes me certain I’m in the right place. Louisa invited me with such genuine enthusiasm that there’s no way I could turn her down. Besides, I wasn’t lying when I said I really loved donkeys. By the time I show up to the birthday party, it’s in full swing. Gravel crunches beneath my sneakers as I make my way through the parking lot, following the sound of excited children and bleating goats.

I feel like an outsider as I approach, the other guests mingling shoulder to shoulder in clusters. I don’t know anybody hereexcept for the hosts, obviously, and Berg is busy on the other side of the field beneath a tent where there’s a long table of party snacks and presents set up. I clutch my small gift to my chest, noticing that all the other presents are big and beautifully wrapped. When I reach the table of over the top gifts, I set mine on the edge, reminding myself of why I chose it. I’m the youngest adult here by a solid decade, and, apparently, there’s such a thing as being underdressed for a birthday party featuring barnyard animals. Like, Berg might be wearing the hell out of jeans and a flannel (I noticed), but there are several moms here in sneakers that look fresh from the shoebox and tailored wool pea coats. Which, if we’re being honest, is sort of rude to the sheep. I glance down at my feet. I’m pretty sure that’s shit on the toe of my shoe. What animal it’s from is anyone’s guess. But all of that is forgotten when a pair of brown eyes spot me from across the muddy field.

---