Page 35 of The Boyfriend Swap

“Thanks for coming with me,” I said to Will over the loud din of the Gallery at Market East. “One of my New Year’s resolutions each year is to buy all my Christmas and Hanukkah presents before Thanksgiving, or at least before Christmas Eve, and yet, here I am.”

“You’re in good company,” Will said, lifting his chin toward the crowd of people we were following like sheep. “The trick to making New Year’s resolutions is to choose ones that can be implemented immediately. You’re setting yourself up for failure if you set goals almost a year ahead of time.”

“An expert at New Year’s resolutions, are you?” I teased, bumping my arm against Will’s playfully.

As we shuffled along as quickly as possible given the traffic, Will said, “Yes, Grimm’s fairytales and New Year’s resolutions are my areas of expertise.”

“Just Snow White though, right?”

He turned to me and grinned. “The only one that counts. Where to first?”

“The place I’m most likely to find something for everyone. I bought the big stuff online, but I completely forgot about the stocking stuffers.”

“I know just the place, but if we want to make it home for Hanukkah dinner, we need to make our New York City aggression work for us.” Grabbing my hand, he said, “Follow me.” Not releasing his strong grip, he weaved us through the crowd past Foot Locker, Old Navy, and Burlington Coat Factory, until we arrived at our destination—Big Kmart.

A few minutes later, I held up a treble clef picture frame. “James would love this.”

Will nodded his approval. “You can put a picture of you guys from high school inside,” he suggested.

“Great idea. I already know which picture I’ll use.”

“Which one?”

“One year, we dressed up as Cheri Oteri and Will Ferrell as the Spartan cheerleaders from theSaturday Night Liveskit. I still have a picture of us in my bedroom here.” My heart warmed at the memory. “It was outdated, but we liked to be retro.” Many kids stopped dressing up for the holiday in high school aside from weekend Halloween parties, where the girls dressed as scantily as possible. The theater kids, like James and me, wore our costumes to school on Halloween every year until graduation and spent weeks brainstorming ideas. One year, we were Elton John and Kiki Dee and did a performance of “Don’t Go Breaking My Heart” in the hallway. Another year, we were Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney.

“I remember that.”

I cocked my head to the side. “The costume or our retro tendencies?”

He laughed. “Both, actually.”

“Did you think we were weird?”

Will’s eyes opened wide. “No. I—”

When my phone rang, I grabbed my cell from my purse and said, “Sorry” to Will.

He shook his head and whispered, “No worries” before examining a baseball-shaped photo frame.

I didn’t recognize the number. “Hello?”

From the other side of the phone, I heard, “Miss…Miss Lane?” followed by a sniffle.

“Yes, this is Robyn Lane. Who’s this?” I asked gently, since whoever it was on the other end sounded like she was crying.

“It’s me, Aimee. I’m sorry to bother you.” She breathed heavily.

Frowning into the phone, I said, “It’s no bother. What’s wrong?” Although I wondered how she got my number, I was more concerned by the reason for her call.

“I went to the doctor yesterday. My mom said it wasn’t nice to call you on your holiday, but I didn’t listen. Don’t hate me.”

“I could never hate you.” At that, Will turned around, his eyebrows drawn together. I shrugged helplessly and stepped to the side to avoid other shoppers overhearing the conversation. “What did the doctor say?” My stomach tightened in the realization it was probably bad news if Aimee was crying, but I held out hope she was overreacting as children tended to do.

“I have pulps on my vocal chords and need voice therapy.” The sounds of sobbing reverberated through the phone. “I won’t be able to sing in the spring concert.”

I assumed she meant “polyps,” which meant she was right about missing the concert. In a worst-case scenario, she might never be able to sing again. And I was the naïve music teacher who told her she probably just needed to rest her voice. I moved the phone away from my ear and muttered, “Crap,” but as Aimee continued to cry, I knew I had to do something. “Listen to me, Aimee,” I said, as an idea brewed in my noggin.

“Yes?”

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