Page 9 of The Fix-Up

“But Monday, we talk to the lawyer.”

I stuck my hands on my hips. “Sure.”

“Then you won’t be able to stop me from coming in.”

“We’ll see about that,” I said.

“We sure will.”

I couldn’t help but notice it sounded more like a threat than a promise.

FOUR

[Love is]…I don’t know how to explain that, so I won’t.

—ALESSIO G., AGE 6

From the group text of the Stern Sisters:

AGGIE:Paging Eleanor Anne Sterns. How’d the date go?

MILLIE: The engineer, right? Sounds boring.

AGGIE: It’s always the quiet ones, Mills.

BETSY: I had a date, too.

AGGIE: And?

BETSY: He had red hair.

AGGIE: ???

BETSY: It made him look…squirrelly.

MILLIE: Flying or ground?

AGGIE: What?

MILLIE: Flying squirrel or ground squirrel?

AGGIE: How are you related to me?

BETSY: He had beady eyes too.

AGGIE: So, you’re just judging them on appearance now? That’s so…

BETSY: Unevolved? Yes, ma’am. Call me a cavewoman. He also told me he wasn’t feeling it between us about ten minutes into the date. At least he paid for my dinner before he left.

MILLIE: Aw, Bets, I’m so sorry. I hope he chokes on a nut.

BETSY: Thank you for your loyalty.

AGGIE: Ellie! How’d it go?

BETSY: Maybe not answering is a good sign?

An hour and a half later, I plopped the tray of (slightly) burnt brownies in the middle of the kitchen table. Stress baking was a time-honored tradition. When my grandma died, I spent hours making dozens and dozens of her favorite cookies. The first time I got stood up for a date, I baked an apple pie. The day I found out I was pregnant with Oliver—twenty-one, unmarried with a boyfriend who didn’t know what the wordjobmeant, and sharing an apartment with four other roommates—I made a German chocolate cake.

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