“Twenty-eight today!” her mother said cheerfully.
“Right. Twenty-eight today. Thanks for that.”
“Anyway, sweetie,” her mother continued. “I won’t keep you. I’m just about to head out to my Junior League meeting. Did I mention I was reappointed president?”
How absolutely earth shattering.
“Miranda told me all about it,” Ava said, hoping to avoid a play-by-play about how her mother was overqualified and overbooked, but still managed to make time for her “old friends in the Junior League.”
“Did she? That’s sweet,” her mom said fondly.
As sugar.
“Well I just wanted to say happy birthday, honey. I’m sure your dad will try to give you a call later if he doesn’t get too busy. He’s had his hands full trying to get a stop sign put in on Rhodes Street. You know, right there by the bowling alley that’s a hit and run waiting to happen?”
“Uh huh,” Ava said, already resuming the e-mail she was writing. “Good for him.”
Her mom missed the sarcasm. Her family always did.
It’s not that Ava didn’t respect her family’s actions. Everyone did really great things. It was just that they did them all for the wrong reasons. It was hard to describe unless you’d grown up attending family dinners in which conversation centered around not only what “good deed” you’d done that day, but whether or not your teacher had seen you do it.
They weren’t bad people, not really. But there was a lack of genuineness among the Simses that had always left the straight-shooting Ava feeling like she was on the outside.
“Okay, Mom, my boss is giving me the signal,” she lied as her mom rambled on. “Have fun at Junior League. Thanks for calling.”
Hanging up the phone she huffed out a sigh and slumped back in her chair. Mihail reappeared, and the red and yellow gummy worm he offered said that he’d heard it all.
Ava didn’t talk about her family much, but friends like Mihail and Beth had been around long enough to figure out what was going on.
Beth in particular knew just how bad it could be.
She’d been dragged to a few Sims family dinners in which she’d blown their little Oklahoma minds with her “indulgent” teaching job.
They didn’t award Nobel Prizes for teaching kids to fingerpaint, after all.
“Did Mommy save a life today?” Mihail asked.
“Dozens, I’m sure,” Ava said with a halfhearted smile.
He jabbed a finger at her. “No pity parties. It’s your birthday. Come on, let’s go get drunk.”
“It’s two p.m.”
“Perfect,” he said, grabbing her purse off the desk. “I’m holding this hostage in the van until you come join me.”
“Mihail!”
But it was no use. He was already gone, swinging the Coach bag she’d bought as a birthday gift for herself over his head.
“Fine,” she muttered. A beer wouldn’t kill her. And she needed to shake off the ick that dealing with her family always caused.
She was just shutting down her computer when one of the runners who worked the main reception area downstairs approached with a gorgeous bouquet of flowers.
“Ava Sims?”
“Yep!” she said, greedy hands already reaching for the flowers.
She felt her bad mood start to slip away. She loved flowers on principle, but she loved getting flowers at work even more.
Joey Chavers whistled as he walked by. “White roses, nice. Who they from?”
“My best friend,” Ava said with a smile, loving Beth all the more for thinking of her on her birthday when Beth was knee-deep in bridal crap.
Ava pulled the tiny card out of its envelope, and her smile slipped.
The flowers weren’t from Beth.
Joey, ingrained with reporter nosiness, craned his neck to read the card.
“Who’s Luc?”
Ava couldn’t stop the smile that burst over her face any more than she could the happy dance taking place in her stomach.
Luc Moretti had remembered her birthday.
CHAPTER TWELVE