Brando trotted up beside me. “Toto, we are definitely not in Kansas anymore,” I joked, and he wagged his tail in agreement.
“Happy birthday,” Jordan said as he emerged from the kitchen. Winnie appeared a second later, carrying a blueberry muffin with a candle in it and singing at the top of her lungs. Jordan joined in, and I endured my second round of “Happy birthday to youuuuu!” Winnie and Jordan were seeing quite a lot of each other these days—this wasn’t the first time Louisa’s daughter was in my kitchen when I got up in the morning. But she made great coffee, and Jordan was happy, so I didn’t mind one bit.
“At least the place won’t feel empty now,” Jordan joked. And I stuck out my tongue at him. Jordan had found a place near his office in Santa Monica and was scheduled to move out at the end of the month. I imagined I would eventually get a new roommate, but I was a millionaire now: there was no urgency. With Jordan gone, maybe I would negotiate with the landlord to fix a few things—the broken window, the aging carpet. Not being financially strapped was empowering. It’s a lot easier to ask for something if you’re in a position to walk away if they say no.
I blew out my candle and hugged Jordan and his new girlfriend. There was a time seeing Jordan so cozy with someone who wasn’t me might have made me jealous, but not anymore. I would always love my childhood friend, but clinging to him because I was afraid to be alone was selfish. Winnie was a much better fit for him. They were equals in intelligence. Where he was stoic, she was soulful and sensitive, which had seemed a mismatch at first but was starting to feel more meant to be. He was the healer to her bird with a broken wing. I knew Jordan well enough to know he was happiest while helping others. And I imagined, after growing up with a mother like Louisa, Winnie appreciated Jordan’s kindness and was worthy of it.
“Thanks for the balloons,” I said. “That was really nice of you guys.”
“It was actually Nathan’s doing. He brought them over,” Winnie said, scooping a bright-blue envelope off the counter and handing it to me. “Along with this.”
I hadn’t spoken to Nathan since the incident, but that didn’t mean I hadn’t thought about him; he was my first love-at-first-sight, if you believe in such things, which unfortunately I did. Some of my thoughts were filled with outrage: What kind of man sleeps with his cousin’s wife? But some of them made me want to cry. In thirty years （I’m thirty now!） I had never met someone who captivated my imagination so urgently and completely. When Nathan looked at me, I felt a rush of excitement, like I was on a roller coaster right before the big drop. It made me sad to think I might never see him again. Yes, he had done something despicable; but then again, who was I to judge?
“Thanks, Winnie,” I said, taking the card from her. Even just seeing my name written on the envelope in Nathan’s uneven script made my heart skip a beat. If he wanted to see me, would I say yes? Could we start again? What if, like Jordan and Winnie, we were two imperfect people who could be perfect together?
“So what are you going to do for your big three-oh?” Jordan asked, and I just shrugged. Every birthday since moving to Los Angeles seven summers ago, I’d wished for the same thing. Eyes closed, heat from my birthday candles tickling my eyelashes, I would wish for my big break. Now that I’d gotten it, I just wanted to get to work.
We call the first act of a movie the “setup”： the trap is set, the hero gets ensnared. When I found out Louisa had tricked me, I thought my angels had led me astray. But then I remembered every hero’s journey starts with a call to action—a run-in with a villain who needs to be vanquished, the discovery of a wrong that needs to be set right. I got played. But I’m not mad; I’m grateful. Because now I’m a player.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Writing mysteries is beguiling business. Are the clues too obvious? Too buried? What should I reveal? What should I tease? This one was a twisty one, and I cannot overstate how grateful I am to my brave beta readers, who ventured into my early drafts and gave it to me straight.
Thank you, Debra Lewin and Miranda Parker Lewin, for once again being the very first. Revisions were made, and Avital Ornovitz, Wanda Frodis, Tyler Weltman, and Aimee Simtob generously took the baton and ran the next lap. The sprint to the finish line was fueled by the high-octane help of Diane Driscoll, whose eleventh-hour insights gave me the final aha! Ken Pisani may not have perfect eyesight or middle splits, but he sure is good at finding the perfect word when it counts the most. （Thanks, Ken!） And author Gary Goldstein proved himself the world’s best bench coach. His straightforward reassurance （“you know what to do”） became my mantra, and I am so grateful to him for saying it in a way that made me believe it.