The doorbell rang and I opened the door to a skinny guy in cargo shorts, holding a package out in front of him. The box had a moist, loamy smell and I spotted the branding on top: Burleigh Blooms.
I smiled as I carried it into the kitchen and hacked at the tape, then pulled out a bundle of white calla lilies, as smooth and crisp as luxe hotel linens. Had Aaron sent these? That’d make him the first boy to do so since Ben, back in high school, when he showed up at our six-month anniversary with a mammoth bouquet from the grocery store. I fished around for a card and pulled it from its navy envelope.
Surprises may not be your thing
But since you were not answering
My plea to make some birthday plans,
I took it into my own hands.
So finish breakfast and your joe,
Head to work, and off we go. —K
I had to hand it to her—though I hate surprises, I do enjoy a riddle. Kristen knew my brain so well, hers and mine were like the matching halves of a heart necklace. “Breakfast and joe”—that was the clue, a granular detail in a singsong prelude. I set my empty mug in the sink and flung open my cabinets, then my fridge, rifling around my dishes, inside the smooth bag of coffee grounds, under an egg carton’s lid.
Nothing—and I had to get to the office. I leaned over the sink, the counter digging into the heels of my hands.
Priya Is Waiting
It was faintly visible in the bottom of my dirty mug, tiny block letters like something printed out. I plucked out a plasticky disc and ran it under the tap, and the words grew clearer: invisible ink. Nerves bristled up my spine. How had Kristen known I’d use this mug today? And, Jesus—my chest froze over—how did she get into my kitchen to plant this?
A soft thwock behind me made me whirl around so fast, the rug skidded beneath my feet. A single flower had rolled off the counter and landed on the tile. It lay there in its sculptural beauty like a white flag, a dead dove, a Calatrava memorial to the dead.
I rubbed my temples. It was going to be a long day.
* * *
—
Rain slapped the windshield as I drove to work. No matter how many times I changed lanes, I was always caught in a big rig’s wake, pounded by a torrential rooster comb. On the radio, a calm-sounding reporter announced that a man had been arrested in a sex trafficking case. Police found zip ties and duct tape in his car, she intoned, right as my tires began to hydroplane. I sailed ahead, my heart a sudden snare drumroll. The wheels found purchase and I lingered at a stop sign.
Zip ties and duct tape. Who would do that? What went through his head as he drove to work, supplies rolling around in the trunk?
I paused in the lobby, wet and wilted.
“Hi, Jeffrey,” I called to the guy at the security desk. He had a rind of gray hair and hangdog eyes. “Really coming down out there.”
But today, as with every day, he didn’t reply. I plodded toward the elevator, a puddle unspooling on the floor behind me.
Up at my desk, Priya trotted over with a massive cupcake. “Happy birthday!” she cried, presenting it with both hands.
“Thank you! Is this my next clue?”
Her impish smile confirmed it.
“So it turns out I didn’t even need to find the first one.” I peeled back the wrapper. “And drink coffee mixed with mysterious invisible ink.”
“Kristen told me to bring this right over. In case you didn’t find the first clue.” She pressed her palms together. “This is fun—I haven’t done anything like this since my sorority days.”
“Which was all of, like, two years ago.” I pulled apart the cupcake’s base and plucked something waxy from its center. A folded slip of parchment paper—Priya leaned over my shoulder to read it:
Already, she’s Kibbling through her epic day!
Out on Rogers, Mona’s assembling nutty lattes.
Will they get her order right
And make a beverage to delight?
“All right, so you’re here at Kibble,” Priya proclaimed, arms crossed, “and Café Mona is on Rogers Street, and that’s where you always get a latte. Are you supposed to go there next? Ooh, thanks!” She took the cupcake half from my outstretched hand.
“Maybe? It seems a bit obvious. And I don’t get nutty lattes—I get oat milk. Shut up.” We giggled at my milk snobbery. I reread it. “The rhythm is weird too. With the first two lines.”
Russell cruised into the office, thick blond hair bopping.
“I should probably at least turn on my computer,” Priya said.
“Same. Hopefully this can wait.” I tossed the slip of paper onto my desk.
“I want play-by-plays—this is the most exciting thing that’s happened at work since a bad batch of spinach sickened cats aaaall over the Eastern Seaboard.” She flourished her palm.
“Oh God. Let’s hope my birthday does not end with cat diarrhea.”
I answered some emails while polishing off the cupcake. When I picked up the scrap again, sugar zapping through my blood, I almost laughed aloud:
Already, she’s Kibbling through her epic day!
Out on Rogers, Mona’s assembling nutty lattes.
The first letters of the first words: A-S-K-T-H-E-D-O-O-R-M-A-N. I grabbed my building pass and headed for the elevator.
Jeffrey leveled a blank, rheumy stare at me instead of answering, then shuffled over to his desk and produced a small stuffed animal. It was a cat—black and white and a few inches tall. I thanked him and turned it over in my hands, looking for more. Kristen and I both liked cats, but we had no special associations with them. My job at Kibble—was that the clue?
Upstairs, the toy’s shiny black eyes watched me as I worked. The scavenger hunt hovered over my shoulders: Kristen and I hadn’t communicated in code like this since college. Was there a deeper implication here?
A text from Kristen: “Happy birthday, my beautiful friend! How’s your day?”
I hesitated for a second, then wrote, “Thank you! I cannot believe you went to all this trouble, you puzzle-making genius!” I picked up the cat again.
This time, I noticed that what I’d taken to be a blue collar was actually a thin strip of fabric. I unwound it （like a noose, I thought, or a garrote） and spread it across my desk.
Oh hey, the Fourth exciting clue! // Soon you will get your proper due. // Yes, now the showboating must end // Before I over milk this trend. // You’ve shown a lotta logic here // The ending is now drawing near.
“Get your proper due,” “showboating must end,” “ending drawing near”…what did it say about my general emotional state that it all sounded ominous?
Priya popped by, her cheeks flush with excitement. She furrowed her brow at the blue snippet.
“I have no idea,” she announced, leaning back. “Y’all are too fancy for me.”
“It’s weird that Fourth is capitalized, right? That’s gotta mean something.”
“It is weird, since otherwise there aren’t really any typos. This too.” She pinned the strip under her finger. “？‘Over milk’—that should be hyphenated.”
“It’s an odd phrase, ‘over-milk this trend.’ You don’t really milk a trend.” I stared for a second, feeling the pieces slide into place the way the pins align on a picked lock. I grabbed a Sharpie and scratched at the fabric: