I couldn’t focus on anything else but the beautiful man sitting next to me. I was still entranced by the hour long “scenic route” we’d taken before we came to dinner, wishing that it hadn’t come to an end.

“Excuse me.” A waitress touched my shoulder, snapping me out of my trance. She placed a three layer cupcake in the center of the table and struck a match that made the starry sparklers dance in lively flames.

“Happy Birthday, Jonathan.” I smiled.

“Are you going to blow out the candles or are you going to wait until your cake catches fire?” Hayley shook his shoulder. “Hello!”

“What?” He took his eyes off me and looked down at the cupcake in awe. He blew out the candles in one breath and looked at me again. “I didn’t know they served cupcakes here...”

“They don’t...But when you tell them your date is Jonathan Statham they’ll make whatever you want.”

“Is that so?” He smiled even wider.

I felt my phone vibrating on my lap and looked at the screen: Ashley.

“Would you two please excuse me for a minute?” I looked back and forth between the two of them. “I need to take this call.”

“Of course.” Jonathan helped me out of my chair and kissed my cheek before I headed to the bathroom.

“Yes, Ashley?” I shut the door. “Is something wrong?”

“Caroline has the car tonight. She’s going to be out until ten with the junior varsity squad...”

“And?”

“I want to get some pizza.”

“Have it delivered.”

“With my friends! Can I please use your car tonight? I promise I won’t wreck it or do anything—”

“No, Ashley. We’ve been through this over and over. It’s up to you two to work out how to share that car. Mine is off limits. Forever.”

“Ugh! Fine!” She hung up.

My phone rang again and I knew it was Ashley. She always hung up in my face and called right back to apologize—and beg to use my car again.

“I accept your apology, Ashley.” I held the phone up to my ear. “The answer is still no. And just in case you’re wondering, I did give Jonathan that card that you and Caroline—”

“Oh, that’s right.” Denise’s raspy voice made me stop talking. “You have daughters...”

“What do you want, Mrs. Statham?”

“I’ve told you about formalities. They’re not necessary. Is there a reason why you didn’t invite me to my son’s birthday dinner tonight?”

Because you’re a bitch... “No, but he doesn’t seem to be missing your presence.”

“Let me speak to him.”

“Call him yourself.” I hung up.

My phone rang again and I saw her number on my screen. I knew that I shouldn’t answer it, that I should send her straight to voicemail like I’d been doing for the past few days, but I picked up anyway.

“Yes?” I answered.

“It’s rude to hang up on your boyfriend’s mother. Someone your age should know that. Did you get my package yesterday? I never received a ‘thank you’ note.”

I didn’t answer. I bit down on my lip to prevent myself from saying the filthiest words my mouth could manage.

I’d received her “package” at my house yesterday afternoon. It was a beautiful silky red box with pink and purple hearts sewn onto the fabric, with my name etched in glittery black cursive on all four sides.

I’d sat down on my couch with it, smiling at how detailed it was—thinking that it was another well-thought gift from Jonathan. But as soon as I opened it, I realized that wasn’t the case.

Inside was a sheet of paper: a record of a canceled consultation appointment from a Dr. Tate Robinson I’d made four years ago. He specialized in vaginal rejuvenation surgery, and at the time, I thought that was what I needed to feel young again, but I canceled it once I started going to Sandra’s practice for therapy.

Underneath that paper were more papers—more canceled consultations from a Botox specialist, a face lift specialist, and a skin toning specialist. They were all things I thought I needed when I first moved to San Fran to start over, things I thought I needed because my self-esteem was at an all-time low.

“You definitely made the right choice in canceling those appointments.” She laughed. “You don’t need any of that stuff—not now anyway. But a few years down the line...Well, it’ll be a different story, and I have a doctor that I can recommend. He does it all—he’s even managed to come up with a process that will delay gray hair from coming in for another ten years. Would you like me to—”

“I would like for you to stop playing these childish ass games with me, Denise. They’re not working.”

“They’re not? Should I start focusing on your past then? Should I mention your twin sister Caroline? How she might’ve made it if you hadn’t been so stupid, like you’re being right now.”

“What did you just say?” My blood began to boil.

“I never stutter, Claire. It was very smart of your family to cover up the fact that you switched your flight at the last minute. I can’t imagine what type of sob story the media would have concocted out of that one. I almost missed it when I was looking over all those old articles. It’s like the airline practically buried everything about that crash. I guess it’s a good thing that newspapers weren’t digital in 1991. It makes it harder to find certain things...Of course, the private investigator found it anyway and put everything together for me.”

She’s investigating me?

“Mrs. Statham, I’m going to say this one time as politely as I can: Leave me the fuck alone. I haven’t done anything to—”

“I won’t stop until you stop—until you realize that what you’re doing is wrong—taking advantage of someone younger than you to boost what shredded sense of self you have. You got married at what? Twenty one? Right after you graduated college? And unfortunately your marriage failed. Miserably. So now you want to suck up someone else’s youth knowing damn well that you don’t expect to be there for the long run, that as soon as someone your age or older comes along and seems more secure, you’ll be leaving my son in the cold with wasted time and a scheme to take his money. How fair is that?”

“Don’t call my phone anymore. I’m not going to—”

“How would you feel if your sixteen year old daughters were dating someone eleven years older than them? Would you stand by and say nothing? Let them continue doing it because they’re too fucking gullible to realize a pedophile when they see one? Or would you be telling the pitiful excuse for a man to move the fuck on like I’m telling you to right now?”

“That’s not the same and I’d appreciate it if you just—”

“Ha! Yes it is!” She snorted. “Tell me something. Do you use that mail-ordered anti-wrinkle cream every day? It’s called Age-Away, right? Is it working well for you?”

I hung up and powered my phone off.

I sat down on the vanity’s stool and took several deep breaths. I hadn’t told Jonathan about my sister Caroline—hadn’t even planned to, but hearing her name come out of Denise’s mouth made me sick to my stomach.

I knew that I shouldn’t mention this latest conversation to Jonathan since it was his birthday, but as soon as the right time came, we were going to have to talk. Regardless of what she had on me, I knew he was way more powerful than she was; he’d definitely put an immediate stop to it, especially since their last few therapy sessions hadn’t ended well.

I took another deep breath and exhaled, standing up to glance at myself. I forced myself to smile and silently repeated my mantra.

You don’t look your age...You don’t look your age...

I stepped outside the bathroom and saw Jonathan heading my way, looking as if he knew something was wrong.

I looked over at the table and realized his sister wasn’t there. “Where’s Hayley?”

“She was sick of us staring at each other apparently. Are you okay?”