"I'm supervising."
"You're lurking. There's a distinct difference." She poured herself a cup of punch, glancing at the children running around. "Relax, Mr. Brennan. It's going well. No casualties so far."
"I don't relax at parties. Parties have too many variables."
"Do you relax anywhere?"
"The mountains. Alone. With my bees." I paused. "They don't ask awkward questions or require small talk."
She laughed. There it was again, that familiar, warm sound I was beginning to crave more than I wanted to admit. "You're a strange man, Cole Brennan."
"So I've been told. Frequently."
Cake time arrived with great fanfare. The sheet cake was a genuine masterpiece. Adorned with a cartoon beehive surrounded by smiling bees, "Happy Birthday, Busy Bee Sarah!"was written in golden frosting across the top. Sarah's eyes went wide as saucers when she saw it.
"It'sperfect," she breathed, reverent. "Look at the little bees, Uncle C!"
"Make a wish, birthday girl," I said, lighting the six candles plus one for good luck.
She screwed her eyes shut, concentrating with fierce intensity, her small face scrunched in determination. When she opened them, she blew with all her might. Every single candle flickered and faded out.
"What'd you wish for?" Jake asked immediately.
"Can't tell," Sarah said, very seriously. "Then it won't come true. Everyone knows that."
The kids attacked their cake slices with the enthusiasm of small Vikings. Blue frosting ended up on faces, fingers, the table, and somehow the ceiling. I gathered discarded plates, finally allowing myself to breathe. We'd made it. The party was a success. Sarah was happy, surrounded by friends, her face smeared with frosting and pure joy.
Then Jake spoke again, his voice carrying that clear, innocent curiosity only children possess.
"How come your mom didn't come?" He tilted his head, genuinely puzzled. "My mom's here. Where's yours?"
The world inverted.
The laughter, the clatter of forks, the parents chatting, all of it became meaningless static, white noise buzzing in my ears. I watched Sarah's face transform in slow motion, like watching a flower wilt in fast-forward. The delighted smile melted away, replaced by blank shock. Her lower lip trembled violently. Her eyes filled with a hurt so sudden and deep I felt it like a physical blow to my own gut.
"Sarah—" I started, already moving.
She shoved back from the table, her paper crown tumbling to the floor. Then she ran. A small, desperate blur in a yellow dress, heading straight for the hallway and the restroom sign.
I was moving before I fully processed it, my long strides eating up the distance. But I reached the hallway just as the women's restroom door swung shut behind her with a damning shock.
I skidded to a halt, staring at the door, afraid of approaching any further. Inside, I could hear her. Hitching, heartbroken sobs that carved me open.
I knocked, trying to be gentle. "Sarah? Sweetheart, come out."
"Go away!" Muffled, thick with tears, utterly desolate.
"Sarah, please. It's okay. Come out, and we can talk about it."
"I don'twantto talk!"
"Okay. Okay, we don't have to talk. We can just... sit. I'll sit out here, you sit in there. We'll be quiet together."
Nothing. Just sobbing, raw and broken.
"Or cake. There's more cake, sweetheart. You barely touched yours. It's got extra frosting?—"
"I don't want cake!" The words were almost a wail, and they broke my heart.
