“No, no, that’s not going to work, honey. You’re sweet to offer, though.” Stevie took a breath like she was going to say something, then bit her lip, staying silent. “Look,” Mr. Sinclair said, his voice rising since the phone was ringing again, “why don’t you keep the reservation? You and your mother can use it. I’ll have Carla call the restaurant and give them my card number. It’ll be on me. You can still get to go.”

“But,” Stevie said, so quietly now that I even I could barely hear her, “I wanted to go with you.…” She took a shaky breath. “I just…” I reached out and grabbed her hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back.

“What?” her dad asked, sounding more harried than ever. “Look, I know you’re upset—”

“I’m not,” Stevie said immediately. I shot her a look, but she avoided my eye. “It’s fine, Dad. Really.”

“No,” I whispered to her. “Stevie!”

“It’s fine,” she hissed at me, picking up the phone and moving it away from me.

“It’s not. Tell him—”

“There’s my girl,” Mr. Sinclair said, and you could practically hear it in his voice; he was already checking this off and moving past it. “And I’ll call you soon and we’ll make another plan, okay?”

“Sure, Dad,” Stevie said, a bright, false note in her voice. I wondered if her dad could tell she was faking this—or if he even cared that she was, since it was making his life easier. “Sounds great. Good luck with the deal, okay?”

“Thanks, pumpkin,” Mr. Sinclair said. “Talk soon.” And then he was gone, and Stevie’s phone changed back to her lock screen—a picture Teri took of the two of us sophomore year, in our Doll’s House costumes, sitting backstage with Diet Cokes and sharing a bag of fries, deep in conversation.

“I’m so sorry,” I said after Stevie had just stared down at her lock screen for a moment, swallowing hard, like she was waiting for her dad to call back, say that it was a mistake, that he was going to be there for her birthday dinner after all. “That really sucks.”

“It’s okay,” Stevie said with a one-shouldered shrug. “I mean, he’s in the middle of a deal. He has to work. He can’t, like, leave because he has to have dinner with his kid.” She flopped back on the bed, and I did too. When you feel the need to flop back on a bed, it’s no fun to do it alone.