“And anyway, you guys already got me a birthday present,” Alex continued.

The care package her father had sent at the end of June mostly consisted of Buffalo Bills merchandise that she had no intention of wearing, but it was plenty for her.

“That doesn’t count.”

“Well, thank you. I’m sure I’ll love whatever it is.”

“It’s a necklace. And don’t worry, it’s moissanite.”

“That’s very kind of you.” She deliberately did not say she was at no risk of assuming her mother had bought her diamonds.

“It’s nothing.” Elena paused, judging her words carefully. “I just don’t want you to worry, baby. These people love you, and if they didn’t, they wouldn’t have invited you.”

Alex didn’t have the energy to explain that this wasn’t quite true: Paul loved her, the rest of the group was mostly indifferent. And one of them actively avoided her.

“Right.”

“And I don’t want you spending a bunch of money on stuff you don’t need just to impress them, either.”

Alex thought of reminding Elena of the pricey and painful dating coach sessions she’d splurged on for Alex’s thirtieth—but she thought better of it, preferring to avoid the topic entirely.

“Mom, come on.”

“I’m serious.”

“Can you please stop? How long are we going to do this?”

“I’m not trying to make you feel bad, Lex! I know that 99% of the time, you make great money decisions. But I know you’re so anxious to see Danial, and—”

The sound of his name felt like a knife through her heart.

“Mom, I have to go. Someone is calling me,” she lied.

“Okay, I’ll talk—”

Alex ended the call without a goodbye, feeling terrible for hanging up on her mother but needing a moment to fight against the wave of nausea rising in her throat. The stack of notecards glared at her from under the tripod, a visual reminder of the mountain of work she had ahead of her. But at the mere mention of his name, the insecurity she was doing her best to fight returned with a painful intensity.

She walked herself through her list of reassurances. Her beauty treatments—nails, brows, lashes, spray tan, and a wax that would leave her bald from the eyebrows down, save for a tasteful triangle between her legs—were scheduled. She had rehearsed the most exciting-sounding description of her life enough times to make it sound casual and offhand. She had subscribed to multiple clothing rental services to hack her way into a nicer wardrobe, which she would immediately cancel upon her return. This was the best she would ever look, and you don’t have to worry about what Danial thinks, she told herself. You don’t even need to think about him.