Amelia groaned. “No. God, can’t I just do what I want on my own birthday?”

“Of course,” Whitney answered swiftly, not wanting this to turn into an argument. “Where would you like to go?”

“Mikuni’s?”

Whitney should have guessed. It had been Amelia’s favorite the past couple of years. “Sure. That sounds like fun.” And, actually, it did. A night out having sushi with her daughter seemed like a lot more fun than facilitating a party with all of Amelia’s friends. “Want to do it on your actual birthday or that weekend?” The wheels were turning now. If they did it on the weekend, Whitney was thinking they could make a day of it. Maybe get mani-pedis and do some shopping before dinner.

“Um...let me check with Lauren.”

Whitney was taken aback. “Why would you need to do that?”

“To see what night works best for her,” Amelia stated like it was obvious. Whitney’s face must’ve registered her confusion, because Amelia said, “I can invite her, right?”

“Of course.” She pushed her lips up into a painful smile. It was silly for her to feel let down, anyway. She’d always assumed she’d have to share Amelia on her birthday. It was only disappointing after believing they might get a night out, just the two of them.

And that’s how Whitney found herself sitting in a booth at Mikuni’s alone on the night of Amelia’s birthday. Lauren and Amelia were in the bathroom. Again. They’d gone in there together no less than five times. At one point, Whitney went in there to check on them and caught them taking mirror selfies. She felt like a third wheel on someone else’s date.

Using her chopsticks, she picked up a piece of her crab roll, dipped it in her wasabi and soy sauce mixture, and popped it in her mouth, the spicy flavors bursting when she bit down. The first time she ate sushi was with Dan in college. Her family rarely went out to dinner, and when they did they had their rotation of places, which consisted mostly of diners, steakhouses and the occasional Mexican restaurant. Dan took her to a little Japanese place near the campus. When the waiter brought their rolls, Whitney had stared down at them, uncertain if she was supposed to pick them up with her fingers.

“You don’t know how to use chopsticks, do you?” Dan had asked, watching her.

She’d shaken her head. “Maybe I should just ask for a fork.”