Page 3 of Lonely Hearts Day

“He doesn’t pay attention to what we do anymore. This party won’t even be on his radar,” I said. “This is a different kind of party. For the people who understand the beauty of alone time. The freedom of self-love. There will be food. There will be decorations. There will be a game ofpin the crown on the single princess. And you will be helping me with all this preparation, too, by the way.”

“Of course I will. And I raise yourpin the crown on the princesswith a game ofseven minutes in the closet alone.”

“Ooh, I like it.”

We reached history class, slipping inside just before the late bell rang. His comments about the other party and how popular it was were slowly sinking in. “Do you think anyone will come?”

“Even if it’s just us, that will be enough,” he said and I playfully punched his arm.

Chapter 2

There was a knock at my front door that afternoon. I was elbow deep in frosting. Not literally, but it felt like it.

“Come in!” I yelled from the kitchen.

I didn’t know why Jack still knocked, anyway. He was at my house all the time. I was pretty sure my parents considered him one of their kids.

My parents had three kids. My two older sisters had already moved out: one had just started her nursing career and one was a senior in college. And then there was me, the mistake baby. Born seven years after they thought they were done. They never called me a mistake baby, but when someone always uses the wordsurprise!when telling your birth story, that’s what they really mean. My childhood was much different than my sisters’ had been. They got a stay-at-home mom and parks. I got daycare and screen time. That was fine with me. It made me self-reliant. And I knew my parents loved me. They were just busier.

The front door opened and shut. Then Jack poked his head around the corner. I nodded from where I was adding powdered sugar into the mixing bowl at the island.

“What is happening?” he asked, stepping into the kitchen carrying a grocery bag. “It looks like a cocaine bomb exploded in here.”

“Cocaine? Really?”

“First thing I thought of.”

“Because you’re a hardened criminal?”

He stepped up beside me. I could tell he was about to dip his finger into the bowl, so I smacked his hand before he did. “No. Bad.”

He laughed. “I’m not a dog.” He wasn’t, of course, but sometimes he did things without thinking too much.

“At least wash your hands first.”

“Fine.”

“There wasn’t enough liquid in the bowl,” I said while he stood at the sink pouring dish soap over his hands. “Which produced the cloud of sugar you see here.” I gestured to the countertops and the entire front of me, all dusted white.

“Sounds delicious.” He dried his hands and picked up a sign I had made earlier to sit in front of the heart sugar cookies I was making. He read it aloud. “Its only job is to pump blood?”

“It’s a celebrating-singlehood party. The snacks need to reflect the theme. I’m also making beaker shaped cookies.”

“Beaker? What does that have to do with being single?”

I nudged the other sign I had made across the counter to him with my elbow.

“If there isn’t a risk of explosion, it’s not chemistry,” he read.

“Exactly,” I said.

“Be careful, or people are going to think you don’t believe in love.”

“I believe in love. I mean, look at my parents. But I don’t believe in being forced to celebrate love.”

“So it’s Valentine’s Day you don’t believe in.”

“Exactly. I thought we were on the same page here.”