David placed his thermos and suitcase on the roof of the car as though he suddenly needed both hands just to process what was happening.
“Okay, so, funny thing,” he began.
Then he stopped.
“There’s a… okay, look, I can explain, but I’d rather do that in the kitchen. Maybe with a glass of—”
“David.”
“Or without a glass of anything. That’s also fine.”
I held out my hand.
He finally dropped the keys into my palm as if they were burning him.
My hand was shaking again.
I walked toward the back of the car.
David followed behind me.
“Willow, sweetheart, whatever you’re picturing right now, I promise it’s—”
“Ava told the whole other family what’s in here,” I said.
David froze.
“Ava? She what?”
“Rachel called me this morning. Our daughter apparently gave Josephine a full inventory of your trunk over apple slices.”
David groaned.
Actually groaned.
He dragged both hands down his face.
“Oh, no.”
He shook his head.
“No, no, no.”
I stared at him.
“‘Oh, no’ is not the reaction of an innocent man, David.”
“Yeah, it’s the reaction of a man whose surprise just got flattened by a seven-year-old!”
I ignored him.
I pressed the button.
The trunk slowly opened.
And there it was.
A platinum-blonde wig, curled and shining under the garage light.
A sequined dress folded neatly beside it.
Oversized sunglasses.
A tube of red lipstick rolling gently against the spare tire.
And tucked beneath the wig was a printed sheet of lyrics covered in yellow highlighter.
I stared.
Then blinked.
Then stared again.
My brain tried desperately to make sense of the picture in front of me.
David covered his face with both hands.
“She ruined it,” he whispered.
“She actually ruined it.”
“Who ruined what?” I asked.
“The surprise.”
“David, I swear on our mortgage, if you don’t start using full sentences—”
“Ava ruined the surprise,” he said.
“Not the marriage.”
He looked at me through his fingers.
“I promise. Please breathe.”
“I am breathing.”
“You’re breathing like one of those whistling kettles.”
I picked up the lipstick.
Then the sunglasses.
