What I had expected was dinner with Adrian.
What I got was a text at four forty-five saying: “Ethan mentioned the dinner to Noah
apparently. Noah asked if he could come. I said yes before I thought about it. Is that
okay?” And then, forty seconds later, before I could respond: “Ethan also says he knows
a good restaurant and he’d like to make the reservation himself. I gave him my account
details. I may have done something catastrophic.”
I stared at my phone for a moment.
Then I texted back: “How catastrophic?”
Adrian: “He’s been on the phone for eleven minutes. Noah is helping. I’m slightly frightened.”
I called Ethan directly.
“Mom,” he said, with the brisk authority of someone in the middle of important work. “I’m
handling it.”
“What are you handling?”
“The reservation. Noah
