Page 17 of One Last Shot

“Hello, Stella. What’s up?” I can’t tell if her voice is amused that a six-year-old is calling her, or concerned.

“Dyadyais taking me to the New York Orchid Show this afternoon, and he said I could bring a friend. Will you come with me?”

Petra’s laugh is low and throaty, just like her voice. “Don’t you have school today?”

“Yes, but we got out early because the teachers have a meeting.”

Early release days at Stella’s private school mean the kids are out before lunch, which begs the question, why even go in at all?

“Okay, can I talk to your uncle about these plans?”

“So you’ll come?” In her excitement, Stella’s voice sounds like the high-pitched scream of a teakettle.

“I will if the timing works. That’s why I need to talk about the details with your uncle.”

With a victorious look, Stella hands me the phone.

“Hi.”

“You know,” she says, “if you’d wanted me to come, you could have asked me yourself. You don’t need to have the kid do your dirty work for you.”

I reward her flirtation with a chuckle. “She is very insistent that you are the friend she wants to bring. I tried to tell her you were probably working.”

“I just wrapped up a conference call with my team. And the only thing I planned to work on this afternoon is scouting a location for your post-season party. So it’s your choice, I can work on your event, or I can go look at flowers with you and Stella.”

I glance at Stella’s hopeful face, and there’s only one answer. “Flowers it is.”

“I have dinner plans with my friend Emily tonight. Will we be back in time?”

“Yeah, definitely. We actually have to be back by six anyway.”

“Plenty of time, then,” she agrees. I doubt her dinner plans are before eight or nine. Mine never were back when I was childless.

“We’re leaving in an hour. Where should we pick you up?”

“I’ll be back at the hotel, which is perfect, by the way. Who do I have to thank for that? You?”

“Indirectly, yes. Tom’s assistant Avery made the arrangements, though.”

“Ah,” Petra says, but doesn’t elaborate. “I’ll see you in an hour, then.”

As I hang up and see the triumphant look on Stella’s face, I can’t help but feel like we both just got played by a kid.

* * *

“Of course not,” Petra laughs. I’m not even sure what Stella asked her. I’m too focused on the way they are walking in sync, each holding an ice cream with one hand while their free hands are linked together. I’m trailing behind them, irrelevant to their conversation. It’s been like this since the moment we got here. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Stella this relaxed and happy.

Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised. As a teenager, Petra was open and honest. She didn’t hold her punches, either—she had a way of knowing what advice people needed to hear and when they needed to hear it, and she delivered it whether you were ready or not. I loved that about her, but I think it could rub some people the wrong way. Not Stella, though. She’s clearly enamored.

Petra looks back over her shoulder and winks at me. I step closer so I can figure out what they’re talking about.

“So if I can’t punch him, what can I do instead?” Stella asks.

“Okay, so here’s what I’d do,” Petra replies. “I’d say ‘Jason, if you’re so desperate to be around me, maybe try being nice for a change.’”

Ah, Jason. Stella’s nemesis. I’ve unsuccessfully been coaching her on how to deal with the daily conflict he brings into her life. And Petra’s advice sounds pretty good to me too.

“But he’ll just say ‘I don’t want to be around you!’” Stella counters.

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