Page 39 of Hypothetical Heart
“I think it’s a sign.” I smile down at the blonde dog. “She has a pink bow.”
Winnie smiles for the first time today—a genuine smile that lights up her entire face—and the best part is, the dog has a matching one.
“She’s the one,” she says tearfully.
“Holy shit,” I say, in complete shock. “Winnie, look at her name.”
Pointing toward the name tag taped to the glass.SUZIE.
“Suzie…” Winnie trails off. “Like Susan.” Her mom.
“It’s fate,” I tell her.
The fact that we never noticed her name or that she was wearing a bow until she jumped up right as Winnie was standing there is what makes the coincidence even more odd.
“I’m getting her.” Winnie’s already rushing toward the front of the store, looking for an employee.
After a couple hours, some paperwork, and a trip to the pet store, we make it back to Winnie’s house, a beautiful golden retriever puppy in tow. One who sat on Winnie’s lap the whole way, licking her face and pawing at her pants, marking herself as Winnie’s new best friend—and I can’t even say I’m jealous.
So, maybe good things do come from bad days.
12
Sitting in one of the fanciest restaurants in Connecticut as a bunch of eighteen-year-olds, it’s easy to feel out of place.
Waiters subtly fight over who is going to tend to us, probably thinking we’re not going to spend money or tip, and older couples give us sideways glances, like they’re wondering where our parents are.
This happens a lot of the times we venture outside of Fairwood, and it makes me realize the social structure of the town we grew up in is much different than others.
Fairwood is full of rich parents raising rich kids in a rich town known for its glitz and glam. It’s not abnormal for teenagers to pull out Mommy’s credit card in a fancy restaurant. To an extent, it makes me feel guilty. Like I don’t belong sitting in the velvet chairs of this nice restaurant with crystal chandeliers hanging above our heads.
Yet, all we’re doing is celebrating our friend’s birthday.
“Do you think this is too extravagant?” I lean toward Logan to whisper.
He shrugs. “We said we were going to a nice restaurant for Luke’s birthday.”
“Yeah, I know, but do you feel like we’re being judged?” I pick up the napkin of silverware, unrolling it and then rewrapping it in my lap.
“This isn’t like Fairwood. People aren’t used to young people in nice restaurants,” he replies, not seeing a problem with it. “Don’t worry, Win. We’re not doing anything wrong. We’re paying like everyone else.”
We get our drinks, and the server hands out menus, giving us time to look through them.
“Filet mignon looks good,” Genevieve says, flipping through the menu.
“I was thinking the same thing,” Logan muses. It’s not unlike the two of them to pick out the fanciest cut of steak on the menu.
We order dinner, and I almost burst out laughing at the look on the waiter’s face when Logan and Genevieve both order filet mignon as if it’s not the most expensive item on the menu.
“They’re definitely spitting in our food in the back.” I laugh when she walks away.
“Oh, for sure,” Eloise says.
“Well, should someone give a speech?” Jameson asks, looking around the table. He’s the newest edition of the group, he doesn’t quite know how things work yet.
“Yes, and I think it’s my turn,” Logan says, standing.
Every year for our birthdays, someone new gives a speech. Others can chime in, but the main speaker alternates. This year is Logan’s year.
