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“Ooh, good idea. So, what did he do?”

“He signed himself up for”—just say it. Just say the word, it’s not like Beetlejuice—“hockey. Some youth training classes for six Saturdays with the Appies.”

“The Appies, as in the team where your ex plays?”

“Yes,” I grit out.

There’s a beat of silence. Then raucous laughter.

“Laugh it up, fuzzball,” I mutter.

“You’ve watchedThe Empire Strikes Backa few too many times with Liam,” she says.

“Yeah, well. If the Wookiee comparison fits …”

“That took less time than I thought,” Eloise says, wheezing.

“What did?”

“Liam trying to get you and Camden back together.”

“That’s not what he’s doing,” I say quickly. And quite defensively, despite my efforts to hide it. “He’s just hockey obsessed, and we moved to a town where hockey is, like, a whole thing.”

“Sure. Tell yourself what you need to tell yourself. He’s absolutely going to Parent Trap you.”

“He absolutely isnotdoing that.”

Ishe? What if the lack of Liam talking about Camden is actually some kind of surreptitious long-game plan?

No. It couldn’t be. Liam couldn’t have known we’d end up moving here, since I didn’t even know until a month ago. And back to the Bruno thing, Liam hasn’t so much as uttered Camden’s name since the night he yelled at me and rode off on his bike. A ten-year-old isn’t crafty enough to mastermind something like that.

I dismiss the idea entirely. It’s preposterous.

“Also—Liam on skates,” Eloise says. “How’s that going?”

I give her credit for not actually commenting on Liam’s lack of athleticism. He comes by it honestly. I enjoy the occasional yoga class—child’s pose is my personal favorite—but anything involving running or throwing or kicking balls is beyond my skill set. The most athletic thing Liam does is ride waves at the beach. He’s a strong swimmer, but anything on land or involving hand-eye coordination? Nope.

It’s honestly why I didn’t nix this whole thing—the non-refundable payment aside. I figured after the first week, he would realize ice skating wasn’t his thing and maybe it would kill off his whole hockey obsession.

Sadly, we’re back for week two, and he practically dove out of my moving car when we got here.

“I haven’t seen him skate yet, but he’s apparently doing fine. He loves it, anyway.”

“What do you mean you haven’t seen him skate?” Eloise demands.

“He’s old enough that I can just drop him off.”

The silence on the other end of the line is like a loaded gun. Then Eloise says the words I’ve been hearing echo in my head all week.

“Naomi. You can’tnotwatch Liam just because you don’t want to risk seeing Camden.”

The guilt I’ve been trying to ignore rises up, clogging my throat.

She’s right. She’s absolutely right. It’s been killing me to not be inside that building, watching over my very uncoordinated child as he tries to navigate a sheet of ice with blades on his feet. Even though I’d be a different kind of nervous wreck actually watching him.

Last Saturday I couldn’t even eat until I picked him up and saw him in one piece, smiling.

The coffee I’ve been sipping turns to acid in my gut, and I hope I can keep those donuts down.