Author's note: Apologies that this chapter is a bit short. Things just seemed to flow better with this chapter separate from the next, length be damned.

Though the Banks' down filled sofa beckoned, Julie had already discovered that her sleep deprived packing skills left a bit to be desired—she had no fewer than six outfits to get her through the next two days, but no clean underwear.

Faced with little alternative, she saw her Netflix dreams vanish before her very eyes, replaced instead with a trip to The Southdale Mall, right alongside three kids who had zero desire to spend their morning buying clothes for sailing camp. By 10 a.m., Julie found herself in the front seat of an aging Toyota Land Cruiser, a half-eaten Happy Meal down by her feet.

"I think I can tell who spends more time with the kids." She thought, moving the fries and crayons from the cupholder.

"Maaaaaahhhhhm, Tucker's looking at me!" Will whined from the backseat as the sun beamed in.

"Shut up, dickhead. I'm not even looking at you."

"You shut up, assbrain!"

"You hear that, Mom? Will said ass."

"Did not, assbrain!"

"Dickwipe."

"Tucker Tucker butt fucker"

"Will Will Mom should have took her pill!"

"Maaaahhhhm, did you hear that?"

"Mom, Will hit me!"

"He hit me first."

"Did not"

"Did to"

"Did not"

"Did too"

"Shut up, Dickbreath!"

"Mom, he called me Dickbreath."

And people talk about defunding Planned Parenthood?

"Cum licker"

"Bitch tits"

"Knob gozzler"

"It's knob guzzler." Laura pointed out, her weary gaze never veering from the traffic ahead. 'Besides, that one never made much anatomical sense, anyway. You can't guzzle a solid object. That's like calling someone a cup guzzler, or a coffee table guzzler."

Leaning back against the plush leather, Julie stared out at the expanse of suburban consumerism that stretched out in front of her, the argument in the backseat continuing to rage. Now well past the Banks' leafy, tree lined neighborhood, the circular driveways and stately colonials had given way to eight lane boulevards, clogged with other massive SUVs.

In a business move that seemed to defy all comprehension, every two blocks, they passed another Target and Starbucks, the combination leaving Julie to ponder just how many frappucinos and novelty throw pillows Minnesotans were consuming every week.

"Mommmmmyyyy" A softer voice whined from directly behind Julie, "I need to use the potty."

"Shut up."

"Don't tell your sister to shut up."

"Yeaaah, don't tell Caroline to shut up, fuckface."

I reallllllly made the right choice.

…...

Thirty-nine minutes, seven miles, and two bathroom stops later, they had finally reached the mall, Julie having made a mental note to start donating more to the local abortion providers.

Walking through the glass double doors of Southdale, she could see the pink and black Victoria's Secrete façade glimmering in the distance, the pink neon a beacon of hope. Never in her life had she dreamed that 5 for $25 panties could hold such promise.

As Laura made the fateful trek down to J.C. Penney's, Julie just stood there in the concourse, thanking God above for delivering her from the bowels of hell. Watching Tucker and Will take turns punching one another as they walked towards the department store, she found herself thinking that federal prison actually sounded pretty nice; far preferable to the alternative.

March 11, 2000

"Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday to you. Happy Birthday, my sexy birthday boy, happy birthday to you."

Julie had turned out the lights in her dorm room, but the 19 candles on the store bought cake illuminated everything, giving an ambience to the cramped dorm and dollar store party decorations.

In the magic of the warm candlelight, the homemade computer paper banner, unevenly draped streamers, and wilted balloons hanging behind Adam could almost pass as charming, just as Julie could almost pass as domestically inclined.

…

The overachieving goalie had never been Martha Stewart, and never was she more aware of that fact than at holiday time. Every year, she would peruse cookbooks from the library and imagine the beautiful party decorations she could create, determined that this would be the year when she would give him the celebration he deserved. And, every year, a few days after those fantasies, she would arrive back at her dorm room with a sad looking cake from Econofoods and an even sadder bag of balloons and streamers and wrapping paper that, try as she might, would always look like exactly what they were: $8 worth of inartfully arranged crap.

This year, with things being what they were, she was more determined than ever to give him the type of birthday he deserved. Whether their relationship was winding down or not, she still wanted to him to have a nice 19th birthday; the kind of day to take his mind off of estate settlements and the 200 lb. hole left in his family.

Determination, however, did not translate into aptitude, and no amount of effort or good intentions could save her underinflated balloons and copy paper banner. Spread out over five sheets of paper, the words 'Happy Birthday' read as 'Hap pyBirt hda y', and the tattered blue and green streamers sagged in all of the wrong places. Under the harsh florescent lighting, there was no denying that her decorating attempts had fallen flat. That everything about the situation was being held together with scotch tape, destined to fall apart at any moment.

In the flickering candlelight, however, the room looked pretty nice.

In the flickering candlelight, everything looked pretty nice.

Four hours later, Laura and Julie returned to the sprawling colonial, Caroline now covered in chocolate, and Will dripping with water, courtesy of an impromptu swim in the mall fountain.

"Why do they talk about the decline in child abductions like it's a good thing?" Laura pondered aloud, her fourth grade son squeaking across the kitchen.

.

Looking out through the French doors, Julie could see Adam out on the veranda, sprawled across an outdoor sofa with a glass of gin hand.

"These people really know how to make life look good." Julie thought, eyeing the manicured boxwoods and chinoiserie urns.

Walking outside to join, Adam sat up to make room on the couch, the awkwardness of his movement not escaping Julie. As he reached for the coffee table to help pull himself up, she couldn't help but notice the short grimace of pain that shot across his face, and the way that his limbs no longer moved in any natural harmony. Reminded of how disabled he really was, she felt guilty for disturbing him.

"So what did you spend your morning doing?" she asked, sitting down beside him.

"Exactly what I said earlier. You have fun at the mall?"

"There's really nothing like Southdale with three kids to affirm that whole 'childless' thing..."

"See, now that's why I really recommend being a dad." He pointed out, smiling. "Not that New Age bullshit where you wear your kid in your manbun or something—the regular kind, where you go to one or two of their hockey games a year, and everyone makes a big deal about it."

"You really are a beacon of enlightenment."

"I have faith that you could be a dad, too."

"I don't think that's how it works…" Julie chuckled, leaning back against the other end of the sofa.

"Well, if Bruce Jenner gets to be a mom, I don't see why you can't be a dad. Besides, you can open jars, and you have a way better job than I do!"

"Are you implying I'm more of a man than you?"

"If the strap-on fits."

"Wha—" She shook her head, laughing. "I would be offended, but I'm not sure which of us that's really more insulting to."

"Heh, don't worry." He smiled, his eyes crinkling in the corners as the sun washed him in a flattering glow. "You're way hotter than any guy. And you smell better."

"You've always smelled pretty good…"

"My hair doesn't smell like coconut."

"I don't think that's like, inherent to being a woman. I think that's because I use coconut shampoo. Yours would smell the same if you used coconut shampoo."

"For like, five minutes." He reminded her, looking back down at his now empty glass. Swirling it around, he lifted crystal lowball to his lips, trying to get one last drink amid the ice cubes. "You also make better life choices than I do. Mine would smell like cigarettes and pot smoke by noon."

Pausing for a moment, Julie looked back over at her first love with concern, chewing at the side of her lip.

.

He was as beautiful as she remembered, and every bit as charming. More than anything, though, she longed for him to be okay. To go back to the days when he seemed stronger than his demons.

.

"What ever happened to the good little hockey nerd who wouldn't even drink soda?"

"Technically nothing. That's like, the one bad habit I don't have.

"Besides," He added with a soft smile, "I think that person was more a figment of Duck imagination than anything else. My friends and I were like, building potato bongs by fifth grade. I just didn't talk about that stuff like Portman..."

Julie simply nodded.

"I wish you would have talked more."

"Me too."