Page 72 of Clinically Awkward

Perfect.

I whipped my Honda into the spot directly next to his, slammed on the brakes, and turned off the ignition in one smooth motion.

Julien looked up and his eyes narrowed.

I jumped out of the car, plastered on my brightest smile, and called out, “Good morning, Julien!”

He stared at me.

Then at his watch.

Then back at me.

“What are you doing here so early?” he asked, his voice flat.

Think, Vivian. Think.

“I—uh—wanted to talk to you!” I said, walking toward him with the kind of forced enthusiasm usually reserved for people trying to sell timeshares. “About Mom and Dad’s anniversary dinner!”

Julien’s expression didn’t change. “Their anniversary is in three months.”

“Exactly! Which means we need to start planning now.”

“We don’t need to plan anything. Mom already planned it.”

“But what if she didn’t plan it right?” I said, stepping closer. “What if she forgot something important? Like—like the seating chart?”

“There’s no seating chart. It’s a dinner.”

“But what if there should be a seating chart?” I pressed. “What if Aunt Carol and Uncle Dennis end up sitting next to each other and they start arguing about politics again? Remember last Thanksgiving?”

Julien closed his car door and locked it. “Vivian, I have a meeting in twenty minutes.”

“This will only take a minute!” I said, following him toward the clinic entrance. “I just think we should coordinate. You know how Mom gets when things aren’t perfect.”

“Mom doesn’t care.”

“She absolutely cares. Remember her fiftieth birthday? She cried because the cake was vanilla instead of chocolate.”

“That was Dad’s fault.”

“Exactly! Which is why we need to take charge of it this time.” I was talking faster now, my words tumbling over each other in a desperate attempt to keep him distracted. “We should pick the restaurant. And the menu. And the guest list. And—oh God—what about the gift?”

Julien stopped walking and turned to look at me. “Vivian,” he said slowly. “Why are you really here?”

Shit.

“I told you. Mom and Dad’s anniversary.”

“Is in three months,” he repeated. “And you’ve never cared about planning family events before.”

“That’s not true! I care!”

“You forgot Mom’s birthday last year.”

“I didn’t forget. I was just late.”

“By two weeks.”