When we got to the dog park, Sara let Kitty off her leash.

“Go play, girl.” I waved to a few other people in the park who were all standing around, watching the group of dogs Kitty bolted toward.

We found an empty bench and sat down. Not a cloud in the sky, the air scented of freshly mowed grass, and a light breeze taking the edge off the sometimes brutal California heat. I could get used to this.

“I think my dog likes you almost as much as I do.”

Sara didn’t even react, obviously lost in whatever she’d been thinking about since we left her mother. Meeting Elaine had definitely thrown Sara for a loop. Too much, too soon, probably. She’d had a hard enough time barely admitting that we were dating, and a half hour later, I’d promised her mom I’d come over for a family dinner. I think that pretty much defined too much, too soon. For her, at least. Any opportunity to get to know more about her, I’d take happily.

“I didn’t mean to rush things,” I said. “If you think—”

“Your parents don’t like what you do?” That’s what she’d been thinking about?

“When my mom doesn’t have a strong opinion about something, she defers to my father. Since he thinks I’m wasting my potential, so does she.”

“What’s your potential?”

“I’m going to pretend I’m not hurt that you haven’t realized it yet.”

“The potential your parents see is a lot different than the kind of potential I see in you. At least I hope it is because that would be gross.” Her head was lowered as she focused on dragging her toe back and forth through the dirt, but I could tell she was smiling.

“My father wants me to follow in his footsteps, become a shrink to the elite, listen to rich people bitch about their problems all day, write a couple books, and have a big house with a kid.”

“He’s a shrink? Now I know why you’re so good at psychoanalyzing people in alleys.”

“And why I’m so screwed up.” I leaned forward and rested my forearms on my thighs. “What’s that expression about a cobbler’s kids not having shoes?”

“You’re one of the least screwed-up people I know, so he must be pretty good at his job.”

“Oh, he’s a really good shrink…and also a really shitty father.”

“Hey! I have one of those, too,” she said, feigning excitement. What a great thing to bond over. “But mine left when I was a toddler and died a few years later. From the little my mom has told me about him he could probably have used your dad’s help.”

“I’m sorry. Even as much of a disappointment as mine enjoys telling me I am, I still know I’m lucky to have had one around. If nothing else, it’s easier to understand all the flaws a parent has when you spend a lot of time with them. When you don’t, you can only guess. That must make it a lot harder.”

She thought about it a second before nodding. “I’ve never heard it put that way, but yeah. I can tell myself a million times that it wasn’t my fault he left, but I can’t get rid of that little piece of doubt that’s always there. I wish I could’ve gotten to know him well enough to be sure he left because he was a selfish asshole who would’ve walked out on anybody.”

We fell into a comfortable silence, watching Kitty play with a dog half her size, taking turns chasing each other.

Leave it to animals who lacked the ability to speak to have figured out what humans couldn’t: There doesn’t always have to be a winner and a loser.

Something doesn’t have to be wrong to know something else is right.

“Oh shit,” she muttered.

“What?”

When she leaned over to me, I thought it was for a kiss, which I gladly gave her. Only afterwards did I realize she’d actually been pulling her cell phone out of her back pocket. Cell phones, right. There’d never been a moment those things couldn’t ruin.

I watched her thumbs fly from letter to letter. Since I didn’t want her to think I was reading over her shoulder, I switched my focus to her face. Sadly, that didn’t help—she was mouthing each word as she texted. I didn’t catch too many. Just “do it tomorrow” and “I’ll make it up to you.”

“Everything okay?” I asked while she stared at her phone waiting for a reply.

“My boss…friend…” She shook her head as if to straighten stuff out in it. “My friend who’s also my boss. I’m trying to get all her client contracts set up right but needed her husband’s advice. He’s an attorney. Not a contract attorney, but he knows them well enough.” Her smile grew. “Aaaand I’m going to stop explaining before I bore you to death. Never mind.”

“Nothing about you would bore me. Although, to be honest, the word ‘contract’ does make me a little sleepy.”

“Contracts themselves are pretty dry. But when you really study them to see what both sides are fighting for, it’s fascinating.”

“I’ll have to take your word on that.”

She nudged me, laughing. “It is. Knowing what someone is willing to give up is just as important as knowing what they want, maybe more so. Like…” She paused to look at me. “You signed a contract with your manager, right? So, getting a set percentage of whatever deal he can get you motivates him to make the best deal possible, and that benefits you and the guys, too.”

“I guess so.”

“But from what you’ve told me, he’d rather get a deal for just you, right? Not for the band. His percentage isn’t affected by how many people are involved, just the amount of money he can get. And if he thinks he can get more from a solo contract than for the band, that’s what he’ll do.”

“If you’re trying to make him seem like less of an asshole, you’ll have to work harder.”

“Just because someone’s an asshole doesn’t mean they can’t do simple math.”

I shook my head. “Doug gives me the same number whether he’s talking about the band or a solo act. And then keeps repeating that if I went out on my own, I wouldn’t have to split it four ways.”

“Hmm… He wouldn’t fight to get you to leave the band if he weren’t hoping to get something more out of it. So, there’s something he’s not telling you, and that something would show up on a contract.”

“I’ve never thought of it like that before,” I said, sitting up. What the fuck was that dirtbag up to?

Thankfully, when I saw her smile, I stopped thinking about Doug, promised contracts, and all the shit with the band. I couldn’t believe that kind of stuff made her happy, but it obviously did.

“Not that I think it’s weird or anything,” I said without cracking a smile, “but where does one learn to love contracts so much?”

She swatted at me. “I don’t love them, but they’re important. Ever since I was a kid, I thought I was going to be an attorney. I used to negotiate toy exchanges or come up with shared stuffed animal custody schedules between my friends. Plus, when my mom and Timothy first got hitched, he used to spread paperwork all over the dining room. I’d have to clear off the table without messing up the piles, or he’d freak out. So, I guess, indirectly, that taught me how powerful they were.”

“Do you still want to be an attorney?”

She shrugged. “I can barely deal with work and three classes. Even if law school were free, I’m not ready to think about that stuff yet.”

“You know, someone once told me that the only way to turn yet into never is by giving up.”

“Wow. That’s deep.” When her phone buzzed, she looked down at it, reading the text that had just come in. “Everything’s fine.” Then, with a smile, she tucked it back into her pocket. “Now, where were we?”

“I’m deep, and you were about to tell me”—I scooted a little closer to her—“who I’m going to meet on Sunday. Besides your mother, who seemed nice, by the way.”

She cocked an eyebrow at me. “You’re joking, right?”

I had so many questions to ask her but didn’t know where to start. And how not to sound like a shrink when I did it.

“Speechless.” She nodded. “Don’t worry. That’s exactly how I feel about her, too.”

“I’m sure she’s just curious about the guy her daughter’s with. I’d probably worry about the same thing.”

“Do you want to have kids?” The look on her face told me she regretted going there. As if asking me would make things awkward or give me the wrong impression. “I promise that wasn’t a test or anything beyond a simple question.”

“You mean you haven’t already started wondering what kind of soccer coach I’ll be? Or if I’ll change dirty diapers? What kind of woman are you?” I nudged her in the side and rolled my eyes. “You don’t need to worry so much about scaring me off, Sara. First of all, I worked pretty damn hard to be here. Second, I know when a question is just a question and when it’s a test. Trust me, growing up with a shrink taught me how to spot when someone’s grasping for subtext in every word that comes out of my mouth.”

“Good,” she said with relief.

“Although, just in case I’m wrong, I’ve changed a few dirty diapers in my day without even gagging. It helps that I live in the city and have to deal with all the fun stuff that comes with pet ownership.” I shook the small container of doggie doo bags clipped onto Kitty’s leash. I’m not sure which smelled worse—the crap that went inside them or the crap they scented the bags with.

“But I would make a terrible coach,” I continued. “I’m not competitive enough. Plus, while I think kids’ sports should definitely be just for fun, in general, I don’t believe we should give trophies for participation. Honestly, I don’t think trophies are necessary at all—they teach kids to look for validation and acceptance outside themselves.”

“That was a super shrinky thing to say.”

“Damn it. You caught me.”