"Mom, why are you so into ice cream?" Oliver asked, fork stuck in a scoop that wasn't melting fast enough.
"Because this scoop paid for your sticker book," I said. "That's a perfectly valid reason."
He chewed thoughtfully. "You paid with the card that says Kaia Escobar. I like your name."
"Good. It goes well with stubbornness." I wiped a smear off his lip with the back of my hand.
"Excuse me." A voice cut through the food court. Sharp. Loud enough for people to look. "Isn't that Kaia Escobar?"
I looked up. Frida Cooley stood by our table like a headline walking. Her lipstick was new, her grin practiced. She had a man in a suit half a step behind her—Hugo, probably—smiling like he owned the food court.
"Frida." I kept my smile flat. "Long time."
"You survived," she said. Her eyes flicked to Oliver, then back to me. "I didn't expect to see you here. Thought you'd be... elsewhere."
Oliver pushed his cup of syrup across the table. "Do you want some?" he offered to Frida like he was offering everything he owned.
Frida blinked. "I'm fine, thanks."
"Mom, she looks hungry," Oliver said in a serious kid voice. "Hungry for manners."
People laughed. A small wave. Frida's eyebrow dipped. "Cute kid. Did you, what, lose your job? Stop school? I mean, this is... different."
"Different is a compliment," I said. "Thanks."
Frida put one hand on her hip
