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There is a particular kind of busy that descends on a person when they have spent weeks organizing something for someone they love.
Marla knew that kind of busy well.
She had spent the better part of the month putting together her husband Brad’s fortieth birthday party. Backyard lights, catered food, a guest list that had grown steadily beyond what she had originally planned, a cake she had ordered from the bakery that had done their wedding desserts years earlier.
Standing near the patio door with a stack of napkins in one hand and her phone in the other, she looked out at the crowd in her yard and allowed herself a brief moment of satisfaction.
Then her four-year-old shot past her legs at full speed with a cake pop in his hand, and the moment passed.
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