Run: 2026-09-23-01M37HAWFC3FN74DF9WT0AG9V6

Molly spread the invitation across the café table, pinning one corner beneath a sugar bowl. A cartoon dragon smiled beside the words “BIRTHDAY PARTY.” She had circled the start time in red. “We go in as guests,” she said. “Children’s parties are chaos. Nobody remembers who arrived with whom.” Bill studied the dragon. “The invitation says costumes encouraged. What are we wearing?” “Something inconspicuous.” “You brought a dragon tail.” “It’s detachable.” Bill glanced at the tail poking from Molly’s handbag. The café’s ceiling fan stirred its green felt spikes. For three days, she had spoken of nothing but the mountain of presents visible through the party venue’s window. “All the presents?” he asked. “Even the small ones?” “Especially those. Big boxes are usually educational.” “What if someone asks which child we belong to?” Molly turned over the invitation. On the back, in crayon, was a drawing of six children and a dog with eight legs. She examined each face. “We point at a child who’s running,” she said. “That could be any of them.” “Exactly.” Bill leaned back as a waiter passed their table. He lowered his voice, though the only other customer was wearing headphones and asleep. Molly drew a second circle on the invitation, this one around the words “parents welcome.” “Parents,” Bill said. “There’s the problem. They notice things.” “They notice whether everyone has eaten cake. We’ll eat cake.” “I thought we were stealing presents.” “We can be versatile.” Outside, a delivery van stopped beside the party venue. Its driver carried in an enormous wrapped parcel, nearly as tall as the doorway. Bill watched it disappear inside. He had begun to hope the job might be cancelled by common sense. “How do we carry that?” he asked. Molly folded the invitation. “We don’t. It’s too obvious.” “You said all the presents.” “I was expressing ambition, not making a legally binding promise.” “That sounds unlike you.” “It’s a new approach.” A little girl appeared at the venue window and pressed a paper crown against the glass. Behind her, adults shifted tables into a circle. Bill could see a pile of gifts beneath a banner, each one wrapped in the same blue paper. “Why are they all identical?” he asked. Molly went still. She pulled out her phone and found the venue’s party announcement. Her lips moved as she read. “It’s a present exchange,” she said. “Every guest brings a gift. Every guest leaves with one.” “So if we go in as guests…” “We have to bring gifts.” Bill looked at the sugar bowl. Molly looked at the tail. Neither seemed likely to delight a child, though he suspected the sugar had better odds. “We could buy two,” Bill said. “Then attend, eat cake, and leave with two different ones.” “That isn’t stealing.” “No,” he said. “But you’d get cake.” Molly considered this carefully. Then she picked up her handbag, its tail dragging across the floor. “Fine. But I’m choosing the gifts. Last time you bought a child a desk calendar.”