Emma spent the last week of her summer vacation at home in Pennsylvania, visiting her family. And then it was August. After the frenzy of faculty orientation, student scheduling, and last-minute applicants, the school year began. There were the usual snags of schedule change requests, overeager parents trying to wheedle their way into inhumane numbers of AP courses, and anxious freshmen (or freshmen parents) who needed encouragement and reassurance. By late August, however, things had begun to settle into more of a routine. At first, Emma was relieved that the chaos of starting a new school year was coming to a close. She delighted in creating order and efficiency, and now she could sit back and watch her work pay off as the ship began to sail. At this point, her role became more focused on guidance of seniors toward college, responsive counseling to students and parents as needed, and observation of the school climate and student body. She enjoyed each of these roles immensely.

            While the school year kept her more occupied than the summer, she still had hours of free time on her hands to think about things and feel things, and sense that semi-existential nothingness that always seemed to be creeping up on her lately. This is ridiculous! she journaled one night. Why can’t I just get over this and focus on glorifying You? I’m turning into a rather pathetic specimen of the Christian, single woman. I feel completely unanchored. I’m not likely to inspire any younger women to confidence in their faith in this state of mind. Am I ever going to feel stable and like myself again, God? Is this what my emotional life looks like from here on out? Does it get worse? ‘Cause, seriously, I don’t think I’m going to be much use to You if it gets worse over time. Give me strength to figure this out, please.

            A few days later, the announcements started—from former students, former classmates, even kids she had babysat for when they were barely walking. “I swear, Abs, every time I log onto facebook, there’s another engagement photo or save the date announcement!” she lamented Thursday night on the phone. “Evidently August is the month for getting hitched like it’s going out of style. Is there some way to block just certain kinds of status changes?”

            “I don’t think so,” Abby said, “but that’s an intriguing idea. Maybe you should suggest it to Zuckerberg.”

            Emma sighed. “I don’t mind that people are getting engaged or getting married,” she conceded. “A lot of my kids seem to have found really godly spouses, and they look really happy. It’s just a little hard to take sometimes when all these girls that I’ve taught or mentored—or babysat for crying out loud—are getting married to the men of their dreams. It’s like watching a filmstrip of your life expectation in reverse—instead of looking forward to what I hope to have, I’m looking back on what I thought I’d have and didn’t. And it just keeps playing, over and over, on this endless loop. I feel like everyone and their Aunt Edna is moving on to the stage of being a real grown-up with a family, and I’m stuck. I don’t care if I look 22; perpetual youth isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.” Abby didn’t respond. “Sorry, I’m venting again.”

            “Maybe you should take a facebook fast,” Abby suggested.

            “Then, what would I do with myself? I’m trying not to spend five hours a night on tv.” Emma bemoaned.

            “Come help me design the nursery. I’m getting geared up for nesting mode,” Abby cheerfully invited. “In fact, we’re sort of planning an actual Labor Day to get the nursery decorated, and I was hoping you could come.”

            “Sure,” Emma readily agreed. “But, I thought you were waiting to start planning a nursery theme until you found out the gender.”

            “I am. My 3-D ultrasound is tomorrow,” Abby announced excitedly.

            “Oh! Oh my gosh, that’s so exciting. I must have totally lost track of time. I didn’t realize you were that far along already. Wow!”

            “I know! I can’t wait. So, you should come over straight from school tomorrow so you can help me start poring over decorating catalogs.”

            “Okay! I can’t wait!” Emma heartily agreed. “Are you guys finally going to tell us the name tomorrow, too?”

            “Yep. Andrew’s coming over for dinner, too. We’ll show you the pictures and properly introduce you.”

            “Yay! I can’t wait to meet our little mini-Cooper.”

            Emma left school on the dot at the end of office hours. She was standing at her office door, key in hand, as the clock reached 4:30. She had a nervous giddiness as she drove to Abby’s house. She couldn’t decide which she would be more excited about—a girl or a boy. Regardless, she was confident she would be a pretty involved honorary aunt in this baby’s life. She couldn’t wait to get started. Abby must have heard Emma pull up, because before Emma reached the front step, Abby opened the door and stepped out triumphantly. She was wearing a hot pink t-shirt and threw a large, pink streamer into the air.

            “Really?!” Emma squealed. Abby nodded and actually gave a little leap of excitement before pulling Emma into a bear hug, slightly impeded by her increasingly pregnant belly. “I don’t know why I’m so surprised,” Emma laughed. “It was a 50/50 chance. I’m so happy for you.”

            Emma and Abby spent the next half hour perusing catalogs and decorating magazines while they waited for Jackson to get home from work. Despite her t-shirt, Abby was steering away from pinks and purples in the nursery, mostly in deference to Jackson’s relatively unexplored feminine side. But, it was also a practical choice for the long-term and future pregnancies. Instead, they examined options in aquas, greens, and girly grays. Both of them were leaning towards a mint green with white flowers theme when Jackson arrived.

            “Hey, Emma,” he greeted her. “So, what do you think?”

            “What do you think?” she retorted, standing up to give him a hug. “Can you handle a girl?”

            Jackson laughed. “I think so. It feels more real now, you know? Like, we’re not just having a human organism anymore. There’s an actual little girl in there.” He patted Abby’s stomach and kissed her forehead. Noticing the stacks of catalogs on the coffee table, he went to his messenger bag and pulled out a small, paper bag. “I already got her something,” he confessed somewhat sheepishly.

            “What? Without me?” Abby pretended to be horrified. Jackson handed her the bag and she pulled out a small, stuffed soccer ball with flowers on it. Both Abby and Emma erupted in affectionate laughter. “It’s staring already,” Abby said, shaking her head.

            “Don’t worry,” Emma consoled her. “I’ll counteract with lots of Aunty Emma tea parties and manicures.”

            “Hey, she can be girly and athletic,” Jackson declared somewhat defensively.

            “I completely support that,” Emma assured him, before adding, “from the bleachers. I’ll be the loudest fan cheering, ‘Go ______’”. She paused for one of them to complete the sentence.

            “Not until Andy’s here,” Abby insisted.

            “Ugh!” Emma groaned in suspense and sank back into the couch. Just then, Andrew opened the front door. “Finally!” Emma exclaimed, jumping up and practically dragging Andrew into the living room. “Come on. Let’s have it!”

            Andrew snickered at Emma’s enthusiasm but didn’t protest her somewhat abrupt greeting as he was also eager to meet his new niece. He took a seat on the couch next to Emma while Abby retrieved a manila envelope from the bookshelf. Jackson pulled out the photos and placed them on top of the catalogues. “Introducing, Riley Grace Cooper,” he announced proudly.

            “Riley,” Emma processed. “Aw, that’s perfect. Riley Cooper. Hey, there, Riley,” she gushed as she devoured the photos, acquainting herself with the latest addition to her surrogate family.

            “Wow, you can really tell what she looks like from these, even her facial features” Andrew observed. “That’s amazing! She’s so cute. I can’t believe I’m going to be an uncle.”

            “Since it’s a girl,” Emma emphasized the last word, “I should get dibs on babysitting more. I’m more qualified.”

            “Oh, whatever!” Andrew countered. “I’m great with girls. Plus, Riley and I share DNA. I totally get priority.”

            “Alright, you two,” Abby interrupted. “We can split custody. Relax.”

            Emma pretended to side-eye Andrew resentfully, and they all started laughing. While Abby got dinner ready and Jackson changed out of his work clothes, Andrew observed the open pages in the catalogs on the table. “You’re helping her shop for the nursery, right?” he asked Emma.

            “I think that’s the plan.”
            “Great. I need you to do me a favor and send me photos of what she’s getting. I’m planning a surprise.”

            “Oh, really? What have you got up your sleeve?” Emma inquired, her curiosity aroused.

            “Just some personal artwork for my niece,” he responded nonchalantly.

            “Very cool,” Emma nodded in approval. “Sure, I’ll be your accomplice. You’re well-versed in baby girl décor, are you?”
            “Hey, I’m in touch with my sensitive side,” he assured her coolly. “I’m totally qualified for solo babysitting.”

            “Hmm. How are you with poopy diapers?”

            “Okay, so everyone has a learning curve, right?”

            Emma laughed and patted Andrew on the back. “Don’t worry. I don’t charge much for tutoring.”

By the time the following Friday arrived, Emma had counted seven more wedding announcements! Also, three more students had given birth. Emma affectionately referred to these children as grandstudents. At this rate, her grandstudents might be old enough to baby-sit for her own kids—if she ever had any. Things felt like they were spinning out of control.  How is it that every Pam, Kit, and Mary can find a husband, but not me? She wondered to herself while flipping through wedding photos from a former neighbor. Am I so different from the norm? Am I a pariah?

Emma was grateful for the distraction of taking Abby shopping that afternoon. Jackson had agreed to a pastel, mint green paint for the walls, which he had already purchased. He had also purchased the crib and changing table. Abby had found a matching bookshelf at a garage sale, and Caitlin had donated them her rocking chair. So, armed with a paint swatch on card stock, the girls were heading out to buy the trimmings, so to speak. Abby had found some removable daisy decals on-line at a local baby department store. So, they decided to start their search there. The removable decal invention was ingenious. As Riley grew, she could take them down or trade them out for something else. They could change the furniture around without worrying about covering up detailing. Also, if they added onto the family later, they could easily trade out the daisies for something more masculine and convert it into a boy’s nursery. It was perfect.

Emma had already forwarded Andrew web links to the paint color and wall decals, so he could begin his artwork. Now, she had to figure out a way to take photos of the bedding and accessories without Abby getting suspicious. At the department store, they found the wall decals and a bedding set that was a variegated stripe of green and white, with a little pin stripe of fuchsia mixed in.

“He can’t object to this much pink, can he?” Emma asked hopefully.

“No, I’m sure he can’t,” Abby agreed. “It matches so perfectly. Plus, it’s a stripe. That’s a lot better than bunny rabbits or bows or something. He’ll get over it.”

“I have a feeling he’ll be more than over it,” Emma reflected. “In fact, I fully anticipate that Jackson will develop a great affinity for all things girly as soon as he holds her in his arms.”

“So…maybe her next present will be a pink football, then?” Abby suggested. They both laughed.

From the department store, they headed to a discount home store, where they found a whimsical lamp, a couple of picture frames, and a window valance of sheer white. “Okay, I think we’re pretty set on the nuts and bolts of nursery décor,” Abby decided. “I think I’ll wait for my showers to do the rest, and then fill in whatever gaps are left. I still feel like she doesn’t have much for her walls, though. These decals aren’t really focal points. Should we look through the wall art section?”

“Um…why don’t we wait until after Monday, so we can see the whole room put together and get a better idea of the whole effect?” Emma quickly suggested.

“Hmm…maybe you’re right. I guess we have enough to do this weekend already. Besides, I’m starving.”

“Does Jackson have anyone to help him paint tomorrow?” Emma asked.

“Yeah. Greg’s coming over. I’m going to spend the afternoon at Caitlin’s to avoid the fumes. You know, one of Caitlin’s cousins or something just got married to someone she met on esingles.com. Have you ever looked into that?”

Emma groaned and rolled her eyes. “My mom keeps pushing me to try that, but I don’t know. Something about it just doesn’t sit right with me. I don’t feel like I should have to pay a monthly bill to try to find someone. Plus, I don’t really like the idea of shopping for a husband. I feel like it’s a bunch of single people packaging themselves nicely to sit on shelves at Singles ‘R Us. It doesn’t seem natural. I know people it’s worked for, but I just don’t trust it. Plus, I can’t really afford $35 a month. Things are pretty tight already. If I joined, I’d lose all wiggle room for fun stuff.”

“I think they’re having one of those free personality profile weekends this weekend. Maybe you should just check it out and see if it’s accurate. It can’t hurt,” Abby encouraged her.

“I guess that might be interesting. Personality tests are always fun anyway. Maybe it can tell me what kind of guy I should be looking for…you, know, in case I ever meet one.”

In a stroke of luck, Abby needed to run to the restroom right after checkout. Emma offered to load the car and pick her up at the entrance, giving her a chance to snap some quick photos on her cell phone and send them to Andrew. I wonder what he’s got planned, she thought. Guess I’ll have to wait until Monday to find out.

After her walk with Abby the next morning, Emma decided to try the free profile on esingles.com. It took about 40 minutes to complete a lot of multiple-choice questions. In the end, her results described Emma as conservative but adventurous. Adventurous? thought Emma, I don’t know if I’d describe myself as adventurous. Her results also said that loyalty and honesty were high priorities for her and things she strove for. Well, that’s true, she admitted. Apparently, her social style was playful and “open.” Huh. Wonder what that means? However, her relationship style was monogamous and committed. From her results page, there was a link to create a sample profile page. Might as well see how this works, Emma figured and clicked on the link. She spent another 30 minutes or so selecting items from lists like “three most important qualities in a guy” and “Which of these items is a deal-breaker?” Um, hello? All of the above! Emma thought as she scrolled through options like dishonesty, cussing, conflicting values, fear of commitment, smoker, and infidelity. Seriously? Is this the pool I’m working with? I have to accept at least one of these qualities? I’m better off single. After filling in a few complete-the-sentence items about her interests and hobbies, Emma was instructed to upload a recent photo in order to see her sample profile. She uploaded a photo from her birthday weekend and pressed the submit button.

Perusing her on-line profile, Emma felt like it presented a fairly accurate snapshot of herself, but it was just that: a snapshot. She seriously doubted that such a cursory profile could lead truly compatible people to one another. She declined the multiple pop-up boxes offering various subscription packages and logged off. She concluded that this approach probably wasn’t for her, especially after seeing the price tag of $35 a month for a “discount” deal. She just couldn’t see herself adding husband hunting to her utility bills. She decided to forget it; at least she could say she had looked into it next time Mom brought it up.

Understandably, Emma was rather shocked when she discovered an e-mail from Esingles after church on Sunday entitled “your free matches.” “What?!” she exclaimed aloud to an empty house. “I didn’t enroll! How do I have matches?” With some trepidation, Emma clicked on the link provided to log onto her “temporary” profile. Sure enough, there were three matches in her inbox. “Maybe it’s just a gimmick,” she suggested to herself. “Like the proverbial carrot on a stick to get me to enroll.” Curious, despite being skeptical, she clicked on the first match: Ryan.

Initially, Emma could see some similarities between herself and Ryan that might lead someone to match them. He was a Christian who liked to read and lived in Atlanta. Very quickly, however, the similarities came to an end and their characteristics completely diverged. Ryan was a huge fan of two things: beer and professional sports. He even listed “sports bar hopping” as one of his hobbies. Did I not check “rarely drinks” on my profile page? Emma thought. Then, she saw that the most important people in Ryan’s life were his two kids from a previous marriage, ages six and eight. I KNOW I checked that I was looking for someone who had never been married and didn’t have kids. What in the world? Did this site look at anything I said I was looking for? This is possibly less effective than an over-eager matchmaker at church or school.

Without a lot of expectation, Emma clicked on the second match, “R.” R? Seriously? If you don’t trust the system, why are you even on this site? she wondered silently. “R” lived in Palm Springs. Hmm. Not exactly within the 30 miles I selected as my search radius. She was beginning to think that the very detailed profile she had filled out last night was just a pointless exercise that had nothing to do with the actual process. “R” seemed like a nice enough guy, but his profile was pretty generic and uninformative. Emma wondered if this guy really knew who he was or what he wanted out of life.

Bachelor number three, Skip, appeared to be an adrenaline junkie. Emma didn’t delve very far into his profile. His picture captured him in a half body cast, wearing a sombrero and a t-shirt that read, “I survived the Running of the Bulls.” He was making a rock and roll sign with his hand and smiling from ear to ear. “Um, click,” Emma narrated as she closed his profile. She quickly logged off of her fake profile, all her suspicions about internet dating sites confirmed. She decided to just let her temporary profile expire with the end of the free weekend and move on.

Needless to say, Emma was slightly horrified, therefore, when she checked her e-mail again before bed and was accosted by another message from Esingles announcing that she had received a communication from one of her matches. Emma’s stomach dropped and for some reason she felt suddenly like a victim of identity theft or something. After all, she hadn’t signed a contract with these people or even officially enrolled in this thing. Were they really displaying her mock profile to random men? Holding her breath as if the interwebs might hear her and locate her, Emma clicked the link and bit her bottom lip. Evidently, “R” had sent her something called a getting started question—a multiple choice question designed to find out more about a potential match. Emma opened the question box to find the following item:

How physically intimate do you prefer to be in dating relationships?

1. kissing and holding hands regularly.
2. hugging and snuggling
3. taking it slowly
4. as intimate as possible/chemistry is everything

Emma stared in disbelief. “Seriously!? That’s your FIRST question for a girl?” she began lecturing R via her computer screen, apparently forgetting that the interwebs may be listening. “Well, it appears I was wrong about you, R. You seem to know exactly what you want. Well, you ain’t gonna find it here!”

            Emma began frantically scanning through menu options, trying to figure out how to delete her “sample” profile which was obviously up and running and open for business without her permission. It took about five minutes of scrolling through submenus and fine print, but she finally managed to delete her information from the site. She tried to log in again just to be sure her account was no longer active, and it wasn’t. Congratulating herself on a narrow escape, Emma went to bed, determined to rebuff anyone in the future who recommended she approach dating by posting herself on the internet like an auction item on eBay.

            Labor Day morning, Emma stopped by Starbucks on the way to Abby’s house to pick up some coffee and goodies for their nursery work day. She was excited to see how the walls had turned out and find out what Andrew had come up with for his artwork. He had texted her Saturday evening to thank her for her reconnaissance work and share his excitement that his project would fit right in with the overall décor. Andrew’s car was already in the driveway when she pulled up to the house. Emma peeked inside his windows on her way to the door, but she couldn’t see anything that looked like a package or art project in disguise.

            The weather was unusually cool and less humid than usual for the first weekend in September, and Abby had the doors and windows open to let the fresh air in. “Hey, we’re in the nursery,” Abby called when she heard the screen door swing shut behind Emma, who dropped off the box of coffee and muffins in the kitchen before heading down the hallway to the bedrooms. She rounded the doorframe to find Jackson and Andrew sorting through a box of parts that were destined to become Riley’s crib.

            “Hey, Emma,” Andrew smiled up at her from the floor, surrounded by pre-cut pieces of wood. Jackson was staring intently, with furrowed brow, at what Emma assumed were the assembly instructions.

            “Shouldn’t these screw bags be labeled or something?” Jackson complained without looking up. “I mean, there’s like 5 kinds of Phillips’ screws. How do I know which one counts as an ‘accessory screw’ and which ones are ‘frame screws’?”

            “Relax, Jackson. We’ll figure it out,” Andrew calmly assured him. “Let’s finish sorting the wood first and then maybe it will be clear.”

            “Hi, Jackson,” Emma interrupted his consternation. “How’s it going?”

            “Huh? Oh, hi, Emma,” he responded looking up as if somewhat surprised by her presence. “How are you?”

            “I’m fine,” Emma laughed. “The walls look fantastic! You did an awesome job.” She surveyed the room. The color was perfect—cheery and whimsical without being overpowering or too energetic for a bedroom. It also made the white trim around the window, floor boards, and door frame really pop. Emma couldn’t wait to get this nursery assembled and see the finished product.

            “Thanks,” Jackson said, taking a deep breath.

            “Oh! Those muffins smell heavenly!” Abby suddenly observed. “I just caught a whiff.” Abby headed for the kitchen and Jackson returned his attention to the crib instructions. Emma made eye contact with Andrew and raised her eyebrows with an inquisitive smile on her face. Andrew immediately understood her silent inquiry, and winked with a side smile and small nod in response, as if to say, “Yep, it’s finished and it’s great.”

            “Alright, Jackson, put me to work,” Emma commanded. “I’m not here for moral support. What do you need?”

            “See if you can figure out these directions,” Jackson pleaded, tossing her the pamphlet. “I think maybe I need some coffee.”

            “Help yourself!” Emma encouraged him. “There’s a hot, fresh, carton on the counter.”

            “Thanks,” Jackson sighed and headed for the kitchen.

By the time Abby returned from the kitchen, Emma had sorted the screws and hardware and Andrew had finished sorting the lumber. Abby watched her husband from the doorway as he prepared his mug of coffee. “Poor Jackson,” she observed sympathetically. “He hasn’t gotten much sleep lately, I’m afraid. I just can’t get comfortable to save my life. Every 10 or 20 minutes, my back starts hurting. I’ve been tossing and turning pretty constantly until the wee hours of the morning,” she explained.

“Have you been getting enough sleep, then?” Emma asked, concerned, as she helped Andrew screw the crib bars into the frame.

“I guess so. What I lack from the night I seem to make up for by passing out in the recliner after work. Jackson has a harder time napping at the office.” Jackson returned just then with a little sigh of contentment as he took a long sip of coffee.

“Emma, you’re a godsend,” he avowed. Emma giggled.

“Why don’t you take a load off and just supervise while you finish your coffee?” she offered. “Here, you can read us the steps.” She handed him back the instructions and Jackson slid slowly down the wall to sit on the floor next to the door—instructions in one hand, coffee mug in the other. Surprisingly, he didn’t argue about sitting this one out.

By lunch, they had the crib and changing table assembled, which meant the boys were done with their work. Now Abby and Emma could arrange the furniture, make up the bedding, and arrange the wall decals. Jackson grilled burgers and they ate outside to enjoy the gorgeous weather. “So…did you finish your profile?” Abby asked Emma somewhat cryptically, not sure if she would want the boys in on this conversation. Emma rolled her eyes and groaned dramatically.

“What profile?” Andrew asked. Emma regaled them with a brief explanation of her profile experience and detailed accounts of her highly unsuitable matches. Andrew and Jackson snickered awkwardly, unsure of whether or not this was really funny to Emma.

“It’s quite alright; go ahead and laugh,” she assured them. “The whole thing was pretty absurd. No wonder I’m single.” She actually chuckled a little herself. “I mean, even a complex, national database can’t find a guy qualified to be compatible with me. I must be unmatchable.”

“It’s not you,” Andrew told her. “That website is probably just overflowing with undatable guys is all.”

“And girls?” Emma quipped.

“Naw,” Jackson interjected. “You’re totally datable.”

“Absolutely,” Abby and Andrew quickly agreed.

“Well, thanks, but y’all are kind of biased,” Emma pointed out, smiling affectionately.

“I’m not,” Andrew insisted. Emma raised a skeptical eyebrow toward him as if to say, yeah right. “Okay, so maybe I’m a little inclined to think highly of you because of Abby,” he admitted. “But seriosly, I know a lot of single guys and you’re totally eligible. Trust me. In fact, you’re probably more eligible than some of the girls my friends date,” he added smirking.

“Well, thanks,” Emma said sincerely, accepting the complement. “Unfortunately, being datable isn’t all that helpful, as it turns out, if there’s no one to date. Evidently, it’s not a hobby you can take up solo. Who knew?”

After lunch, Abby and Emma began placing wall decals of cream daisies with pale yellow centers. The arranged the furniture with the changing table under the window, and the rocking chair in the corner. Finally, they put on the bedding and placed the lamp on the bookshelf. As they were surveying their handiwork, Andrew snuck in with his surprise: a memo board in the shape of a large R and G for Riley Grace. They were covered in a feminine plaid cloth which had the green, pink, and white of the room with a little yellow thrown in as well. Thin white ribbons criss-crossed the fabric and were anchored periodically with white, round, tacks. They were perfect for holding photos or notes.

“Andy!” Abby breathed ecstatically. “These are gorgeous! I can’t believe you.” She almost began tearing up as she gave him a big hug. Andrew winked at Emma across Abby’s shoulder. Emma gave him a thumbs up and winked back. Andrew helped them hang the memo board on the wall before they called Jackson back to see the finished product.

Abby and Emma exchanged a glance as Jackson opened the door and saw the pink accents for the first time. Jackson scanned the room quietly, taking in every detail with a somewhat distant gaze. He didn’t say anything.

“Well?” Abby asked hesitantly.

“This is Riley’s room,” he observed without making eye contact with anyone. His tone sounded impressed. “Our daughter is going to sleep here. Isn’t that amazing? It just kind of hit me.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Abby put her arms around him. “Does that mean you like it?”

“It totally looks like her. I just know it,” he said. They all re-evaluated the room from this perspective.

“I can’t wait for her to see it,” Emma whispered. Everyone murmured an agreement.

“We did good,” Andrew smiled with a mock look of cocky pride on his face as he and Emma headed to their cars a little later. He breathed on his right fist and pretended to shine it against his shirt. Emma laughed.

“Yes, we did,” she agreed. “You did awesome. That wall art was perfect. I can’t believe you came up with that so fast.”

“It wasn’t that hard. I’d been planning it for a while. I was just waiting on the initials and color scheme to get started. Thanks for the help with the undercover work. It’s kind of hard picking out fabric without an overall scheme in mind.”

“No problem. Anytime. We seem to make a good Riley team.”

“Well, I’ll talk to you later. Have a good week, Emma,” Andrew said as they parted ways.