Page 57 of Again, In Autumn

Diego adds, “And he doesn’t mind it.”

I lean back in the seat. “He’s too old for her, though, right?”

“No,” Diego shrugs. “Ten years isn’t too much at this age. It’s probably just weird for you because you’ve known her your whole life.”

Yeah. That’s why it’s weird.

Chapter Sixteen

I should stay home. My brain says, stay home. Don’t do this to yourself. You’re going to feel so pathetic. You’re going to show up, extra-wheeling-it, and sit alone at the table while they’re all dancing and Kate’s rubbing her ass on Adam.

My brain makes good decisions. The rest of my body not so much.

Play it cool, I remind my gooey insides as they picture Adam’s wide, strong hands running along the fabric of my slinky, favorite Autumnal dress. A scene that will not play out, no matter how badly my skin craves it.

“How much have you had to drink?” Francesca asks.

I set my glass on the kitchen counter. “Like…one glass of wine.”

“Uh huh.” She puts her earring in. “You’re staring off into the abyss like you do when you’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.” I touch my pointer fingers to my nose and rub my head and pat my belly. “See.”

Just mildly in control of my mental processes.

David comes through the front door and holds a stuffed squirrel out. “Is this it?” he wonders before Alice runs though the hallway and snatches it from his outstretched hand. She scampers up the stairs calling for Caroline.

“Pregaming?” he asks me, clocking my glass.

“Home wine is cheaper,” I answer. I check his shirt and tie and her green cocktail dress. “I’m glad I brought this emergency dress. Do people really dress like this at The Wayfarer now?”

David rubs his chin. “They’ve gone through a – what are you calling it now?”

“A glow up,” Francesca responds without looking up.

“Right.” He laughs. “They’ve redone the inside. It’s a little more upscale. Although people still dressed nicer than we did. We thought jeans and a polo was high class.”

“Dark jeans and a going out top.” Fran kisses her fingers. “We thought we were hot stuff.”

I swing my hair back dramatically and raise my shoulder. “Speak for yourself. I was and will always be hot stuff.”

“Your fingertips are stained with food coloring,” she says.

David smooths back his hair and says, always coming to my defense, “I think that’s the look now.”

I walk into the hallway and comb my clean, curled hair with the fingers of my non-injured hand. My mother’s gold hoops sparkle. Layers of hair fall around the square neck of my tight auburn knit midi dress. I collect the leather clutch I keep in my purse and add some lipstick and hand sanitizer.

I ask, “Where’s Katie?”

Francesca buckles the strap of her shoe. “She’s riding with the neighbors.”

“Oh.” I shudder to think what the twenty-three-year-old is wearing in the backseat of the car. Adam wouldn’t apologize if their knees touch or keep staring out of the window to avoid her eye. He’ll be jovial and charismatic to her, not me, because he thinks I’m boring.

He doesn’t care about me anymore, so I don’t have to care about him. That’s why I’m going tonight, brain be damned. I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking I’m a wet blanket who would rather play dress up with her niece than go out. I’ll take the discomfort of watching him feel up another female over slinking into a corner without my pride.

Even though home wine is cheaper, and I spill on myself in public.

“Caroline, we’re heading out!” Francesca calls. “Nuggets are on the counter. Chips in the pantry. Vienna made apple crumble with her bloody hands. It’s in the microwave.”

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