Page 58 of Keeping It Professional

“Serves you right,” said Aunt Carol. “It’s not ice cream. Here, soak it up with some horse-dovers.”

I took a hors d’oeuvre, some bacon-wrapped fruit, and dug in my purse again till I found my phone. My heart leaped at the sight of a cloud of missed texts, then plunged when I saw they were all ads. Miles had seen my text — two little checkmarks — but he hadn’t responded. I tried him again.

Hey. Stuck at work? Lemme know where you are & ETA.

I watched for the checkmarks, but just one popped up. Maybe that meant he was on his way.

Aunt Carol grabbed me and pulled me back to the table. She sat me down between her and Gram. More of my friends had crowded in, all wanting details on my “new man.” Mom had talked him up, it seemed, his good looks. His talent. Aunt Carol nudged me.

“You’ve got pictures, right?”

I pulled out my phone again. Still one checkmark. He had to be almost here by now, if he was driving. Unless he’d covered a second shift, and he was at work. But he’d have said if he did that, and not left me hanging. Could something have happened?

“Ooooh, he’s cute!” Aunt Carol grabbed my phone and held it up on display. “He’s got a chin-dimple. I love a chin dimple.”

“And hishair.” Gran sighed. “Reminds me of Steve’s.”

“Your husband Steve? He’s bald as a coot.” Aunt Carol laughed. Gran grabbed my phone. She scrolled through more pictures, pausing often toaww.

“Such a beautiful couple.”

“Imagine their kids!”

“Does he take out your trash for you?”

“Is he good with his hands?”

The questions kept coming, an endless torrent. I kept smiling and nodding and peering outside. Watching the driveway for Miles’s headlights. He wasn’t just late now. He was verging on rude. Mom had the roast out, ready to serve. She was tossing the salad. Grinding in pepper. If Miles didn’t hurry, he’d be holding up dinner.

“I wish mine was like that.” Jen sipped her drink. “I mean, he cookssometimes, but never from scratch. He uses spaghetti sauce straight from the jar.”

Kate made a snorting sound. “He doesn’t even add meat?”

“No. He’s vegan.”

“He could add tofu.”

I felt myself flushing with pre-emotive shame. If Miles didn’t show after all this buildup, if he couldn’t even be bothered to text?—

Headlights flashed down the street. I could’ve cried with relief. Then they swept by, and my stomach went sour. Was he really doing this? Standing me up? Maybe he’d forgotten to set hisalarm. And left his phone off, so my texts didn’t wake him. I excused myself and tried calling him: straight to voicemail. But he’d read my second text. Where the hell was he?

I closed my eyes for a moment and the flames surged back in, the cars crushed like pop cans, the smoke and the blood. Then I saw Miles hanging trapped in his seat belt, blood running the wrong way down his upside-down face. I gasped, almost choked, and slapped myself on the arm. No way… but whatif?Accidents happened. What if he’d been driving and I’d sent my text, and he’d glanced over and that’d been all it took?

“Hey, Sophie?” Mom peered at my phone. “I know Miles is coming, but the roast’s getting cold.”

I drew a deep breath, held it. Blew out. “All right,” I said. “I think he’s stuck at work.” Would it be weird if I called to check he was there? Probably, yeah, with us not being work-public. And whyweren’twe? What was his problem?

“I’ll make up a plate for him.” Mom squeezed my arm. “I’m sure he’ll be here as soon as he can.”

Mom dished up dinner and I watched for Miles. I checked my phone through the soup course, nothing. Nothing. Grandpa wanted to know how many lives I’d saved, but all I could think about was the two we hadn’t. Miles had lost patients before. No way he hadn’t. So why had these two made him shut down so hard? Did he blame me for their loss? Was he right to blame me?

Mom brought out the roast and Aunt Carol carved it. She always carved, so she could hoard the end piece. I asked for one slice and she gave me two, and I cut the fat off and pushed it around my plate. The time on my phone screen read eight, then nine.Mom brought out dessert — two pies, cake, and apple fritters. I ate half a fritter, then pushed back my chair.

“I should actually?—”

“Don’t tell me you’re leaving already!” Mom stood as well. “Stay for coffee, at least.”

I shook my head. “I would, but I’m working first thing.”

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