Page 89 of Sweet Caroline
Halloween is in five days.
I don’t normally put a huge effort into my costume unless I’m attending a high-profile event, but when Mom had gotten wind of my idea for the local Halloween Fest, she’d pushed for having it custom-made. She always insists on me showing up looking as polished as possible—even for smaller-scale public appearances. I’d argued it was overkill for a family event held at a small-town farm, but she wouldn’t back down.
I’d only gone to Sonora Farm once or twice as a kid, when my parents would make the trip to Lennox for Halloween Fest, but I still have vivid memories of running around the pumpkin patch with my grandparents and cousins. It’s grown since then; nearly the whole town shows up every year to partake in the train ride, corn maze, live music, and haunted houses. The seeds of my fascination with fashion may have been sown at Sonora when I was little, marveling at all the creative, intricate costumes people would wear. In Lennox Valley, it isn’t only the kids who dress up for Halloween.
“You’re quiet today,” Mom finally says, breaking another awkward silence.
“Just tired,” I lie.
The truth is, Dad’s condescension about Miles had felt personal. Miles has single-handedly brought me out of stagnation, waking me up to a life I’d always wanted but had been chasing in all the wrong ways. He’s funny and real and,God, when I’m with him, I feel like I can breathe. He encourages me to do what I want, like what I want, try what I want. It’s like I’m the best version of myself when he’s around—finally spreading the wings I’ve been keeping closely tucked at my sides for most of my life.
“Are you not sleeping well, darling?” Mom asks, pulling me back to the car once again. “Or is this about that fellow you’ve been seeing?”
“What? No, I… I told you I’m just tired. I’m fine, really. And I’m sleeping… fine. I’m fine.”
I’m sleeping better than I ever have, but I don’t tell her that. I don’t want to invite any more questions about why.
Concern cuts lines in her expression as she turns into a parking spot outside Sew Bespoke, letting a long silence stretch between us. “He’s not”—she lowers her voice—“taking advantage, is he?”
“Mom! No!” I sputter. “Of course not!”
“Well,” she says, glancing my way as she unclips her seat belt and reaches for her clutch, “this arrangement between you two is rather unusual. I hope he’s being respectful.”
Respectful?
My cheeks heat as I remember last night, and my gaze cuts to somewhere—anywhere—outside the car. I can almost hear Miles’ voice.“Such a good little slut for me.”A shiver ripples through my entire body and I close my eyes, willing myself not to react. I turn back to my mother.
“Mom, don’t worry, he’s being very… He’s been great. Please don’t worry about that.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it.” She reaches for my hand and gives it a quick squeeze. “I worry about you, my love.”
“I know, Mom.” I slap on a brave face, then tilt my head toward the shop window with the minimalist needle and thread motif. “Shall we?”
I move through the costume fitting in a sort of trance, following Magda’s instructions and responding politely to my mother’s fussing with a people-pleasing automaticity.
The costume itself is, unsurprisingly, perfect. I still think it’s a bit much for this kind of event, but Mom won’t be dissuaded. And the dressisbeautiful. As I stare at my reflection in the three angled mirrors in front of me, I can only think one thing: I can’t wait for Miles to see me in it.
The whole housesmells like cookies when I get home. I peel off my scarf and coat and venture into the kitchen to find Grandpa and Sadie standing at the island, cleaning up a few mixing bowls smeared with the remnants of cookie dough.
“Well, hey there!” Grandpa says when he sees me. “How wasyour big-city adventure?”
“Fine,” I say, lifting the large, somewhat rain-spattered paper bag from the tailor. “Picked up my Halloween costume.”
“Your mother convince you to spend a fortune on it?”
“Of course.” I do a little eye roll as I set down the bag. “But you know clothes are my weakness.”
“Caroline,” Sadie says, catching my attention as she finishes loading the dishwasher. “Since you’re back, I wonder if I could slip out about ten minutes early today? I have an appointment and the traffic in this rain is just—” She makes a face.
“Oh, absolutely! Go for it!”
“Thank you.” She looks relieved. “The timer for the cookies should go off in about five.”
“Gotcha.”
“Now, George?” She turns to Grandpa, leveling her index finger his way in a friendly threat. “You be on your best behavior with those cookies, you hear me?”
He holds up his hands with a shrug, the picture of innocence.
