Page 57 of The Social Affair (New Hope 1)

He shakes his head, reaches for my hand, and rubs my fingers. “I’m just so glad we’re finally on the same page.”

I brace myself. I can tell there’s something more. I get the feeling he’s going to bring up the agreement. “Speaking of which—” he starts. I hold my breath. “I need to ask you a favor.”

I tilt my head. A waiter refills our water glass and then lifts the champagne bottle from the ice. I haven’t eaten much, so I’m grateful for the buzz. Grant shoos him off before he has a chanc

e to refill my glass.

His eyes meet mine. “I need you to talk with Mel.”

“Mel?”

He glances away before leaning in. “She isn’t holding up her end of the bargain.”

I’m confused. “What bargain?”

“Tom says she isn’t…um…you know…as willing…”

I understand then what he’s asking of me.

“She’s pregnant.”

“Yes, I’m aware.” He purses his lips. “Tom thinks she trapped him.”

I scoff. “Well, Tom shouldn’t have slept with her if Tom didn’t want to be trapped.”

I reach for the champagne. He holds his palm up facing me. “That’s not the point. As her mentor, it’s your job to see that she’s adhering to the agreement.” He replaces the bottle to its rightful place. My glass remains empty. “I need you to help her understand.”

“I don’t see—”

“Josie,” he interrupts. “Tom is adamant that she—” he pauses and lowers his voice. “Otherwise his tithe will be lower. We can’t afford for that to happen. ”

“She’s pregnant,” I remind him again. “No one feels like being at someone’s beck and call when they’re pregnant.”

“It’s her duty,” he says firmly. “How do you think she got that way?”

A photo of me pregnant, very pregnant in fact, flashes on the screen. We all gather around a projector in our backyard. Grant has put together a slideshow. This isn't like him. He isn’t crafty, and under normal circumstances he isn’t sentimental.

Another photo replaces it. I remember Grant taking this one. It was the night before James was born. We’d placed bets on when I’d go into labor and with each passing day, it seemed as though I might stay pregnant forever. I hear laughter. I look over at our daughter. She’s mortified to see proof that her parents do indeed have sex. “You were huge,” she says. “And so young.”

I was happy. Another photo of Grant in the delivery room pops up. He’s giving the thumbs up. He looked happy. Naive. Different. I guess we both were. I want to feel nostalgic, instead I feel something else. It’s stirring. Building.

“Look,” Avery says pointing to the screen. “Look how cute he was then.” I do look. It’s a photo of James taking his first bite of real food. He doesn’t know what to make of it. His face is twisted. I’m laughing. That was before I believed anything bad could happen. Before I understood life could turn on a dime. It was before all the rules, before New Hope. Before.

I think of Mel. I’m dreading Tuesday. I look over at her. She’s about to get her first taste of the far reaches of the church, and I hate to be the one to deliver it.

Someone laughs across the room. When I glance back at the screen, James is blowing out birthday candles on his first birthday cake and then every year after that. As pictures, one after the other, flash on the screen, I forget about Mel and New Hope. My eyes well up, and tears spill over. Grant beams. This is the reaction he wanted. There are vacations and school photos. There are photos of us napping and reading, and I can see my husband back behind the lens, back before capturing the perfect photo became so important. Before filters and coming up with the perfect captions. Back when he took them because he wanted to. When it was okay to be ordinary. Before we had anything to prove.

“Here,” Grant says, handing Beth my phone. “Take a photo of us. Would you?”

She arranges Avery next to Grant, James next to me. “Scooch in.”

“Now, switch,” she tells them, biting her lip, lining up the phone.

“Haven’t we taken enough photos?” James sighs.

I laugh impatiently.

Beth rolls her eyes. “Didn’t your parents just buy you a car?” She shakes her head. “Smile.”

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