Page 12 of The Social Affair (New Hope 1)

It’s been a good streak.

But my mama was wrong about a lot of things, so she was probably wrong about that too. Nothing good comes from being conservative. Moderation is for boring people. And I refuse to be that. Josh said I was destined, that we were destined for a big life, and I can’t let him down. Not now. Not since he died for our cause.

I hop online, and I buy that scarf I saw the other day on @livingwithlulu547. It was featured on her “fifty faves under fifty dollars” post, so it’s practically a steal. Once that’s done, I picture myself wearing it, and suddenly I am not thinking about dead husbands or empty apartments or bankruptcy. I’m thinking about abundance. @livingwithlulu547 knows a thing or two about that too. She’s always posting quotes, and it’s like I could be living with her. If my feelings were as superficial as her makeup hacks, that is.

I need more than good lighting and finding the perfect angle.

I need something deep.

That’s why I’m thinking about that beautiful couple, about how much he must love her. I’m thinking about Americanos and summer dresses and what kind of perfume she was wearing. I’m thinking that if I’m extra nice, maybe Stacey will offer to buy me that kind too. Then I can save room on my credit card for the other things I’ll need to win them over. Anyway, I met @livingwithlulu547 and she wasn’t all that. Not in real life. Get this, her name isn’t even Lulu. It’s Sharon.

Don’t get me wrong, I like her style. But it could never be more than that. This is how I know that if I can just see that couple again, it'll help. I’ll feel better about the last one, who didn’t work out. I’ll feel grounded. Maybe I’ll even be able to force down a little food.

Although, it’s not food that I need. I followed a man on Instalook who has gone two years without eating a single thing. He travels the world and survives on coconut water. I didn’t even know they had coconuts in all the places he visits. I wrote him about it, and he says he has them shipped in. This gave me hope. There really are people out there willing to go the extra mile. People like Josh. That’s what I need, more than food. I need hope.

I plop down on the couch and open my laptop, click on the browser and type in his name. Grant Dunn. I haven’t seen anything concrete in regard to the places they frequent, which is why I haven’t quite figured out our next meet-up.

But I tell myself not to give up.

I will see them in person again. Once can’t have been it for us. I breathe easier as their photos load on the screen. I have loved getting to know them, learning their likes and their dislikes. I may not yet know where she hangs out in real life, but I know everything else. I know what Josie Dunn reads, I know her favorite flower—antique roses. I know she hates cats, and that laundry is her nemesis, and that she’s allergic to shellfish. One can never be too careful. I know I won’t have a ‘chance encounter’ with her in a seafood restaurant. Still, it makes me so happy to see their faces. I keep looking. I keep checking Instalook for a sign. Tell me where to go. It only takes one post about the future, one shred of something concrete. I know if I’m diligent—if I’m careful enough— I’ll find what I’m looking for. Even though I knew the moment they walked into my shop, I already had.

Chapter Seven

Josie

I listen as Grant checks in on James. I can’t hear most of their exchange, but I overhear the last of it. We’re set to leave in an hour. I check the time, and then I go into the walk in closet and try to gauge what my husband might like me to wear. Eventually, he comes back into the room—I can tell by the way the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. They’ve done that since the first time I laid eyes on him. Of course, now it means something very different than it did back then.

“Well,” he says, his voice deep and smooth. In control. “Let’s see what you chose.”

I hold up the little black dress. These days I like safe bets.

“Hmmm,” he says, eyeing me up and down.

“What?” I ask, because I know it’s what he wants. Sometimes my husband wants to spell it out, and sometimes he likes to play.

He rubs his jaw and then pauses mid-rub. “I don’t think we’re on the same wavelength tonight, you and I…”

I lean back against the wall and study my husband. I feel that familiar pang in the pit of my stomach. Longing. Longing for what, I’m not sure. It’s complicated. Like my wardrobe selection. He wants to play. Fine. I place my hands on my hips and offer a sly smile. “What would you have me wear?”

“One of the upsides of being married to one of the top plastic surgeons in the country is having a large wardrobe, Mrs. Dunn. And this—” he says holding up the dress “is what you choose? ”

I take it from his hands. “Yes, because the downside is—you are constantly on display.”

I feel the back of his hand reverberate off my left cheek. I feel the sting, the weight of his hand as the blood pools to the surface. But I didn’t see it coming. Mostly, I don’t. Instinctively, my hand goes to my face. I feel the burn, and I cower.

When I’m able to look up, I see my husband wringing his hand. He thinks it hurts.

“I told you not to test me, Josie. You know how I feel about disrespect.” He swings his hands wildly, motioning around the large walk-in closet. It’s big, big enough to be a spare bedroom. Sometimes it is. “I give you all of this and for what? To have my life—our life—mocked?”

“I’m not mocking you,” I cry. I don’t mean to. Rarely can I help it.

“You’re telling me you didn’t know going in that there would be…certain expectations?”

“No, I knew.”

“So then what? It’s not okay to want my wife to look good when I take her out?”

“No,” I say staring at the floor. “I didn’t mean—.”

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