But I shake my head. “I can’t,” I mouth back.
He pouts. Which he should not, as he knows I’m a terrible dancer. If I attempt it, I will topple over and kill Jon’s and Kevin’s elderly relatives. Manslaughter by foxtrot.
Still, I’m happy that he asked.
Happier still when he saunters across the room anyway.
“Molly Malone,” he says in greeting. “Get up. You have to dance with me.”
I stay put. “Please. You know I’m not going to do the goddamn Charleston, or whatever.”
He looks out at the sea of linen- and gold-clad guests who all seem to know how to do complicated steps to old-timey music. “Come on. Look how much fun they’re having. I’ll teach you.”
“No. I’m too uncoordinated. I can’t even do the electric slide. I can’t even doworkoutvideos.”
He laughs and raises his hands in defeat. “I suppose I do recall you falling over when we had to waltz at Porter Carlisle’s debutante ball.”
“Yep. Right into her grandma.”
“Hmm. Is there anyone we hate here? We could weaponize you.”
“Perfect crime.”
“Fine. But come outside with me. We can watch the sunset.”
We stop at the Prohibition-themed bar and Seth orders us French 75s. I take a sip of mine as we walk outside, and it’s tart with lemon and sharp from brut champagne, and it cuts through the humidity nicely.
“Classy joint,” I say, gesturing at the mosaic floors of the terrace and the elaborate balustrades setting off the bay, which is pink, reflecting the sherbet sunset.
“You know this place was built by a circus impresario, right?” he says.
“Circus impresario. Is that still a job?”
“Looking for a career transition?”
I gesture at the lavish mansion behind us. “Seems like it pays pretty well.”
“Not worth the risk of getting eaten by a tiger.”
“Do you remember when that tiger tried to eat Roy from Siegfried and Roy?”
“Of course. You were perversely obsessed with it.”
“Because it was like an Edgar Allan Poe story.”
“Maybe you should talk to your therapist about your lingering Siegfried and Roy schadenfreude.”
“Oh, come on. The tiger was named Mantacore. Imagine owning atiger,naming itMantacore,trapping it foryears,and then expecting itnotto eat you.”
He laughs. “I’ve missed your cultural observations.”
“Yeah,” I say softly. “It’s been a while.”
I don’t add: you could have had all the dated early-aughts references a man could ever want. Because I was right here.
Waiting for you.
Something flashes in his eyes. “I know. I wanted to reach out to you but I…” He shakes his head, like he’s at a loss for words. “I’m sorry.”
