I’ve been stewing since yesterday, morbidly curious to know where our precarious game will take us next. It’s like watching a car wreck in slow motion, there’s nothing I can do but watch. Or cause the wreck in the first place. It’s an intoxicating, albeit unhealthy, feeling.
Knowing Sophia is waiting for some kind of reaction from me, I scoff, trying to look as disinterested as possible in her little theory.
“Huxley? Obsessed with me?” I say as if the mere thought is ridiculous. “Isn’t he dating that Selina girl?”
I wasn’tspecificallylooking to pry, but the opportunity is right there; it would be a shame not to take it.
Sophia slowly walks around a rack of sweaters but gives mea quick look before returning to the rack. It’s obvious she knows I’m full of shit. I play dumb nonetheless.
“Apparently not.”
“Oh?” I squeak out, smiling to myself.
From the corner of my eye, I watch her grin, and I realize she won’t be giving me anything but that small morsel just to spite me. And if I want to keep my cards close to my chest, I can’t do anything about it.
“So you’re coming tomorrow then?” she asks.
I scrunch my eyebrows together. “Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow,” she repeats with a bit of an attitude. “Sunday dinner? My birthday?”
“Oh! Right … Um …”
I’ve known about this dinner ever since Jamie invited me a few weeks ago, but I’ve been trying to find a way out of it since. The thought of having to dodge the minefield that is Huxley and me, in front of Jamie and Ozzy, has me breaking out in a sweat anytime I think about it.
It was one thing when Huxley was pointedly ignoring me, but now? I’d rather do anything to avoid it.
“Well,” I say much too tentatively. “I thought since we were hanging out today that I could …”
Sophia’s green eyes are hard and penetrating.
Oh god, she won’t let this go, will she?
“Why? Something better to do?”
My mouth hangs open, my half-hearted protest evaporating into thin air.
“I mean, not really, but …” I stammer out.
“Great!” she chirps, smiling sweetly when there’s nothingsweetabout her. She tucks her short blonde hair behind her ear, the very picture of innocence. “Settled then. You’re coming.”
She turns on her heels and heads toward the fitting rooms, giving me no other choice but to agree to her coerced invitation.
24
CONNIE
It’s Sunday evening at the McKennas. I arrived an hour ago and I’ve already had two—maybe three—large glasses of Burgundy. I’m hoping it chills me out and stops my gaze from constantly seeking Huxley’s presence even when I’m busy speaking withanybodyelse.
I’m so desperate for some distraction that I even let Charlie recount, beat by beat, the latest K-drama he’s been watching. At least with him, I just need to be half-listening and nod once or twice for him to be happy.
Thankfully, Huxley has spent most of his time in the kitchen helping Ozzy with dinner. Jamie and I have migrated to the dining room table, Jamie sitting across from me, catching up while we wait.
“Have you thought more about your bachelorette?” I ask her, taking a sip of my wine.
Jamie presses her lips together as if thinking, her finger circling the lip of her wine glass, nails painted chrome pink. The only ring on her fingers is her engagement ring. A silver ring with a simple row of three pearls.
I wouldn’t believe the story behind the pearls if it didn’t come directly from the source.
