“A pain in the ass?”
I grin. “A girl who once spent a week in silence to prove a point.”
“And your sister still never let you use her iPod,” he reminisces, laughing.
“You’re not winning this. Better accept it.” Before he can reply, I dodge under his arm, jump over the sofa, and make it to the door.
“What is this, parkour?”
“Call it what you want.” I open the door. “I like Operation Get Eli To Be Selfish.”
“Aren’t people not supposed to be selfish?”
I lean my head against the frame. “I think it would do you some good to be.”
Chapter 14
We’re making good progress on the house.
Over the past two days, Keira and I have gone through most rooms in the house, which means I was able to schedule a meeting with a realtor Eli knew so we could finally put the house up. She came over to take pictures this morning. I’d planned on staying with her for it, but when she placed her tripod in the living room and said, “Oh, they’re going to go crazy for this view,” a lump formed in my throat, and I decided it was probably best if I left. This was happening. The last piece of Ruth we had would soon be gone. And with it, the last opportunity of finding a way to keep Keira, Eli, and their kids in my life.
I got in my car, then took the opportunity to bring some stuff over to Mom’s; she’s sentimental over stuff, too, and there were things like baby costumes or hand-knit clothes I knew she’d want to keep from Ruth’s.
When I get to my childhood house, the driveway is full of cars I don’t recognize. I grab the two boxes from my trunk, then knock on the front door, but no one answers. A loud jumble of voices comes from inside. I lean the boxes against the doorframe to get the door open, then walk into what looks like a golden age slumberparty. Kitchen chairs are pulled up in the living room to complete a circle with the couch and recliner, and glasses of wine cover the coffee tables and even the floor.
“Oh, Cassie, hi!” Mom says. She tries to stand, so I put the boxes down and rush to put a hand on her shoulder.
“It’s fine, sit. I was just bringing you some stuff. I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were hosting a party.”
“Not a party. I told you about crochet club!”
I didn’t have the time to take a good look around, but once I do, multiple familiar faces smile back at me.
“Well, look at you,” Eileen Horton says. She was one of Ruth’s best friends, and I can’t remember how many times I caught them drunk in Ruth’s house when I turned up there unannounced.
“It’s good to see you again,” I say, struggling to keep my voice steady.
It feels like she knows exactly where my mind has wandered because her expression switches to mirror mine. “You, too.”
“Join us!” someone shouts behind me. Susan, another of Ruth’s girlfriends says, tilting a glass to her lips. The wine has made her eyes glassy and her pitch higher. Her firetruck-red hair is so bright, she probably had it dyed this morning.
“Oh, no, I can’t. I was just dropping some stuff over.”
“You have to! I want to hear all about what you’ve been up to,” Eileen says, already squeezing herself away from Gertrude, the librarian who always let me borrow more books than I technically could. She was stiff with everyone, but because she was friends withRuth, she gave me that privilege that always made me feel special. Her austere air hasn’t gone anywhere.
“I don’t know how to crochet.” Mom tried to teach me plenty of times when I was young, but I was never interested. I didn’t go on to study science for no reason. I don’t have an artistic bone in my body. I’m pretty sure Zoe’s accidentally X-rated drawings are better than mine.
“Who cares!” Eileen says with a vigorous lift of her glass. “No one really does. Come here.” She taps the now-liberated seat between her and Gertrude.
Only then do I realize they all have crochet hooks and balls of yarn around themselves, but no one actually has one in their hands. Eileen looks halfway drunk, Gertrude has taken off her cardigan—which all things considered is wild coming from her—and Susan is topping up everyone’s wine. Her glasses are nowhere to be seen, even though I know from experience she can’t see anything without them. Mom is just sitting in the recliner my father used to monopolize, a relaxed air to her.
“What kind of crochet clubisthis?” I ask on a chuckle.
Eileen grins. “The best kind.”
“Now sit down,” Susan says, and the small tap-tap she gives my butt makes me jump. “And join us.”
I look around at these women who were mostly Ruth’s friends, then at my mother who never had many people around her growing up. Actually, I don’t remember her ever talking about a friend. She had no job and barely got out of the house. Her life was our father and us. She’s smiling at me now, almost tentative.
