Chapter 10
Mrs. Crawley is officially a bitch, Augie texted Leah from the bathroom. She sat on the closed toilet seat, knees bouncing. Even the bathroom was a work of
art, with its dark floral wallpaper and glossy ceiling. Who spends this much effort on a bathroom? she thought, resentful. Augie stared at her phone, wishing Leah would respond. She felt a little bad; Leah had warned her
the night might not be as easy as she hoped—she said Mallory Harrison didn’t even want to go—but Augie had been out to prove
she could face Chat and Mrs. Crawley head-on.
Of course, Leah had been right. This was worse than she had expected. While Augie had known Mrs. Crawley wouldn’t be thrilled
to see her, she hadn’t anticipated this degree of hostility. Every time Mrs. Crawley looked at her, it was as if she were
throwing silent daggers.
Augie had felt so awkward, she’d tried to make peace by crafting that extra table setting—hoping that if she extended one small kindness to Mrs. Crawley, she might meet her halfway, move past whatever was brewing between them.
Together, they could have made fun of Joshua Mike, praised Zami’s cooking.
Any small camaraderie could have set them on a different path.
But no. As Leah would say, Mrs. Crawley chose violence. Now, Augie didn’t know what to think.
Augie got up, flushed for good measure, and washed her hands. She checked her phone one last time, unsurprised Leah hadn’t
responded. She was back at the lake with The Babe, probably boat hopping, hair slicked down her spine, shivering in her American
flag bikini. Maybe it was for the best she didn’t see Augie’s text. Leah deserved to have fun. Augie felt so needy lately.
She sent one more message: but all good, have fun!!!, feeling more alone.
At least she looked nice, Augie thought as she studied herself in the mirror. Her tan was still going strong, and her black
dress fit perfectly: it had an appropriate V-neck and thick straps that held her chest and torso tight before flowing to her
knees. You got this, she said to her reflection. Be the bigger person. Be glad you aren’t her.
As she stepped back into the kitchen, she froze as she saw Chat, who was seated with the boys and Gigi at the butcher-block
table next to the center island, illuminated under a modern orange light fixture. He tucked a bib into Max’s shirt while Zami
cut sausages on their plates. As soon as Chat spotted her, he also paused, his shoulders lowering, as if now that she was
here, he could relax.
“Augie”—Zami held up the frying pan with a hot pad—“have you met Chat? He is the best. Even if I have to double my grocery
trips now.” He put down the pan and nudged Chat’s shoulder. “He eats like a horse! He likes ajvar almost as much as you.”
Augie felt aware of her whole body as she moved closer to the table, briefly allowing herself to look at him directly. He
was wearing the same blue Fourth of July T-shirt from earlier, but now he had on nicer shorts and his hair was combed in a
way she hadn’t seen before. Every time she was near him, she instinctively remembered how natural it had felt being pressed
against him, kissing him.
“Okay, ladies,” Zami said as Teuta stepped in the kitchen, pinching the boys’ cheeks and high-fiving Chat. “Let’s bring the salads and breads out now, then each main—and watch the heat there.” He pointed to a sizzling tray of ribs. “And after that we can have our own feast, yes?”
Zami moved to open the oven, revealing where he’d saved portions of each dish, ribs and sausages and fresh byrek, for family
meal.
“We’ll join you soon.” Zami pointed his spoon from Chat to the boys to Gigi, who giggled with her mouth full. Cooper danced
in his seat, flinging a spoonful of tabbouleh on the floor. Max screeched as he craned in his high chair to look down at the
mess. He grabbed a fistful and dropped it on the floor, too.
“Ayeeee.” Chat fake-gasped. “All hands on deck!” he commanded as each boy placed their palms down by their plates, grinning
at him like obedient puppies.
Chat looked up to Augie, smiling like it was only the two of them—and for a second, everything else did seem to fade away.
“We’ll save you a seat.”