Chapter 11
SLEEPOVER
That Friday, I left the bar early so I could spend time with Emma and Candor before the weekly field party.
I felt a pang about missing Frisky Friday—and I really wanted a redo from the previous weekend—but I knew it was more important to prioritize my friends, especially in light of my reckoning with Aubrey.
We grabbed a late dinner at the barbecue joint on Main Street.
I was the first to arrive, tucking the Cadillac into a parking spot out front, shaking my hair loose from the messy bun I’d worn while bartending.
My feet were aching from a long shift, but the coral sunset sky took my mind off the discomfort.
Emma, Candor, and Aubrey arrived together. I didn’t even protest Aubrey’s presence this time; I had expected it and, to my surprise, I was getting used to it. Emma slid into the booth first, facing me. I fully expected Aubrey to take the spot next to her, but she pivoted to my side of the table.
“Scoot over, Scrooge,” she said bossily, already sliding in next to me.
“I didn’t hear a ‘please,’” I said, just to be a pest.
“Please,” she said with a pointed look. Her eyes popped against her blue linen shirt. The V-neck cut showed off the freckles on her chest. I pretended not to notice.
We ordered pulled pork plates with baked beans, fried okra, and sweet potato soufflé.
Emma downed three sweet teas while Aubrey and Candor got into a heated debate about whether tomato- or mustard-based barbecue sauce was better.
I splurged on pecan pie for dessert and couldn’t decide what was more delicious: the pie or the look on Aubrey’s face when I told her she could have a bite only if she said the word fuck in public.
She hemmed and hawed before muttering “I’m not fucking doing that,” and we all laughed as I slid the entire dessert plate her way.
We swung by Dad’s house so I could drop the Caddy off, and then we piled into the Audi and drove out to the farm with the top down.
It was another clear, cloudless night and the sky stretched ahead of us in every direction.
We parked at the bonfire, drank our way through a box of cold beers (and in Aubrey’s case, seltzer water), and squeezed Candor’s arm when one of the County High boys came over to chat her up.
When Asa tried to catch Aubrey’s eye, I turned my body to block him from view.
Aubrey noticed and gave me a deep, searching frown like she was recalculating everything she understood to be true.
Later, when we were drunk, we made a group trip to the bathroom and locked ourselves inside, shrieking and giggling at the sight of an inflatable lawn decoration that one of the Waldron boys had posed inside the bathtub.
It was the Rustin mascot, a tiger wearing a straw hat, and Candor grabbed him and pointed him toward us until Emma screamed and threatened to pop him with her teeth.
I laughed so hard that my chest muscles hurt and I wondered how I could even explain this moment when I was telling Hannah about it later.
It was nearly one o’clock in the morning by the time we left, plopping into the Audi with bloated bellies and spinning heads. Aubrey nursed a fresh seltzer as she drove us down county roads, the wind in our hair and the moon glowing white high above us.
“Scrooge,” Aubrey said at the first stoplight. Her voice swam toward me through my tipsy haze, clear and controlled and admittedly pretty. “Do you want me to drop you off, or do you wanna just hop on the sleepover train?”
I wasn’t sure if I’d heard her right. I knew Emma and Candor were spending the night at her house, but I had assumed I wouldn’t be invited. “You mean … with you guys? At your house?”
“No, with the inflatable tiger in the bathtub,” she said flatly, and Candor squealed with laughter.
“You’re such a dick, Cotillion,” I said with a smile in my voice. “Sure, I’d love to.”
For the second time this summer, I found myself in Golden Hills, Uncle George’s old neighborhood.
The gate attendant waved us through before Aubrey had even stopped, and we drove quietly past the looming wealthy houses with their gas lamps and waterfall features wasting money in the middle of the night.
The Calhouns’ house looked stately and imperious in the dark. It wasn’t the kind of home I felt peaceful coming back to, and I remembered what Aubrey had said outside Uncle George’s house just last week. Mansions have a lot of empty space.
“All right, listen,” Aubrey said as she parked the Audi. Her voice was jagged, caught somewhere between a whisper and normal volume. “My dad’s probably still up and y’all are too tipsy to pull one over on him. We’re gonna have to use the trellis.”
“Yes!” Emma said, fist-pumping. “I love when we get to climb the trellis.”
“It’s gonna be harder when you’re tipsy, Em,” Aubrey said seriously. She turned to Candor. “Are you sober enough to help her?”
“Am I my Emma’s keeper?” Candor asked solemnly. “The answer is yes, yes, I am.”
“That’s my Candie,” Emma said, patting her knee.
Aubrey turned her eyes to me. “And what about you, Scrooge?”
“I’m fine. I can do it,” I said truthfully.
“Okay. I’ll get out first and disable the cameras, then I’ll wave before I close the front door. That will be y’all’s cue to sneak over to the trellis.”
“I love being your dirty little secret,” Emma said. “It’s so titillating.”
“Em, seriously. Be cool.”
“I’m cool, Aub. I’m good.”
“Just know that if y’all screw this up and get me caught”—her eyes blazed with sudden fire as she looked from Emma to Candor to me—“I will thoroughly dismember each one of you until the pieces are small enough to send in the mail.”
“Jesus, Cotillion,” I said with a shudder.
“That is an oddly specific threat,” Emma said thoughtfully. “Do you watch a lot of Dateline?”
Aubrey slipped out of the car without answering.
We waited for her signal, and then I followed Emma and Candor to the front-left corner of the house, where the garden trellis leaned against the wall.
Candor and I popped Emma up first, then followed suit.
We scampered clumsily across the roof of the garage and over to a brightly lit window, which Aubrey opened mere seconds after we reached it.
“Phew,” Emma said, stumbling inside. “I thought I was gonna die, y’all.”
“How’d it go with Coach?” Candor asked.
“Fine,” Aubrey said in a clipped tone. She busied herself with taking her jewelry off at the vanity. “He’s down there pounding bourbon and watching Duck Dynasty. He’ll pass out in the study soon enough. Magnolia wanted to come with me, but he made her stay with him.”
“Nooooo,” Emma whined. “We have to save Magnolia!”
“We have to stay quiet,” Aubrey said pointedly.
“Yeah, yeah.” Emma yawned and flopped backward onto the canopy bed. “Whose turn is it for the air mattress?”
“Y’all can have the bed. I’m not tired yet.” Aubrey caught my eye in the vanity mirror. “You can share with them, Louisa, if you don’t mind squeezing. I actually kind of enjoy the air mattress.”
“Oh,” I said, surprised by the offer. “Thank you.”
“Thanks, Aub,” Candor said, hugging her from behind. She spun to give me a hug, too, nestling her head into my shoulder. “Lou, can we come to the Cricket soon? It’s been months since you took it over.”
I laughed into her hair as a warm glow spread over me. “It’s been, like, two weeks. But yeah, I’d love for you to come.”
“Marvelous,” she mumbled sleepily. And without further ado, she tugged off her shorts and sandals and burrowed into the bed with Emma.
“What are you gonna do?” I asked Aubrey, watching her yank her fancy European sneakers off and line them up by her closet. I was curious about what she did to wind down at the end of the night.
“Probably sit on the garage,” she said routinely.
I blinked. “Wait. Really?”
She must have realized how strange it sounded, because she laughed self-consciously and glanced away. Her voice fell to a whisper. “Yeah, no, it’s kind of my favorite thing about this house.” She chewed her lip before looking me in the eye. “Did you want to join me?”
And without waiting for my answer, she grabbed a box of High Noons from a hiding spot in her closet and disappeared through the window.
We sat side by side on the roof of the garage, gazing out over the treetops, our bare feet splayed in front of us.
Aubrey’s pedicure was rose-pink and perfectly maintained, whereas mine was UConn blue and chipping from neglect.
The difference was all too fitting. Aubrey pulled two High Noons from the box, handed one to me, and cracked hers open with the air of someone settling in after a long day.
“I thought you didn’t drink,” I said.
“I don’t drink in public,” she corrected, as if nothing more needed to be said.
“Why not?”
She looked at me like I was being deliberately obtuse. “Don’t you ever worry about losing control? Revealing parts of yourself you don’t want other people to see?”
I studied her intently, not caring that I was being obvious about it. “You keep a lot of things hidden, don’t you?”
“Doesn’t everyone? Don’t you?”
I thought about it. “Not anymore.”
Aubrey took a long swig of her drink. “Tell me about the bar,” she demanded in a tone that meant she was tired of my probing questions.
“The bar,” I repeated, smirking. “I thought you were against the bar.”
“I’m not against the bar, I just thought your plan was half-baked and impulsive.”
“Right, right, thanks so much. To answer your question, the bar is amazing. Better than I even thought it would be.”
Aubrey looked expectantly at me, waiting for me to say more.