Chapter 38
thirty-eight
Georgia
The ceramic platter crashes to the tile floor, drowning out even my shout of “Shit!” At the sight of a thousand splintered white fragments and my mini quiches in various states of ruin, it’s only the fact I’m barefoot that keeps me from stomping all over the mess.
Instead, I sniff, push my shoulders back, and will away the hot, frustrated tears burning the back of my eyes.
Then I set down the plates I was attempting to balance with the platter and pick my way carefully to the broom closet.
The mess cleaned up and my nerves utterly frayed, I check my phone again.
Nothing from Cash. No replies to my texts, no returned calls.
Last night when we talked, his plan was to come by an hour before the party—which would make him fifty-seven minutes late and counting.
At the sound of the doorbell, I blink away the horrible images spinning in my mind, fan my face, and dig deep for a smile.
“You must be Georgia,” a blond middle-aged woman recites as soon as I open the door. With a plastic smile, she sticks her hand out. At her side, a younger man shifts on his feet.
“That’s me.” I shake the offered hand. “Welcome, come on in.”
“I’m Harmony,” the woman informs me in the foyer, hands folded in front of her. “My mother and your grandmother were sisters. That would make us…” She swings her eyes to the man at her side. “Second cousins?”
“No, I’m her second cousin. You’re…once removed, maybe. Anyway, who the hell cares, right?” He laughs shortly as he turns to me. “I’m Carter.”
“Oh!” Harmony taps her forehead. “This is Carter, my son.” Seeming almost as frazzled as I am, she tucks a wisp of honey-blond hair behind her ear and straightens out her smile.
“It’s so nice to meet both of you,” I say, then catch myself. “Well, see you—maybe we met a long time ago?”
“Oh, yes. Very long ago.” Her eyes skirt around the room as her lips pinch.
“You’re Maggie’s daughter, right? Is she coming today?”
“Mom can’t make it. Her health’s not the best anymore.”
“Sorry to hear it.” The little thread of excitement I felt when I pinned the lily brooch to my shirt this morning dies away without warning.
“Well, thank you both for being here, I’ve been excited about it all week.
You’re the first to arrive, so can I give you a little house tour?
It’s changed since the last time you’ve seen it. ”
“Um…” Harmony meets Carter’s eyes just long enough for a look to pass between them. “Let’s save it for when the rest of the family arrives, should we?” she says brightly.
Right on cue, the doorbell rings. I direct Harmony and her son to the kitchen, put on a smile, and prepare for another round of awkward introductions.
By the time everyone has arrived, I conclude with a foreboding sense of confidence that the highlight of the party will be the beautiful day, with its bright-blue skies and the air warm enough for us to migrate to the deck and patio once the sun reaches its peak.
The lowlight will be, well, everything else.
We’re a ragtag group, and even though we’re all related, the fourteen of us mingle like unenthusiastic strangers.
Other than an infant—whose presence I was fully unprepared for—the youngest person in attendance is Carter, a decade older than me, who talks to me like he’s at a networking event looking for his next client and never makes any reference to our shared family.
Still, at least he talks.
Maybe it’s me, or maybe we’re an awkward clan, but most everyone sticks to socializing with one or two familiar faces.
The topics of conversation are safe and polite: travel plans, wedding and baby and divorce gossip, and the all-time classic, weather.
My attempts to scrape together a little family history flop every time I ask about this family member or that.
As shadows stretch across the patio bricks, I conclude that I may well have been present the last time this family got together; this is not a tight-knit group.
And with that, I add “What happened to my family?” to the list of today’s questions—alongside what the hell happened to my boyfriend.
It’s a fight with my imagination not to conjure up the gruesome possibilities that might be keeping Cash.
Seeking refuge in the upstairs bathroom, I finally find a text from him and practically sprain my wrist swiping to read it.
CASH: Shitty boyfriend checking in. I’m sorry to abandon you, but I’m with Maisy. Promise I’ll explain later.
After the initial hit of relief, I’m left too worn out to feel much else but confusion, so I don’t respond and head back to my party.
Setting a tray of cookies on the patio table, I glance at the photo albums I placed neatly at the center. No one’s touched them.
“More food?” Harmony’s eyebrows rise. “Georgia, where on earth did you come from?” She chuckles.
I smile along, waiting for her to explain, and when she doesn’t, I’m forced to awkwardly ask, “Not a big foodie?”
“Oh, I meant because the McKenna women in the kitchen, you know?” She chuckles again, locking eyes with Nanette, some distant cousin of mine, who smiles but gives me a quick, assessing glance.
Harmony must read something in that look because she smothers her laughter. “I’m sorry, there’s a running joke in our family about how the McKenna women are so thin because they’re all terrible cooks. It’s—well, never mind, it’s stupid, anyway. Come, sit down and enjoy the food.”
The silence that ensues as I pull out a chair and sit stretches far longer than it should.
Embarrassment overtakes me to realize the platters and trays of food are still full, only a handful of fruit and a few pieces of frittata having been taken.
Apparently the McKennas are as bad at eating as they are at cooking—and I’m equally as bad at party-planning.
“Would anyone like a tour of the house?” I blurt out. I’ve been waiting all afternoon for someone to ask to see the changes I’ve made, but so far, the closest we’ve come is Nancy remarking on how modern the kitchen looks. It didn’t have the vibe of a compliment.
“Why not?” Harmony says, looking cornered.
“Come on, y’all, let’s take a little tour,” she says to everyone in earshot, probably hoping for backup.
She’s been nothing but polite, but she’s a master at dodging my attempts to talk about our family, and I can’t shake the feeling she’s uncomfortable around me.
Exhaustion and disappointment, I expect when I finally close the door on the last guest late that afternoon, but the tears sneak up on me.
After flipping the lock, I sag onto the wooden stairs and hug my knees, not fighting my trembling chin.
Loneliness is a gaping hole in my gut. Hot, mascara-stained tears spill down my cheeks and dribble down my neck, dampening my blouse.
Nothing’s changed on the outside; these people are nothing to me, just like they were yesterday, though now it’s final.
I can’t find hope in the unknown anymore.
My blood pressure spikes as Cash’s ringtone sounds from my phone and his name lights up the screen.
I pause with my toothbrush in my mouth, my finger hovering over the Decline button.
Not that I haven’t spent the last several hours thinking about how he completely ghosted me on one of the most important days of my life, but seeing his name and hearing the ringtone that usually infuses me with pure joy sends a fresh wave of anger rushing through me.
Still, I won’t know why he’d do such a thing unless I answer.
I tap Accept on the screen, the phone warm from being clutched in my hand for the last hour.
“It’s been a hell of a day,” he greets me.
“What in the world happened?”
A heavy sigh rustles through the speaker.
“So last night, Maisy’s not answering her phone.
I don’t think too much of it until this morning when she still hasn’t responded.
I go to her house, she’s not there, and neither is her car.
I finally check her location, and she’s two hours away.
Here I am trying to figure out if she’s off on an adventure or she’s been abducted or some shit, and she finally gets back to me and tells me she checked herself into a PHP. ” He exhales a deep breath.
“PHP?”
“Partial hospitalization program. Serious outpatient treatment for her mental health stuff. All day, five days a week. Probably four weeks long.”
“Jesus.” I scan my memory for my last few interactions with Maisy, only now realizing it’s been two weeks since our last coffee date and probably ten days since our last text. Guilt tightens my belly at how consumed I’ve been with the party. “Is she okay?”
“At the moment, yeah.”
“Did something happen to trigger this?”
“She says no, that it was just a buildup. Says she knows what she needs to do, and this visit is prevention before she feels any worse. Says to stop worrying. But how am I supposed to do that?”
“So you’re there with her?”
“Yeah. She needed me, so I drove up as soon as she told me where she was.”
“I’m so sorry, Cash. I was imagining a hundred different scenarios, but not that one. What can I do? You need me to bring anything for either of you?”
“No, honey, we’re all good. Your voice is about all I need right now.”
“Do your parents know?”
“Not yet.” His voice is bitter and laced with tension. “They’re only going to freak out and act like this came out of nowhere, despite me telling them twice in the last few weeks they’re putting too much pressure on her. Once she’s settled and we know what’s next, we’ll call them.”
“What is next? Hopefully this doesn’t mean Maisy can’t graduate on time.”
“She’ll be fine. I guess the school has a protocol for this kind of thing. If she lets me, I’ll visit her, but I’m hoping she decides to come back to Shafer on the weekends.”
“Am I allowed to call her?”
“For sure. She’d love it. So,” he says almost as an afterthought. “How’d the party go?”
“Um…it went.”
“Uh-oh. Not great?”