Chapter Eight #2
In the end, I split the difference and decide on a floral slip dress with a huge slit right up the thigh.
My hair is down, my makeup simple, and my lips bright red.
I have an enormous pair of dark-rimmed sunglasses on hand so that, if need be, I can avoid making eye contact with anyone all afternoon.
I scan the terrain looking for allies as I slip through the kitchen’s sliding glass door.
My mother is by the gate, ready to greet people as they arrive, and Dad is already fiddling around with the barbecue.
Ever the life of the party, Uncle Bill is in the middle of a crowd of people, his vibrant blue Hawaiian shirt and shock of white hair visible through the gap.
I make a beeline toward my aunt Irene and a few of Mom’s friends at the other end of the garden, who warmly invite me into their circle.
“There she is, our enfant terrible,” Irene says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. The other ladies cackle.
“And what do you have in store for us today, my dear?” our neighbor Shirley asks with mischief.
“Nothing,” I tell them all solemnly. “They decided to take the entertainment in a different direction this time.”
Irene lets out a guffaw, then smacks a loud kiss on my cheek. “How long are you here for, sweetheart?”
“Five days. I’m working from home.”
“These kids and their computers!” Shirley says. “My Josh is just the same. Does his banking job from his bedroom.”
This sends the conversation off in a fantastical new direction about whether social media will bring about the end of the world, and if so, how soon.
“I’ll tell you this,” Irene says, “the amount of time Jean spends on her iPad is not normal. What could she be doing?”
“Some candy thing,” Shirley answers, her disdain writ large. “According to her posts, she’s up to level six thousand.”
“Six thousand,” Irene says. “That shows you. That just goes to show you.”
What it just goes to show you, she never reveals. Judging from a few barbed little comments, though, it seems to have something to do with Jean missing choir practice.
“Face the music, kiddo,” Irene says to me when the women move on to discussing Shirley’s tomato plants. “You can’t hide out with me forever. It’s time to speak to someone your own age.”
The backyard is now full of people my own age, or more accurately, Shannon’s age, who are mostly congregated in a cluster around the beer coolers.
Strange to think that most of the people I know in New York aren’t anywhere near being settled down yet.
Here, it’s a completely different story.
Everyone holds either a bottle of beer, or a small child.
“Oh my god, Annie! How are you?” One of the bridesmaids rushes forward when she spots me and gives me a limp hug, both of us pretending we’re more excited to see each other than we are.
The rest of the reunions take a similar format, until I’ve hugged or nodded at everyone and dutifully given a mock handshake to a half-dozen chubby baby hands.
Dan is mercifully circulating elsewhere, so that’s at least one awkward moment I can put off a little longer, for the rest of the night, even, if I can get away with it.
All I need to do is show my respect for the occasion, say hi to enough of Mom’s friends that she doesn’t accuse me of sneaking away early, then sneak away early.
For all I dreaded this party, it’s not that bad. Most of the things people have to say about me will be said behind my back, rather than to my face, and if anything, my presence is creating a little intrigue, so at least there’s that.
—
I’m at the coolers, trying in vain to open my beer without a bottle opener when a nasal voice says from behind me, “Allow me.”
My entire body tenses in irritation on reflex, and I turn slowly, desperate to delay this moment by even just a few more seconds. Alas, my luck has run out. There he is.
“Daniel,” I say, tilting the bottle toward him.
Dan is exactly what you’d expect someone from the suburbs called Dan to look like.
The man is a walking Gap ad. I am one hundred percent convinced he could get away with murder—his composite sketch would be so nondescript it could easily match the faces of dozens of other men within a five-mile radius.
“Long time no see.” There’s an understatement. We haven’t seen each other since the last engagement party. He flicks the cap off with his keys and hands the bottle back to me. “How’s life in the big city treating you these days?”
“Just peachy.” I’m trying to smile but the muscles around my cheeks feel all wrong.
“I saw something online about huge layoffs at your company this week. You didn’t lose your job, did you?”
Jackass.
“Not at all,” I tell him sweetly, safe in the knowledge that it’s not a lie. “I’ve actually just moved into a new role.”
“Glad to hear it.” He nods. “You never know with these tech unicorns.”
“Your concern is touching.”
“And so good of you to make it on such short notice,” he adds. “We weren’t sure you’d be able to get the time off, with your fancy New York City Job and all.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” I tell him, the corners of my smile sharpening into points.
That my entire family thinks I’m the Canadian Bill Gates is mostly my doing.
I was so desperate to avoid spending time with my brainwashed sister and her insufferable fiancé that I’d use work as an excuse not to make it home for more than a couple of days at a time.
Claiming to be too busy working annoyed my parents, but it infuriated Dan, who couldn’t tolerate someone competing with him for the Most Important Job in the Family award.
“I know Shannon thought it would be easier not to tell you about the party,” he continues, like I hadn’t spoken. “But I was always with your mom on that one. You’re family. Who cares if people talk.”
My stomach twists. So there’s the explanation I’ve been waiting for—it wasn’t a last-minute party. I was a last-minute invite.
“Speaking of talking,” I say, pretending I already knew this, “will you be going up there to say a few words? I know what a fan you are of the sound of your own voice.”
The nice-guy act evaporates in an instant.
“You know what,” he says, but I never get to hear it. As if by magic, Mom materializes at my elbow, her silver bangles clinking like a tambourine when she moves. “There you are,” she says to Dan.
“Here I am,” he echoes, leaning forward to drop a kiss onto her cheek.
“Daniel, sweetheart, Irene was just saying she could use a hand carrying the trays in from the car. Would you be a dear?”
“Of course.”
He gives me a small salute and saunters away.
“Now you go and say hello to your cousin,” Mom urges. “I bet you haven’t even asked about his fundraiser.”
Not that I need any urging to spend less time with Dan, but it’s humbling to realize how little faith she has in my promise not to make a scene.
—
I catch a streak of blue out of the corner of my eye and turn to see my uncle Bill prancing toward me like some sort of enormous leprechaun. Though my own family are blind to Dan’s many flaws, my aunt and uncle, and by extension my cousins, all share my disdain.
“What do you think, can we drive him off a second time?” Bill says, nudging me in the ribs.
“Sorry, Bill, I’m retired. No hijinks on my watch.”
He pulls a green note from his wallet and dangles it before me. “I’ll give you twenty bucks to get up there and say a few words.”
“Uncle Bill,” I say with an outraged gasp, clutching my hands to my heart. “Need I remind you that you are my confirmation sponsor? You’re supposed to keep me on the righteous path.”
“And I am,” he says with a chuckle. “This is the Lord’s work.”
That Uncle Bill was my confirmation sponsor is a long-running joke in our family, since as far as I’m aware he hasn’t stepped inside a church either before or since.
He’s the resident party guy in our family, always up for trouble.
He’d drop Aunt Irene off on Sunday but always skip the mass, preferring instead to prep the barbecue we’d all get together for after.
“Hey, Bill,” I ask, attempting to sound as casual as possible. “When did Mom tell you about this party?”
“She’s only been badgering me about it for a couple of months now,” he says. “She made me move my fishing trip.”
“Same,” I deadpan. “I’m super sad to be missing it.”
Bill hoots at this, reminding me that I can’t catch a fish to save my life. The man is not wrong; he took my cousin Steve and me out on the boat with him once when we were teenagers, and I was so upset to lose the one fish I caught on the line I jumped in the lake and tried to swim after it.
“There he is, the man of the hour,” Bill booms when he sees Dan crossing the lawn toward his friends. “Come over here, Daniel.”
Dan is visibly reluctant. Bill and I must be his two least favorite people here.
“Bill,” Dan says, shaking my uncle’s hand. “How’s retirement treating you?”
“Just fine,” he says, patting his belly. “What’s new on the council?”
Bill shoots me a naughty wink, and I cringe inwardly, praying he won’t go there. Dan being elected for town council was what started this whole mess in the first place. In addition to making him insufferable, his elevated status of elected official means he’s always at the center of local news.
“You’ll be pleased to hear they just agreed on the date for next year’s Rib Fest,” Dan says. “Last weekend in July.”
“Good, good,” Bill says. “And what about this new subdivision over on the south end of town? That’s not going ahead, is it?”
“I don’t see why not,” Dan says, taking on that air of superiority I hate so much. “We need the houses.”
“We also need the soccer fields,” Bill replies. “Build over all of them and you’ll have no place to host Rib Fest.”
Dan looks like he’s gearing up for a lecture, his chest rising on a huge inhale. Luckily for us, Mom appears again. I swear this woman has put a tracker chip on me.