Chapter 1 #2
I glance at Alex, wondering if he’s realized the same thing I have—that we’re the only two people in this room who aren’t white—but if he feels anything amiss, he doesn’t show it.
Our shared Mexican heritage might have once united us, a point of bonding, but as things stand now, I hate that I feel a begrudging kinship with him.
“Dinner’s almost ready,” Cat says, then beelines straight toward me with a megawatt smile, engulfs me in her arms, and exclaims, “Joey, you finally made it. It’s so great to see you.”
“Thanks for inviting me,” I say, and shove the bottle of pinot into her hands. She doesn’t even glance at it as she takes it from me.
I really shouldn’t have splurged.
Cat herds everyone to the dining room, and I watch Ellie place a hand on the small of her back and rub in slow circles as he guides her away.
“Still pining, I see,” comes Alex’s mocking voice.
Now that we’re alone, no one to listen in, I demand, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Excuse me?” Alex asks, his body language taken aback but his face delighted.
“You heard me.”
“I did—but I’m afraid you’ve stolen my line. This is the first of Ellie’s parties I’ve seen you at. So the real question is, what are you doing here?”
“You hate Ellie,” I say instead of answering the question.
Again, Alex is the picture of dissonance, his mouth frowning while his eyes sparkle.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Ellie is one of my closest friends. Didn’t you hear—I attend all his dinner parties.”
I blink at him once. Twice. Thrice.
“You’re deranged.” I turn on my heel, resolving to ignore him the rest of the night.
Unfortunately, that resolution proves impossible to keep. The conversation throughout dinner is dull, mostly because everyone seems content to hang on Alex’s every word.
It becomes really annoying, really fast.
I want to get home to Ruthie, who will meow at the top of her lungs, demanding dinner the moment I walk through the door. Ruthie is a fickle creature, constantly vacillating between hesitant affection and complete disregard for me, but she’s my best friend in the whole world.
I check the time: 8:23 p.m. Maybe I’ll stay until nine.
Nine p.m., then home to Ruthie.
I glance up from my phone, and my attention is caught by the woman next to Cat, offering to pour her some wine. Cat covers her empty wineglass and shakes her head.
Ellie reaches out and grabs Cat’s hand. Fingers interlocked, they share a loaded look, small smiles tugging at their mouths.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
I run my index finger along the scar on the inside of my right thumb, up and down, in an attempt to ground myself.
“Everyone’s been talking about this mass exodus to Texas for years. I’m just waiting for it to shave time off my commute,” Alex concludes to a chorus of overenthusiastic laughter.
“Speaking of exoduses—exodi?” Ellie says. “I miss Patrick and Madison, but seeing their yard, I can’t begrudge them leaving. I don’t think they make yards that big in LA.”
“How are they liking Dallas?” It takes me a moment to realize Cat’s question is directed at me. I’m too zeroed in on her empty wineglass.
“Sorry, what?”
Why put out a wineglass if you know you won’t use it?
“Has Madison mentioned if they like Dallas?” Cat clarifies.
“Oh. Yeah, I think they like it. I know she’s pregnant—”
“Again?” she screeches with excitement.
“No, just the once—” I catch my mistake too late.
Cat eyes me with pity, and I feel my fist clench around my fork as heat rushes to my face.
“She gave birth to Oliver two months ago,” she says gently, as if breaking bad news.
“Right. How could I forget?” I say lamely.
Honesty time: I haven’t spoken to my best friend in months. I’ve been busy working my ass off, trying to make partner. She’s been busy with, apparently, motherhood. I forgot to wish her a happy birthday… and she, I suppose, forgot to tell me she delivered a baby into the world.
Or maybe I’m the one who forgot to check.
A wave of guilt rushes through me, but I try not to let it show.
“I’m thinking Seattle, if I ever decide to move,” Alex interjects.
I glance up to find him looking directly at me.
He holds my gaze for just a moment, then turns to the rest of the table and continues, “I read an article that said it’ll probably fare pretty well in the face of climate change.
The Midwest is supposed to fare better, but…
I mean, who wants to live in the Midwest? ”
Everyone laughs at his joke, and they all move on as if my blunder never happened.
I struggle to focus on the conversation even when Ellie passionately regales us with a beat-by-beat synopsis of the novel his agency just acquired. Listening to Ellie talk about books is the one time I’m actually interested in them, his passion infectious.
But I can’t stop thinking about Cat’s empty wineglass.
I spend the rest of dinner anticipating—bracing for—an announcement that never comes.
“Stay for a drink,” Ellie pleads when I try to say bye as everyone heads to the backyard for post-dinner cocktails.
“I have to get home.” I shake my head. “Ruthie—”
“Ruthie can wait,” he assures me. “Just one drink.”
“One drink.” Lord knows I’ll need it. Forgoing a cocktail, I step away from the group, search for the bottle I brought, uncork it, and pour myself a glass—my second in as many hours and where I’ll cut myself off both so I can drive home and to prevent a hangover.
The joy of my thirties—more than two drinks, and the pain will linger for a full day.
“Not driving, I assume?”
I turn to find Alex standing not two feet away from me, vape in hand. He blows sugary-sweet watermelon-scented vapor out of his mouth, keeping his eyes on me the entire time.
“You know what they say about assuming.” I finish my pour and take a long sip. I don’t like the judgment in his eyes, so I nod toward his vape pen. “I thought you quit.”
His eyes narrow at the comment, which spins my mind back to the last time I spoke those words to him. I force myself not to react, as if I don’t know what I just dredged up. He lets it go.
“It’s CBD. No nicotine in sight, Scout’s honor,” he says, and holds up three fingers.