Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
ALLISON
Allison pinned the edge of her handmade bunting to her dining room tablecloth.
Each triangle hung with a felt letter spelling out “Bitch and Stitch.”
I hope they’ll love it, she thought, with her tongue between her teeth, getting the safety pin to behave.
She stood back to admire her handiwork. The bunting matched her floral tablecloth, and the candlelight flickered off of her brass candlesticks around her cozy cottage. The table was covered with snacks and dips she’d made.
A cringey part of her liked to think about what people might say. “Oh, you’re so creative.” “Oh, you’re so crafty, Allison.”
She wasn’t funny like Pearl or adorable like Lily. Olivia was so elegant, Violet was the sweetest, and Rose was intimidatingly beautiful and cool. She’d probably never worried a day in her life about whether or not people liked her.
All I have is how hard I try.
Allison sighed and poured herself a glass of wine. It was five after seven, and no one was here yet. Which is fine. This is casual, she reminded herself, taking a gulp of whatever had been on sale that week.
She adjusted the bouquet of hyacinths on her dining table.
Her phone pinged.
Hot Girl Group Chat
VIOLET
I’m SO sorry. The baby has a fever and is being so clingy. I have to skip tonight. Please stitch extra hard for me
PEARL
Oh duck. I knew I had something tonight. I’m literally elbows deep in my fourth and hopefully final try in this mother ducking sourdough that won’t mother ducking behave.
Oh shit. Ducking Autocorrect. Ah, stop dictating, you mother ducker
Jesus Ducking Christ
Allison’s heart sank. She’d known Martha wasn’t coming since Pop was still recovering.
But now her bestie and Violet weren’t coming?
Maybe Olivia, or Lily and Rose would come through. Sometimes Molly swung by, actually taking her up on her offer to hang out.
OLIVIA
Annabelle has also been sick, and based on an unfortunate pukey first grader at ballet class, I should spare you all my kid germs right now.
Allison grimaced.
That would just leave Lily and maybe Rose. Allison took another gulp of wine, now feeling dumb for how many snacks she’d put out.
LILY
AAAAACK. I was running super late anyway because I’m still in Elliotsville with the new installation.
Rose is here too. She says sorry. Raincheck???
Allison’s heart fell, but she smiled as she typed.
ALLISON
Oh, I forgot about that. Do you need help???? We can bitch while we redo their Bloom
LILY
No, I’d hate to make you come all the way here. By that time, we’d probably be finished anyway.
ALLISON
Absolutely no worries. I can host next month!
She tossed her phone on the couch as her lip trembled. She’d really looked forward to this all week.
Everyone else had someone. Their lives were bigger than hers. It was what happened when you had kids and husbands, and if big life-things came up, it happened.
She only had this one thing, and it was unfortunately last on their to-do list.
She plopped on her couch and allowed herself a tiny pity party.
I don’t take it personally. But still. She sighed. It’s so embarrassing to care so much when no one else cares at all.
She swiped a tear from her eye. When everyone’s more important to you than you are to them.
She looked at her bunting, the little letters hanging from the ribbon.
So stupid. She swiped another tear. I shouldn’t even be crying. I have friends. I’ll see them next time, she thought, wiping her nose.
She just wanted to be important to somebody.
Maybe anybody.
She decided she’d have two glasses of wine tonight because, screw it, she wasn’t getting pregnant anytime soon.
Maybe never.
She indulged in a few solid sobs as she wallowed. She couldn’t try for another six months as she saved up again. It could be years before she got her money back from the fraudulent clinic.
And what if I pick the wrong company again?
Feeling self-indulgent, she poured a hefty glass of wine and took off Satan’s tool belt, aka her bra.
As she thought about packing up the snack spread, a knock sounded at the door.
Was that Molly? She wiped her eyes.
She swung open the door with a bright smile. “Hi there and hell—oh,” she finished flatly.
A hulking, mustachioed man held a small paper bag.
She started to close the door on Wells. “We don’t want any.”
He put his hand on it, stopping her. “I was sent by my mother to return…some sewing something.” He held out the paper bag.
“Ah, right.” She’d forgotten Martha had borrowed her stitch markers. “Thank you.”
His eyebrows shot up to his forehead. “So you do know those words. Expecting a party?” he said, peeking into her living room.
The scent of his cologne washed over her, clouding her brain with lust. Jeez, she’d forgotten how good he smelled. “It’s craft night.”
He edged past her, inviting himself in. “Smells good.” He looked at his watch. “7:15. I’m guessing they’re late.”
This is so embarrassing. “They should arrive any minute,” she lied, shooing him.
He ignored her, wandering into her living room. “You made a little sign and everything. And is this homemade chip dip?” He helped himself to it, dipping it across, messing up the perfect wavy pattern she’d made.
“Don’t do that; now you’ve ruined it.” A chilly gust of wind blew in through the door, and she closed it with a frown, following him.
He loomed large in her small living room, his head nearly scraping the ceiling in the old cottage.
“Eating it is ruining it?” he said through a mouthful of dip. “Hmm, pretty good,” he said, licking his finger, and her eyes traced the movement.
A glass of wine in and her lizard brain was already in control of the wheel. “Why are you in my house?”
“I didn’t realize you lived with your grandma,” he said, flicking a doily that hung off her side table. He picked up an old, empty perfume bottle from the ’50s and examined it, giving it a sniff.
“These are family heirlooms,” she said, grabbing it from him and putting it back in its place.
He wandered past the mantel where her adorable ceramic kittens sat having tea. “Is the kitten eating a croissant a particularly treasured heirloom?”
“That croissant is adorable,” she said defensively.
He shrugged, trying not to smirk. “Did they come with your orthopedic sneakers? Or did you have to buy them separately?”
“You know what? The door is right there,” she said, pointing at it, her wine sloshing.
“Speaking of cats.” He whirled around, pointing at her with a vengeful look. “I know it was you who signed me up for twenty-four-hour cat facts text messages.”
Allison snorted into her wine glass, choking on a sip.
She and Pearl had found the perfect annoy-your-ex website where it rotated between signing up for free services every two weeks—not that Wells was her ex.
“You can’t prove a thing.” She smirked. “By the way, you still owe me thirty bucks.”
He scoffed, squinting at a honeybee needlepoint project she’d framed. “For what?”
“For the dry-cleaning bill when you honked at me at point-blank range and my latte spilled all over my yellow dress.”
Wells whirled on her, outraged. “There are still purple stains on my favorite dress shirt. Two different dry cleaners have tried. One nearly retired in shame at being defeated.”
Two years ago at the Fairwick Falls Christmas party, she’d taken a Krampus cake and smashed the purpley black frosting all over his face.
It had been a knee-jerk reaction at seeing him on a particularly bad Christmas where she’d felt the sting of being divorced. She’d never done anything like it in her whole life, but she’d had so much resentment that had built up over the drawn-out divorce.
No regrets. It felt good as hell. “Serves you right for being the lowest form of law upholder.”
He picked up a candle, sniffing it. “Next time you get divorced, you can hire me, and I will do an excellent job for you.”
Allison laughed as she bit into a cookie, needing carbs for this conversation. “I am never, ever, ever getting married again.”
“Why not? You seem…romantic,” he said disdainfully, picking up a heart-shaped pillow from her settee.
“I am romantic.” She yanked the pillow from his hand and put it back.
“But that doesn’t mean I’m stupid. Fool me once, break my heart, and take all my stuff—shame on me.
I had to pay nearly all of my savings to keep my flower shop in Cooperstown because he changed a few light bulbs that made him entitled to over fifty percent of my earnings in the previous year, which had been my best year.
Meanwhile, his parents are loaded and he’ll be fine. ”
Wells shrugged knowingly. “You should have made an LLC. Protected yourself.”
“That’s not me. I like doing what’s best for everybody.” Allison huffed, wondering why she hadn’t kicked him out yet.
Maybe she was just desperate for company.
That’s even more pitiful than having nobody show up at all.
“Like making nine different chip dips? Did they ask you to make all this?” he said.
“No,” she scoffed. Of course he would think of something like that. “I offered. I like hosting. Even if they can’t always be here because their lives are more full than mine.”
His eyes narrowed in recognition. “Except it sounds like you’re bitter. That you wanted something in return, maybe? Adoration? Love?”
Ouch, direct hit.
Like he knew her.
A warm buzzing flowed under her skin from the alcohol. She went to take another sip and was surprised to find it empty.
“Aren’t you going to ask if I want a glass?” Wells said, nodding at her wine glass.
“Do you?” she asked, baiting him.
“Yes.”
“Too bad,” she said, holding up the bottle dramatically and pouring herself another one.
She liked feeling spiky with him.
Finally letting her anger out on somebody.
Finally not caring what some tall, handsome, beefy man thought of her.
No, not handsome. We don’t think that word with him. It’s a slippery slope to hot.
“Do you normally drink this much?” he asked, sitting on her couch and stretching out an arm, making himself at home.