Chapter 26
Jane
The rest of the party went by in a blur.
There were presents, which were excruciating to sit through.
Not that I didn’t like stuff, but it all reminded me of those birthdays years ago.
I half expected to hear my mother screaming from the next room that it was time for Caro to leave, that Pandora was my mother, all while my father tried to placate her and Caro would sit with a serene smile etched on her face.
But my mother wasn’t in the next room, and Stick sat next to me while the whole thing was going on, giving me a sense of calm about the whole night.
Yeah, Stick was my calming influence—how’s that for an oxymoron?
My father and Caro gave me an all-expenses paid trip to New York for a weekend for myself, Lily and Syd. Included were huge gift certificates for Barneys and a very fancy spa and salon.
It was very generous, and very nice of them to include Lily and Syd.
But I knew the advantage to them was a. making sure I went (by including my pals), and b.
ensuring I’d have nice, appropriate clothes to wear this summer while out campaigning (Barneys).
There would be no thrift store shopping on this trip.
Lily and Lucas got me a monogrammed keychain, which was very nice, and I knew Yvette’s key fob would be going on it soon. Syd gave me a really nice leather-bound journal. “For your adventures this summer,” she said. The Spauldings gave me gift cards to several of the restaurants in Schoolport.
And Stick gave me a pair of sunglasses and a scarf. It wasn’t the big, dramatic, drapey kind of scarf that Syd had gotten and which I thought was cool. It was smaller, lighter, in a pretty green with a small pattern of gold woven through it.
“It’s to wear when you’re driving the Vette, now that the weather is near top-down level. Like some French aristocrat or something, driving across the countryside.”
I didn’t know what movies he’d been watching, but it was perfect, and I told him so. There was an awkward moment when I could tell he wanted to kiss me, but wouldn’t with so many people around. Which was fine with me—I didn’t need any big PDA either.
We were saved by Dotty, who brought in the cake, candles lit and all. They sang for me and I blew out the candles.
“Did you make a wish?” Syd asked.
I looked at Stick. “I wish I knew your real, full name.”
Everyone laughed. Stick just smiled and said, “It doesn’t come true if you tell people what you wished for.”
I looked over at Lucas, brow raised. “I don’t rat out friends,” he said, his hands in the air.
The night went on, cake was eaten, small talk was made.
Those of us under twenty-five naturally congregated together, as did Caro, Joe, the Spauldings and Elliot.
From the bored look on Lily’s mom’s face, I guessed they were talking about Joe’s campaign.
She was the only one in the group that looked bored.
Everyone left around ten. Lucas took Stick’s car and they gave Syd a ride home.
Stick and I helped Dotty clean up while Joe sat with Caro in the living room in front of the fireplace.
I stood in the entryway watching them—witnessing the ease and comfort they felt with each other, even after all the shit they’d been through.
“It’s nice, right? Them?” Stick said softly behind me, watching the couple too.
“I guess,” I said, not really sure.
We got the place cleaned up, and my father left, giving me a hug before he did. I thanked both him and Caro for the party. And, mostly, I meant it.
Stick asked for me to wait for him in the kitchen while he and Dotty helped Caro settle in for the night. I sat at the table in the nook area, where I’d spent so many afternoons drinking tea and talking with Caro—sharing her memories. Making some of my own.
“Ready,” Stick said quietly as he came into the kitchen. He had a monitor to Caro’s room in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other.
“You know I only turned nineteen, right? Not twenty-one?” I said, rising from my chair and leading the way out the French doors and toward the guesthouse.
I heard Stick snort from behind me. “Please. The first time I met you, you asked me to buy beer for you. The second time, I had to drag you out of a club and you were too hammered to sit up straight in my car.”
“Yes, but neither of those times were on Stratton estate grounds.”
“True enough.” We entered the guesthouse, and Stick turned the lamp on in the living area, but took my hand and led me to the bed. He sat down and I sat next to him, our hips touching.
“Now, tell me,” he said. “Did we totally fuck up by throwing that party? Did you hate everything about it?”
I placed my hand on his knee. “No. Not everything. Getting stuff was cool.”
He opened the champagne bottle effortlessly, without a drop of it spilling. He handed the bottle to me and I took a swig from it. It was cold and sweet, and the bubbles seemed to explode in my mouth. “Mmm, good. Sure nobody will mind that you took this?”
“I didn’t take it. I bought it a couple of days ago, but kept it in the fridge in the house so you wouldn’t see it in this one and get suspicious.” I handed the bottle to him and he took a drink. “Okay, so, you gonna tell me why you hate your birthday so much?”
It was casual and he was handing me the bottle as he said it, but I knew he’d picked up on something.
I wasn’t about to ruin being alone with Stick and a bottle of good champagne by retelling the stories of the excruciating visits by Caro and her kids for my younger birthdays.
“I could,” I said, and took a small sip, keeping the champagne in my mouth.
I leaned over, pressing my boobs against Stick’s chest. He’d taken his suit jacket off long ago, and the tie was discarded while we were cleaning up.
I kissed him and let the champagne flow from my mouth to his, our tongues tangling amidst the sweet nectar.
“Or,” I said, pulling away, “we could spend our time licking this champagne off of each other’s bodies. ”
He studied me, seeing my diversionary tactic for what it was. He wanted to call me on it, I could tell. But then…he also wanted to do wicked things to my body.
“Fuck it. Tell me about your childhood scars some other time,” he said, making me laugh. The gurgle of laughter had barely escaped my mouth when he’d started kissing me again.
It was different this time, because we had all night, not just some rushed time at the end of our afternoon visits. We slowly undressed each other, instead of tearing our clothes off, or even just working around them as we’d done on several occasions.
The champagne was used…creatively.
After the first time, we kept the lights on and explored each other’s bodies slowly, languidly.
“I was shocked that first day, when you didn’t have any tattoos. I would have thought for sure you’d have a bunch,” I said as I ran my hands down his lean body.
“My dad said he’d kill me if I got one.”
“Why didn’t you get one after he died?”
“I didn’t seem to need one then.”
“Hmm,” I said as I kissed my way down that ink-free torso. “Seems complicated.”
“Isn’t it always?” It seemed like he was going to say more, but I took him in my mouth and all he could do was groan.
Later, he returned the favor after he’d spent an inordinate amount of time kissing, sucking and playing with my breasts. It seemed as if he never got enough of them.
I totally got it, because it seemed as if I never got enough of him.