Rolling my eyes, I turn back to Kara.
“What have you decided so far?”
She throws a sidelong glance to the two women on the couch. “I suggested ‘I flew the coop,’ as a theme, you know, like a call back to empty nesters. Chickens are very hot in the Etsy party planning scene and I found this shop based out of central Oregon that specializes in chicken paraphernalia. It’s a whole thing with the town.”
“But I vetoed that one,” Henrietta says. “She’s moving into an old folks home, not running from a sanitarium.”
I laugh, the banter between them wrapping me in the comfort of home. Nan pipes up next, clearly frustrated with the entirety of it.
“I said, there shouldn’t be a theme—or decorations, it’s a silly thing. We’ll move some boxes and I’ll make brownies and that will be the end of it.”
“You can’t make brownies for your own party,” Kara counters.
“It’s not a party. And even if it were, if it’s my party, I should be able to do what I damn well please.”
“What about,” I interrupt, “a simple ‘Home Sweet Home’?”
Nan sits back defeated and raises her palms. “You three figure whatever you want, but I’m still making brownies.”
After a few cups of tea, and some more playful arguing about the plans for Nan’s party, I help her down the front porch stairs and towards Kara’s car. She stops us before reaching the sidewalk and I look her over and glance back at the house.
“Are you alright? Did you forget something?”
Her palm finds my cheek, a warm smile still wrinkling her eyes. “I am so proud of you.”
I scoff. “Because I talked Kara out of a piñata for your party? I wouldn’t be sure she won’t try to sneak one in.”
“Because you’re giving someone a chance.”
I sober, realizing she saw through my lies about not sleeping with Noah. Just as I did as a teenager, I try to back my way out of it.
“I didn’t. We didn’t”
“Don’t lie to me, Lottie.”
“I don’t even know what it is yet. That’s why I’m not telling Kara.”
“Suit yourself. I’m proud of you regardless. Always have been, kid.”
“Yes, well. There is a very good chance I am going to blow it up before it gets anywhere. I’m sure he’ll be running with his tail tucked between his legs before too long.”
“Stop that.” Her words are sharp as a slap—the tone she used to take when lecturing me as a child. “You are not an unloveable monster, Charlotte Wren. Stop acting like one. You are good.You’ve proven time and time again your ability to get up after life kicks you to the dust. Let the man in. Let him see it.”
I’m not sure if it’s the pep talk, or the overall emotional toll today has already taken, but tears spring into my eyes and I wrap my arms around her. The soft floral musk I associate with my childhood seeps into my skin, potent and undiluted and not letting up even after she straightens.
“Don’t ruin it before it has a chance to get started. And bring him to my party. Henrietta has been bragging about her handsome sons for years and I could use the advantage. My stories about you lost their charm years ago. We ladies need some fresh meat to discuss.”
“Oh my god, Nan.” I roll my eyes, but she’s still staring at me. “I’ll see if he’s available.No promises.”
Satisfied, she smiles and steps towards the car where Kara and Henrietta are still playfully bickering. Once loaded in, Nan blows me a kiss as Kara pulls away from the curb.
My phone sitting on the coffee table reminds me I never responded to Noah’s text. I pick it up and slump onto the couch, biting my lip as I consider how I want to respond. I fight the urge to apologize, feeling old habits niggling their way through. I don’t apologize for living my life. Not anymore.
Lottie
Later is subjective. Plus, dating norms dictate you’re supposed to wait a standard three days before texting, so you’ve already broken tradition.
Noah
