My mom takes the hint and backs out of the room. On my way out I grab my keys and my wallet from where they lie on the dresser. My phone is already in my pocket. I stowed it there just before my mom walked into my room, and right after Allison called and I sent it to voicemail. She’s probably calling because she’s drunk and alone.
“Natalie’s in the kitchen,” my mom says, walking downstairs with me.
I find Natalie standing near one of the kitchen windows, a glass of white wine in her hand. She holds it out as I approach.
“Nerves,” she laughs softly.
“Are you nervous about going to the wedding because of what you've been through recently?” my mom asks her.
Natalie, with her eyes squarely on mine, says, “Mm hmm.”
I’d bet three month’s salary, which isn't much but is sorely needed by me, that Natalie’s nerves are about something else entirely.
“That's perfectly normal,” my mom says, stepping in between me and Natalie and wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
Natalie’s wearing a long sleeve burgundy dress. It hits at her knees, and with the black heels she's wearing she looks taller. Natalie turns and walks toward the island, and my stomach nearly drops out of me. The back of the dress is missing.
“So pretty,” my mom says, running a finger across the top of Natalie's back. I feel ridiculously jealous of that finger. “I love dresses that are subtly sexy.”
“Thanks,” Natalie murmurs, running one hand over her hip.
I am insanely jealous of that hand too.
Which is incredibly stupid, considering I'm the one who stopped what was happening in the bathroom earlier. I had my reasons, and they were good. Namely, don't fuck up my friendship.
That still holds true, even now as I stand here, turning green on the inside.
Natalie sets her half-empty wine glass on the counter and looks at me. “Ready?”
“Can I get a picture of you two?” My mom laughs and puts a hand over her mouth like she's embarrassed for asking. “When do you two ever get a chance to dress up? Moreover, when do I ever get a chance to see you two dressed up?”
We both agree, and Mom shuffles us over to the fireplace. “It's kind of like prom,” Mom says, smiling and holding out her iPhone. She takes a dozen pictures before Natalie tells her that her cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling.
Mom laughs. “Okay fine, I'll stop.”
Natalie scoops her purse and coat off the couch. I grab the keys to the Porsche and kiss my mom on the cheek.
“Bye,” she yells after us. “Don't drink and drive. Let me know if you need a ride.”
Suddenly it hits me that my dad and Shawn aren't around. I don't know where they are, but I feel bad for my mom. She's alone on a Saturday night. The anger that I so often feel when I think of their situation bubbles up. They claim their agreement works for them, but I can't see how. All three of them are always lying, and all three of them spend a lot of time lonely.
“You seem like you're in deep thought,” Natalie says after we've started driving.
Grateful to not be talking about us, I tell her exactly what I was thinking. “I wish they would give up the charade. My whole life I've been lying to people, and I fucking hate it. I can't imagine how they feel.”
“It must suck almost as much as people who lie to themselves.”
I cast her a quick glance. “Are you referring to me?”
“Yes.”
“What am I lying to myself about?”
“Everything.”
“Everything?”
“You've convinced yourself that your parents’ unusual arrangement is somehow representative of all relationships.”
