I handed DJ over to her capable arms, feeling guilty.
“I’ve never left them with anyone but Momma,” I said to John in the car.
“They’ll settle down as soon as you leave.”
I snuck a look at his profile, lit by the glow of the dashboard. “They’re probably upset I was gone all day.”
“They’ll get over it.”
I clasped my hands in my lap. “I thought maybe you were upset, too.”
“I don’t like to see you work so hard all the time, that’s all.” He glanced my way. His slow smile warmed me from the inside out. “It’s good for you to get out sometimes.”
An electric pulse flickered inside me, like the tick of the turn signal. “It’s good for us to get out.”
He didn’t say anything. Communication wasn’t our strong suit. But he reached across the console and took my hand, holding it on his thigh all the way to Sallie’s. His hand was warm and firm on mine. The flicker became a current. I felt happy, breathless, and not just because the shapewear was cutting off my air. The white lines on the road beyond our windshield flashed by like we were finally getting somewhere.
Sallie and Ned had bought a house on a golf course in the same gated community as her parents. We drove past lit tennis courts and landscaped ponds, up a long, circular driveway to a parking area filled with Lexuses and Land Rovers, Teslas and Maseratis.
“There’s Trey’s car,” I said.
A valet opened my door. I stepped out, off-balance in my party heels.
John handed the valet the keys and came around, steadying me with a hand on my elbow. He shot a wry glance up the curving double staircase to the front door. “You didn’t tell me your friends lived at Tara.”
“We’ve been here before,” I said.
“You were here,” he said. “For a shower or something.”
A baby shower for Belle, back when John and I were first married. Before I got pregnant. I squeezed John’s arm as we went up the steps. “It does feel a little like a movie set.” Or a magazine spread, the December issue ofArchitectural Digest, maybe, orSouthern Living, white lights everywhere, twining on the crepe myrtles in the yard, glowing in the windows, twinkling along the path to the boat dock. Full-size Christmas trees, decked in more lights and red ribbon, framed the open door and the people milling around inside.
“Thanks for buying the tree today,” I said to John.
He shrugged, handsome and uncomfortable in a navy blazer and tie. “One tree. Big deal.”
“If I don’t have to do it, it is a big deal.” He slanted a look down at me. I stumbled. “I mean...”
“I know what you meant,” he said quietly.
“Meg, you came. How nice.” Belle, materializing out of the glittering crowd in the foyer, wore wide-legged silk pants and a very sheer top. Obviously she didn’t need shapewear. Or a bra, apparently. “And you must be Jim.”
“John.”
“Of course. Welcome.”
My dress was all wrong, I thought as we exchanged air kisses. I resisted the urge to tug at the nylon creeping into my butt crack.
“Hey, Hot Mama.” Sallie’s husband, Ned, appeared, drink in hand, and moved in for a hug. “You’re on fire tonight.”
I smiled and hugged him back, flattered and reassured. For a very, very short time our junior year, Ned and I had been a couple. “Thanks. John, you remember Ned.”
They shook. “Let me get you a drink. What’s your handicap now?Sallie’s around somewhere,” Ned said to me, waving toward the guests circulating downstairs. “You should let her know you’re here.”
“Where should I put this?” I raised my decorated bag of marinated feta.
“Oh, you brought a gift. This way.” Belle navigated the crowd, confident as the queen bee she’d always been. I followed her, part of her court.
The guests ranged from our age to our parents’, the women all shiny, the men in khakis and button-down shirts. Except for the waiters, John was the only man in a tie. A server offered me champagne on a tray. Other servers passed plates of giant shrimp, tiny sandwiches, little bites on skewers. Like at a wedding reception. I looked over my shoulder for John.
