“Uh, did Mom tell you anything about some of our guests?” Dad walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of cranberry juice that I was sure would get him yelled at.
Mom made a non-alcoholic punch for guests who chose not to imbibe. I’d only tasted it once. Getting through the party without alcohol was ano-gofor me.
“No. Not your usual country club crowd?” Yeah, my parents were the WASP-iest of WASPs.
“Yeah, they’ll be here, but she’s invited a friend of hers from her PFLAG—and her son.” Dad’s expression was one of pity, so I knew it wasn’t going to be good.
“Why?”
“Why what?” I turned to see Mom rushing into the kitchen with linens.
“Why did you invite your friend from PFLAG and her son?”
“Her name is Katrina Brownstein, and her son’s name is Simon. They’re new to the area, and I thought it would be nice to invite them to a party so they could get to know people in the neighborhood. They moved here from Chicago after Simon graduated from college. He’s a year younger than you, and he’s an accountant. He’ll be sitting for his CPA certification in March. He’s got a job in DC with one of the nationwide firms.”
“Aw, your mother found you a nice Jewish accountant.”Great. The snarky voice was back.
“Mom, I’m perfectly capable of finding someone to date, thanks.” It came out a lot snarkier than intended.
“Date? Who said anything about dating? I just wanted them to feel welcome. I invited her, and she asked if she could bring Simon. It’s not a setup.”
“That smirk says otherwise,”the voice said.
Yeah, that was no shit. My mom would never be a successful poker player.
I sighed. “I’m going to put my stuff upstairs. I’ll be back to help.”
Grabbing my suitcase, I went upstairs to my old room, seeing it was still a shrine to the fact I lived. Had I died, it probably would have been bricked up with all this shit inside.
I put my stuff away and changed into sweats, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a pair of thick socks I found in my old dresser. Mom was mid-menopause, and those hot flashes were no joke. I nearly froze my ass off last Christmas, and Dad always wore a Mister Rogers sweater around the house, summer and winter.
“Okay, where do you need me?” I entered the kitchen to see Mom hissing at Dad before he glanced in my direction, then they both clammed up.
“What?”
“I was just telling your father that an hour’s drive isn’t that far if you and Simon hit it off. I know there’re a lot of clubs and bathhouses—”
“Mom!What do you know about bathhouses?”
“I know enough, and I pray you use protection when you’re with an intimate partner.”
“Wow! What a fun conversation. You don’t go to bathhouses. Maybe you should try it?”Jesus H, what happened to my internal dialogue?
There was nothing wrong with bathhouses, but I found random encounters only left me feeling empty. I’d surfed theapps in college and had my share of fun, but it was time to take my job seriously, especially if I wanted a future—and a car bigger than a damn roller skate like Brooke’s.
Simon would have to be awfully spectacular for me to commit to driving to Virginia for dates. I prayed he felt the same way about me.
Chapter Four
Avery
The caterers arrived at three and went right to work, which led me to believe they’d worked with Betsy Langhorn previously. In every aspect of my mother’s life, she was always punctual and pleasant, and she expected the same of those with whom she worked. The staff of Elegant Occasions, who had worked for her more than once, was all that and more.
When they took over the kitchen, I was banished to my room to get ready for the party and make sure I left the hall bathroom sparkling. My dad hid in his study, likely pregaming, so I stopped there first.
“Dad, why do you let her put you through this every year if you hate it so much?”
My father was sitting at his desk with an inch of brown liquor in a crystal glass in front of him as listened to some old-school jazz music that was his favorite. I poured the same and sat down in the burgundy leather wingback across from him.
