They had dressed for the occasion, all with varying levels of sparkle.
"Cool seeing your best friend shine like this, isn't it?" Eloise whispered as she bumped her shoulder against Tilly's.
Tilly's smile spread. "Yeah. It's the coolest."
"Oh, hey Carol." Eloise tilted her head, stepped back, looked Carol up and down. Carol's attire tended to be business casual in shades of black or grey. But seeing her in this cocktail dress with a fitted bodice and high neck, a pleated full skirt made of shimmery taffeta, she radiated.
"You look hot in this bright blue. I would look like a child's crayon, but you look fantastic. Doesn't she look fantastic?"Eloise asked Taylor as he switched out Eloise's nearly empty glass of champagne with a new bubbly glass.
"Absolutely. The blue is," he faltered for a moment, "very blue." He smiled at Eloise's eye roll. But when Jenson joined them, he waved to Carol. "Jenson, help me out. Carol's blue dress. It's a great blue."
Jenson took a moment to consider her while Carol stood there frozen and looking slightly uncomfortable with the attention. But then he nodded thoughtfully. "It is. Reminds me of a blue jay."
The women looked at each other before laughing; the men shrugged as they drank their champagne in their well-fitted suits.
"Well, while the bird simile is an odd choice, you look beautiful," Eloise winked at her.
Carol's hands flitted over her waist and down the pleats with uncertainty, like she was trying to convince the dress it belonged on her. "You think so? The woman said cobalt blue is my color."
"The woman is right," Tilly agreed, nodding.
Eloise twirled her finger in the air as she held up her hand, cradling her strawberry champagne. "Spin for us, girl. Show it off."
Carol laughed, shaking her head as she twirled awkwardly, but with charm. Watching Carol Weatherby laugh and relax had been like watching a beautiful transformation in a fast-forward time-lapse. She had held herself stiffly for so long that it had become her natural state, and to find people who would invite her into a space of peace and welcome was like watching a dinner plate dahlia bloom.
"You need any quotes? Because I can wax po-et-ic about our girl Jen. She's a queen."
"Actually, a couple of quotes about her business expansion and how it will help women would be great."
"Wanna come over for dinner tomorrow and get some stuff on the record?" Tilly asked.
"Will you be making dessert?" She looked at Eloise, who rolled her eyes.
"What a silly question. Strawberry bourbon shortcake."
"Then I will be there."
A pop punctuated their plans and drew their attention to where Cora had opened another bottle of champagne.
It was all glittering and celebratory. Exactly the kind of thing that took Tilly out of her head.
Until she received a text from her sister. Fae rarely reached out to her, as she was a busy stay-at-home wife with more important things to do, like organizing whatever neighborhood event was currently happening and keeping a gargantuan home social-media perfect.
Fae was three years her senior, and they had a tumultuous relationship on the best of days. Tilly wanted a sisterly relationship with her. She wanted to be able to reach out to her because she just got let go, and found out she would be homeless in a matter of days. She wanted to see if they could coordinate breaching the hour distance between them to grab a drink together and talk about how hard life is.
But that wasn't the kind of sister she had.
Her sister had a small hand, however indirect and cruel, in her dating Ronnie.
In high school, when Tilly was a small, unsure freshman, she discovered that she enjoyed writing. It was, perhaps, the way that she got out of her head the things her parents told her to keep in it. She wrote stories with an unpracticed pen and hope blooming in her chest that one day she would do something with her words. She told herself they were silly, juvenile stories, often revolving around people she knew.
One story in particular focused on a character named Joe Ronald, a popular jock a year ahead of her with light brown hair and blue eyes. And those blue eyes fell on a sweet, happy girl with long black hair, an American dad and a Vietnamese mom trying to straddle her identity.
Unfortunately, Fae was hunting for a way to punish her for an unmemorable transgression.
It's just a little hobby to make you feel better about not contributing anything significant to the world.
The words had stung, landed where her sister intended, and she had put down her pen to preserve the wound that pulsed deep inside of her.
