“You mean to tell me that Nina Lejeune, self-professed hater of love, doesn’t want to show up to my dinner party in a wedding dress?”
Nina inspected a mermaid-skirted dress and snorted. “Ha. Funny, Jo. If I remember correctly, you’re a supposed love hater too.”
“I don’t hate love.” I passed by a neon-green prom dress that reminded me of Alex’s running shorts. “It’s just easier to be single.” After examining a sequined emerald dress from the rack, I held it out to Nina. It shimmered in the overhead lights. Floor-length and with a plunging neckline, it easily outshone everything I’d seen that morning.
“Your size?” Nina asked.
I checked the tag and nodded.
“Does it smell okay?”
I took a hesitant sniff. “It smells like a thrift store.”
“Take it. Trust me, that’s the best you can hope for. You don’t want to know the smells I’ve had the misfortune of smelling in here.” She wrinkled her nose and continued browsing through dresses.
I draped the emerald dress over my arm, relieved to have one less thing on the to-do list for the dinner party.
When we got to the end of the formal wear, Nina sighed. “I’m heading up front to see if Butch has anything special in the back. He knows what I like.”
Dress in hand, I searched for Mia and Kitty and found them in the blue hues of the jacket aisle. Kitty held a yellow dress I was pretty sure was a Halloween costume. Mia didn’t have a dress at all. When I reached them, she had one arm into the sleeve of a denim jacket.
“You’re planning to wear a denim jacket to a fancy dinner party?”
Mia rolled her eyes. “It’s not for the party, obviously.”
“It looks good on you. You should get it.”
Mia slipped out of the denim jacket and held it out in front of her. She bit her lip, and the excitement faded from her face. “Never mind. I don’t want it after all.”
“Are you sure?” It really did look good on her.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” She put it back on the hanger.
I was tempted to ask her again but didn’t want to press the issue. Wewere in public, and I didn’t want to trigger a meltdown in case this was a grief thing.
“Well, don’t forget to get something for the dinner party,” I said. “Do you think we should find something for Greyson?” We’d planned on her tagging along, but Alex had texted late last night saying they hada family thing to take care of.Mia and Kitty shrugged, and I told them to pick something out, just in case.
Once Mia had chosen a black-fringed flapper dress for herself and a knee-length silver prom dress for Greyson, we brought our items to the front of the store and checked out. Nina waited for us by the entrance, her purchase hidden in an opaque garment bag.
I looked down at the grocery bags the cashier had given me and the girls. “Why do you get the nice bag?”
Nina shrugged. “Butch loves me.”
“What did you get, Nina?” Kitty asked.
Nina clutched the bag to her chest. “It’s a surprise, of course. I can’t show up to a dinner party with everyone knowing what I’m wearing. Where’s the fun in that?”
—
An hour before the dinner party, I opened the condo door, and smoke poured out into the parking lot. I waved it away, my eyes watering, and spotted Alex.
“Thank God, you’re here,” I said. I grabbed his hand and pulled him after me into the kitchen, where Mia and Kitty fanned at the open oven with takeout menus.
Everything had been fine until about five minutes ago. I’d checked and double-checked each recipe, measuring ingredients with painstaking patience. I’d spent a good half hour standing around, trying to figure out which dish needed to go in the oven when. How did Alex do this every day? And so quickly? But after the initial stress, things had been going well. Near perfect, actually. I’d had a glass of wine and listened toa little music, feeling like Rachael Ray as I salted a pot of boiling water for deviled eggs. Everyone would be impressed by my cooking, I’d thought, even Alex and Ollie. But everything was ruined now. I’d burnt the main dish to a crisp and didn’t have a plan B. I couldn’t feed a party of nine on deviled eggs and a salad. The only thing Alex and Ollie would be impressed by was my incompetence.
Alex examined the still-smoking baking dish, but I couldn’t look at the charred, inedible mess that was supposed to be truffle chicken and potato gratin.
“Think I can pass this off as blackened chicken?” I said.
