In the end, I split the difference and decide on a floral slip dress with a huge slit right up the thigh. My hair is down, my makeup simple, and my lips bright red. I have an enormous pair of dark-rimmed sunglasses on hand so that, if need be, I can avoid making eye contact with anyone all afternoon.
I scan the terrain looking for allies as I slip through the kitchen’s sliding glass door. My mother is by the gate, ready to greet people as they arrive, and Dad is already fiddling around with the barbecue. Ever the life of the party, Uncle Bill is in the middle of a crowd of people, his vibrant blue Hawaiian shirt and shock of white hair visible through thegap.
I make a beeline toward my aunt Irene and a few of Mom’s friends at the other end of the garden, who warmly invite me into their circle.
“There she is, ourenfant terrible,” Irene says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. The other ladies cackle.
“And what do you have in store for us today, my dear?” our neighbor Shirley asks with mischief.
“Nothing,” I tell them all solemnly. “They decided to take the entertainment in a different direction this time.”
Irene lets out a guffaw, then smacks a loud kiss on my cheek. “How long are you here for, sweetheart?”
“Five days. I’m working from home.”
“These kids and their computers!” Shirley says. “My Josh is just the same. Does his banking job from his bedroom.”
This sends the conversation off in a fantastical new direction about whether social media will bring about the end of the world, and if so, how soon.
“I’ll tell you this,” Irene says, “the amount of time Jean spends on her iPad is not normal. What could she be doing?”
“Some candy thing,” Shirley answers, her disdain writ large. “According to her posts, she’s up to level six thousand.”
“Sixthousand,” Irene says. “That shows you. That just goes to show you.”
What it just goes to show you, she never reveals. Judging from a few barbed little comments, though, it seems to have something to do with Jean missing choir practice.
“Face the music, kiddo,” Irene says to me when the women move on to discussing Shirley’s tomato plants. “You can’t hide out with me forever. It’s time to speak to someone your own age.”
The backyard is now full of people my own age, or more accurately, Shannon’s age, who are mostly congregated in a clusteraround the beer coolers. Strange to think that most of the people I know in New York aren’t anywhere near being settled down yet. Here, it’s a completely different story. Everyone holds either a bottle of beer, or a small child.
“Oh my god, Annie! How are you?” One of the bridesmaids rushes forward when she spots me and gives me a limp hug, both of us pretending we’re more excited to see each other than weare.
The rest of the reunions take a similar format, until I’ve hugged or nodded at everyone and dutifully given a mock handshake to a half-dozen chubby baby hands.
Dan is mercifully circulating elsewhere, so that’s at least one awkward moment I can put off a little longer, for the rest of the night, even, if I can get away with it. All I need to do is show my respect for the occasion, say hi to enough of Mom’s friends that she doesn’t accuse me of sneaking away early, then sneak away early.
For all I dreaded this party, it’s not that bad. Most of the things people have to say about me will be said behind my back, rather than to my face, and if anything, my presence is creating a little intrigue, so at least there’s that.
—
I’m at the coolers, trying in vain to open my beer without a bottle opener when a nasal voice says from behind me, “Allow me.”
My entire body tenses in irritation on reflex, and I turn slowly, desperate to delay this moment by even just a few more seconds. Alas, my luck has run out. There heis.
“Daniel,” I say, tilting the bottle towardhim.
Dan isexactlywhat you’d expect someone from the suburbs called Dan to look like. The man is a walking Gap ad. I am onehundred percent convinced he could get away with murder—his composite sketch would be so nondescript it could easily match the faces of dozens of other men within a five-mile radius.
“Long time no see.” There’s an understatement. We haven’t seen each other since the last engagement party. He flicks the cap off with his keys and hands the bottle back to me. “How’s life in the big city treating you these days?”
“Just peachy.” I’m trying to smile but the muscles around my cheeks feel all wrong.
“I saw something online about huge layoffs at your company this week. You didn’t lose your job, did you?”
Jackass.
“Not at all,” I tell him sweetly, safe in the knowledge that it’s not a lie. “I’ve actually just moved into a new role.”
