“I’m having fun!” Amy insisted rather violently as she went out the door. But the way her shoulders were inching up around her ears suggested otherwise.
She was frustrated, but also had a healthy fear of missing out on something fun. Which made her furious, because while she was upset that her mother and her friends had pulled this, she also really enjoyed spending time with her family. Surprisingly, that understanding suddenly stirred up all sorts of doubt in her. She wanted to paint, but she didn’t know what to paint. She wanted to work, but she was dying of curiosity at all the laughter. She loved her mom’s mimosas, but she couldn’t be tipsy and paint. She wanted to be an artist, but quite possibly didn’t have the talent to be one. She was crushing on a man for the first time since what felt like the dawn of time, but he was probably in it for the sex. So many things to be upset about!
She tried to work on her painting, but felt herself growing more dissatisfied with the scene, not understanding her own point of view. She listened to the first splashes of the women entering the pool as she wiped half of what she’d painted clean. What did she find appealing about Christmas that didn’t seem right off the shelf? Why was she painting a scene you could find at any home store? Did she even have a unique point of view? Why was she trying to be socommercialabout this? Had she even thought this thing through? This hurrying to create art for a contest that didn’t really reflect her aesthetic suddenly felt asinine.
But then again, there was the five thousand dollars she could use.
And if she didn’t do it now, when would she?
A giant splash caused Duchess to hop off her bed and go in search of the fun. Amy stood up and went to the little window. The entire Posse was in the water, floating about in colorful rings, wearing identical red sun hats with giant brims that obscured their faces. Amy inched thewindow up. Harrison was on the far side of the pool with the band again, in a jacket, stretching his leg long, then bending it. She watched as Carol held up a Stanley coffee tumbler. “Yoo-hoo! Hey, H!” she said, waving a hand high overhead as if he wouldn’t be able to pick her out in a crowd. As if he hadn’t noticed four women floating around just feet from him. “Would you mind giving us a refill?”
Harrison paused his exercise. “You’re drinking coffee in the pool?”
“No! We’re drinking mimosas. You don’t have glassware in the pool. Everyone knows that.”
So the industrious Posse had substituted twenty-four-ounce tumblers for an eight-ounce glass flute. That was some creative math.
“The pitcher is on the deck,” Melissa said and pointed in the direction of the patio table, where Amy could see the tops of three plastic pitchers.
To Amy’s great surprise, Harrison very agreeably collected the Stanley cups and walked to the table and began to fill the tumblers. She could practically hear theglug glug glug.
He hadn’t finished pouring when the patio door slid open and Hillary walked out with her massage table anchored to one shoulder, a beach bag on the other. Hillary was part of the Posse now, too?
“Hillary, doll, how are you?” Amy’s mother asked.
“Not great. I drank too much,” Hillary said. “I have the worst headache.”
And yet, she looked amazingly perfect, whereas Amy had been alarmed by the dark circles under her eyes this morning.
“You didnotdrink too much,” said Amy’s mother. “You drank the perfect amount. You are so good at karaoke! They should have contests for that, because you’d win. We need to find you more songs to sing. You’re swimming, right? The water isglorious—a perfect ninety degrees.”
Jesus, that heating bill was going to sting. Amy thought briefly about giving Julie a heads-up, but then decided against it. Julie certainly hadn’t givenhera heads-up and let her know the Bossy Posse was riding into town.
“Get some hair of the dog, Hill,” June said. “Nothing will fix you up quite as fast.”
“H, get her a drink,” Amy’s mom said like an overlord.
Hillary looked warily at the pitchers. “What is today’s hair of the dog?” she asked curiously.
“Mimosas! I made them,” Melissa said. “I put orange bitters in it for a real kick.”
“Okay,” Hillary said, brightening. “After I work on him, I’ll try that.”
Everyone turned to watch Harrison as he made his way back to the pool, two Stanley cups in each hand.
“Golfer, is that what I heard?” Carol asked, sounding suspicious as she took hers.
“Golfer,” he confirmed.
“One of the best,” Hillary said as she opened her massage table.
“Really? As good as Tony?” Carol asked.
Who was Tony? Amy wondered.
“Well, not as good as Tony,” Hillary said with a little laugh.
“Wait just a minute there.” Harrison sounded a little less chipper about the whole golf thing suddenly. “I’m at least as good as Tony. I beat him at Chapel Hill.”
