“That’s not what I mean, Mom.” Katie heaved a dramatic sigh.
Ah, teenage angst. Aurora could remember those days. Most of them, anyway.
“Then what do you mean, sweetheart?” she coaxed.
Katie looked away, searching for the right words. “I mean, you and Dad used to get dressed up and go out for your anniversary. You don’t go to parties anymore.” She frowned, her face growing dark. “I thought this might give you an excuse to go have fun.”
“I don’t think ‘fun’ is the right word to describe a high school reunion.” Aurora turned her attention to the stove. “Can you get me the pasta pot?”
“But how would you know if you’ve never been to one?” Katie threw her words back at her while bending over to get into the cabinet with the pots and pans. She placed it on the stove. “If our year-end parties are anything to go by, Miss Smith knows how to have fun.”
“I’m not disagreeing with you on Miss Smith’s party skills.” She filled the pot with water and set it to boil on the stove.
“Why don’t you want to do it?”
“Look …” Aurora pulled two plates down from the cupboard. “I was an awkward kid that didn’t really fit in with any single group in high school. I certainly never felt welcome among the choir kids. They tolerated me because I sang well, but I wasn’t good enough to play the lead role in the musical. I wasn’t relegated to the chorus the whole time, either. And after my back surgery in fifth grade, I was never going to be in the marching band. I just felt like an outsider.”
“People change, Mom. You’ve always told me that.”
Aurora gave her a sad smile. “Theycanchange, Katie, but they have towantto change. Iwantedto change. I came out of my shell in college, and I gained a lot of confidence as an adult thanks to your dad’s support. But Grandma always said that people who go to high school reunions are still stuck in high school mentally.”
“Grandma’s been wrong before. What if she’s wrong now, and they want to be friends?”
“I highly doubt that.” She handed Katie the silverware and set the plates on the island.
“I really don’t see the downside, here. You get to wear a fancy dress and eat a nice meal. Plus, if you’re on the committee, you would have a say in what happens. You could make sure it was fun!” Katie set the silverware around the plates. “And Miss Smith seemed really interested in seeing you again.”
“Oh, she was, was she? She wasn’t just looking for someone new for her project?”
“Of course not! Miss Smith isn’t like that.”
Aurora threw spaghetti noodles into the boiling water and smirked. She turned around to face her daughter. Katie wasn’t wrong. Aurora hadn’t been out in ages, except to her friends’ houses. They were always trying to take her out to bars with them, but it didn’t feel right to go. She was going through the motions of working and living to put food on the table for Katie. If it weren’t for providing for her, Aurora didn’t know if she’d still have a house. She needed to set an example for her daughter though. Just because Aurora felt numb, that didn’t mean she wanted her daughter to feel the same. Katie was too young for that. If doing this gala would make Katie happy and stop worrying about her mother, Aurora guessed it wouldn’t kill her.
“All right, if it will get you off my back, I’ll text her tonight. But if I don’t have a good time, I’m going to blame you!” She ruffled Katie’s hair and was rewarded with a growl.
“But, Mom—” Katie smoothed out her hair. “With you on the committee, it’s sure to be a good time!”
Sales were up this quarter. Duncan Sullivan felt good about that, but he was unsure how long that would continue. He’d hit a brick wall in the new ideas department. He always needed a project, which was why he’d agreed to help Jennifer with the reunion committee. It was a way to connect with home, back before everything went wrong. Sunnyvale was home now, and Riverton held many memories he’d rather forget. Helping Jen plan the gala reminded Duncan of when he’d been more innocent; when it was normal to break into song and dance because someone said a line from a musical, or just because. When his home life was terrible, he’d always had the theater.
A knock on his office door broke him from his reminiscing. “Come in.”
Carlos, his assistant, opened the door to his office.
“I thought our meeting wasn’t until after lunch?”
“I know, boss, and I’m really sorry,” the short, stocky man began. “But Alonzo fell on the playground. He may have broken his leg—”
“Don’t apologize. Get out of here. Family first, you know that. We’ll reschedule Monday.”
“Okay, have a good weekend!” Carlos retreated from the door.
Duncan watched him hurry down the hall through the floor-to-ceiling windows lining his office. Family. He’d thought he could have that once. He’d believed he could have what his parents had screwed up. How foolish he’d been. Marriage and relationships were not for Sullivan men. His father’s two divorces spoke to that, as did his own divorce. Once that was finalized, he became married to his work. EcoPlastic, his company, was the only lover he needed.
His phone lit up on his desk—a text from the reunion chair. Jen had been the only friend to stick by him when things went sideways with Mariah. They’d kept in touch after high school. She’d even been to the wedding. When his college friends all took Mariah’s side in the divorce, Jen had been the virtual shoulder he’d cried on. Well, her and Jack Daniel’s. Jen reminded him of the good times in his youth. When she had asked for help in the initial planning stages of the reunion, he couldn’t say no.
Jen: Hey, Dunc, how would you like a partner to help with decorations?
Duncan: That might be a good idea since I can’t call into the meetings.
