Stanley
Aspen follows me out into the hallway, and when I turn to look at her, she’s hesitating.
“You walk like a woman headed to her own funeral,” I say as laughter echoes through the hall. Her house is a mansion, so we’re far from the crowd up here.
“I’m fine,” she replies.
She’s not fine.She was in her bedroom for over an hour. “It looks like you’re in a hostage situation. Could you at least pretend to like me?”
“I am pretending.”
I watch her and wonder if she’s going to blow the whole cover.Would it be so bad if she did?
She breathes in through her nose, and it doesn’t fix her face, but it’s a start.
“I’ll be better after wine,” she says.
“How much wine are we talking?”
“I don’t see how that’s—”
“Strategically, I need a number. For planning.”
“At least two glasses. Maybe four.”
“Maybe four,” I repeat, not taking her for much of a drinker. Four is going to knock her out for the night.
We keep walking, and this time I’m following her.
“Smile and pretend that you like me. Otherwise, our parents will think we’re fighting. They probably already suspect it since you were upstairs for so long.”
“I avoided over an hour of the day. I call that winning.”
I follow her down the steps.
The bottom of the staircase opens onto the foyer, and the foyer opens onto everything else. The volume of the house has increased by half since we went up. There’s music through speakers, and the smell of the brisket has made it all the way to the front door.
Aspen lands on the bottom step a stride ahead of me, and her shoulders immediately drop. She turns left into the living room, and she’s already smiling at someone before she’s fully through the doorway. I stop on the last step and watch a woman become herself in real time.
I don’t follow her in. I stand there and watch.
“There she is. Look at this girl. Come here.” A small, sharp-eyed woman in a wool dress and pearls brings Aspen into a hug, and Aspen falls right into it.
“Where’ve you been all morning?”
“In the air.”
“Don’t lie to me. You’ve been in this house two hours.”
“In my room.”
“Mm.” The aunt’s eyes come up and land on me. “Stanley?”
Aspen turns, looks for me, and finds me on the bottom step where I’ve been standing.
“Aunt Lisa. This is Stanley.”
The aunt gives me the head-to-toe that a woman her age gives a man she’s been warned about. She doesn’t say a word to me. She says it to Aspen.
