“Oh, a little of this and a little of that,” I say, gripping my glass. “Graduation, you know. Spending time with Rachel before she leaves.”
“You’re gonna land soon,” Daniel says. “Something is right around the corner.”
People have been telling me that for almost a year. No one tells you how hard it is to find a job when you’re older. I have one possibility on the horizon—a screening interview on Monday for an event planner position at a museum for less pay and lower prestige than my previous job, and I’d be lucky to get it.
“Right now I’m just focusing on getting the yard sale ready.” I flash a little smile at Kenya. The two of us have been running the Eastbrook Annual Summer Yard Sale for eleven years. Back then, it really was just a simple yard sale held on the playground next to the school. Over the years it’s morphed into a multiday extravaganza that raises thousands of dollars for the neighborhood swim team. A swim team neither of my kids have belonged to in years.
“I’m almost done getting everything up online,” I say. We always post the nicer things online a week in advance to drum up interest.
“Anything good this year?” he asks.
“A lot of jewelry.”
“I’m always amazed at what people donate,” Kenya says. “Did you see the ski boots? Never even used. Brand-new. Someone bought the wrong size and decided it was too much of a hassle to return them.”
More teenagers show up to the party, and the music gets louder. The transition from party to nighttime rager is in full swing. Two guys I vaguely recognize pass us lugging a giant block of ice.
“Really? Ice luge?” I roll my eyes in Kenya’s direction.
“Don’t forget, Jo’s thecool mom,” Kenya says, with a little too much bite.
“I think that’s my sign to leave,” I say. I’ve never been comfortable with how Daniel and Jo serve alcohol to minors. It was one reason I wasn’t completely devastated when Rachel and Eloïse fell out junior year. Eloïse and her brother, Van—older by one year—didn’t just run with the fast crowd, they operated it like a Fortune 500 company.
“Oh no,” Daniel says. “Not yet. We need to drink to the Eastbrook Elementary kids. The original crew. I mean, we’ve known each other since our kids were five years old.”
“It’s wild how time flies,” Kenya says, looking right at me. “It seems like just yesterday we were waiting outside the school, so nervous, anxious to hear how their first day went. Stay a little longer, Caren.”
Daniel leaves and returns a few moments later with a tray of small plastic cups, and Shawn, Kenya’s husband, in tow.
“Hey, Caren.” Shawn gives me a nod with his chin by way of greeting before grabbing a shot.
“Jell-O shots?” I ask skeptically.
“They’re high-class Jell-O shots. Made with citronelle,” Daniel says. “That’s the French version of limoncello. Jo made them with a bottle we brought back from Nice last year.”
Kenya and I exchange a look that says,Why not?I take one of the small plastic cups and toss it back. The alcohol stings my throat. I make a face.
“Been a while since you’ve done shots, huh?” Shawn asks, breaking out in a wide grin that activates the deep dimples in his cheeks. Noah lucked out and inherited that same boyish smile.
“Maybe… twenty years?”
Kenya laughs and passes me a bottle of water, which I gulp to wash down the stinging alcohol taste. “Now I really do have to go.”
“Don’t tell me you’re actually leaving this party to go home and work on the yard sale,” Kenya says.
“It’s Saturday night!” Shawn says. “You just got here. We gotta get our dance on.” He does a little move and spins around.
Kenya places a hand on her husband’s arm, a look of amusement on her face. “Let the kids do the dancing, baby. Not us.” She turns to me. “C’mon, don’t go.”
“I’d love to stay, but I just want to get this yard sale done. Miguel’s out of town, so I get the house to myself,” I say with forced cheer. “I can order Millie’s and get the rest of the stuff photographed and up online.”
As soon as Kenya turns away to listen to a story Daniel is telling, I see my opportunity. I duck out of the party via a narrow path that runs along the side of the Allards’ house, hoping no one I know is watching.
I’m almost to the street when I hear someone call my name.
“Caren! Yoo-hoo!” Jo rushes toward me, pulling up the sideof her maxi dress with one hand. “Where are you off to? Are you trying to sneak out of my party without saying goodbye?” She drops the handful of fabric and smooths out her skirt.
“When I saw the ice luge, I knew it was time to go.”
