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While Emily pours a beer for one of Owen’s old college friends, Walker leans in and whispers in her ear. Without looking at him, she laughs, nudges him with her elbow, and hands the beer to Owen’s pal. Their closeness is something to be envied.
As I look around the room, it dawns on me that I’m the only singleton left. Well, of the men. Gwyneth’s been single since Braith’s asshole father left them when she was a baby.
And I couldn’t be happier for them all. Owen, Max, Connor, and Walker all seem to have a kind of inner peace they never had before. Almost like they know who they are since they found their true other halves. It’s an air of confidence and contentment that can come only from being totally sure you’re waking up next to the right person every single morning.
For a second there, I had a brief glimpse of what it might feel like. I know Charlotte’s my right person. I always have. But now that she’s walked away, all I have inside is a giant, hollow, twisting ache.
I swallow past the rock in my throat and drain my champagne glass.
“Looks like you could do with another one of those.” Dad collapses into the seat beside me and slides one of the two full glasses he’s carrying in my direction. “Mind if I hide out here with you before your mother dances my aching knees off?” He rubs the left one and puffs out a loud breath.
“Thanks.” Getting drunk enough to forget, even temporarily, might be the only way to get through this evening.
“If anyone can find the quiet corner at a party, it’s always you,” Dad says.
“It’s not actually that quiet.” ABBA is trilling from the speakers.
“You look tired,” Dad says, concern wrinkling his brow. “You’ve had a busy week, right?”
Christ, I must look wrecked if people keep pointing it out.
“Busy few years, more like.” I turn the glass around and around on the table. “But yeah, these last few weeks have been incredibly stressful.” And not just because of work.
“Ha, look at them.” Dad chuckles and points at Braith cracking up at Connor’s robot dance moves. “I hear Charlotte’s been helping you,” he adds, still watching the dancers.
“Couldn’t have done the First Byte opening without her.” I tip more cool, fizzy liquid down my throat, but it does nothing to extinguish the ache burning inside me.
Dad drops his chin and turns to look at me. His eyes narrow as he scans every inch of my face. “How come she left early?”
I might not make an excellent poker player right now. At least not if this man, who knows me best, were my opponent.
On top of everything else, I now have to lie to my father. “Something to do with getting back to work, I think.”
I stare into my drink and focus hard on a bubble wriggling its way up from the bottom.
“Only met her a couple of times,” Dad says. “But she seems like a lovely young woman.”
“She is.” Some of the bubbles make it all the way to the top and burst on the surface. Others fade halfway. “Lovely and smart, and as organized and determined as hell.”
“And very pretty.” Dad takes a sip of his champagne.
“Yup.” I finish my glass.
“Hm. The perfect package.” He nods like a wise old owl. “No smart man I know would let that go without a fight.”
This man is way more perceptive than people give him credit for.
“I’m not sure what you mean, but?—”
“There you are.” Mom appears, flushed and glowing, and saves me from having to fumble my way to a noncommittal answer.
She rests a hand on Dad’s shoulder. “I was looking for you. Remember this?” She gestures to the music that’s now changed to some Bruce Springsteen song.
Dad tips his head as if straining to listen, even though the sound fills the tent. “Ah, yes.” He takes her hand off his shoulder and kisses it. “It kept coming up on the car radio on our road trip to Myrtle Beach. When was that? Thirty-five years ago?”
“Thirty-seven.” Mom gazes wistfully into the middle distance. “The magnolias and rhododendrons were beautiful.”
“Well, come on then.” Dad heaves himself out of his chair with a wince. “Let’s get to it before it finishes.”
