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I sighed. “Dirty Dancingshould be called Creepy Dancing—Swayze was considerably older than her. AndCall Me By Your Nameis basicallyAmerican Pie, but with a peach. Look, point is, I went through extreme discomfort to apologize for your birthday.”
Her smile dazzled now, so big it warmed my skin. “You made dinner for me?”
“All your favorites.”
“And bought roses and candles?”
“Itwasyour birthday. And you did make a big stink about my gift, although I maintain that it was a nice gesture.”
“You asked your friends for advice?” She slapped a hand over her mouth, howling behind it.
I couldn’t help it—I smiled, too.
Her happiness was contagious.
“Stop looking so smug,” I ordered.
“Did you at least like one or two?” She wiggled her brows. “Movies.”
“Octi, they were objectively terrible.”
Her giggles trickled into my bloodstream, making me feel lighter. “Call me that again.”
“Octi?”
“Yes.”
“Octi.”
She grinned. “Such an unusual nickname.”
I smiled. “Such an unusual girl.” I peeled my jacket off my shoulders. “At any rate, as I sat there, surrounded by roses and a home-cooked meal I made myself, I realized how pathetic I was. You weren’t there. What’s more, you looked so happy going away, even when I begged you to stay.”
“I thought it was a power flex.” Her eyes softened, and I believedher. “How did Eileen end up where I should’ve sat?”
I gave her a blank, dispassionate stare. “She appeared at my doorway. She came to visit my mother across the street, and I suppose she figured we could go through our checklist while she was in town.”
Mom had appeared behind Eileen before I could turn her away, dragging her into my den and insisting we should all have dinner together.
Then, she’d made herself scarce before the champagne even made it into a glass.
“You know how my headaches are.”
Perhaps the least convincing excuse in existence.
She hadn’t had a headache in three decades.
Farrow appeared deep in thought, tapping her lips. “Why don’t you tell your mom you don’t want to marry her?”
“Because I don’t only owe a good marriage to Mom. I owe it to Dad, too.”
“And you’re willing to sacrifice your happiness for your mother’s?”
“Yes,” I said without missing a beat. “I’m used to feeling unhappy. In fact, I’m used to not feeling anything at all. At least Mom still has a shot at happiness.”
Not many things got to me, but those six or so years that Mom had zoned out of life scared the shit out of me. A repeat would ruin her.
Celeste Ayi and I did everything possible to prevent it.
