“You heard me.”
“I did—but I’m afraid you’ve stolenmyline. This is the first of Ellie’s parties I’ve seen you at. So the real question is, what areyoudoing here?”
“You hate Ellie,” I say instead of answering the question.
Again, Alex is the picture of dissonance, his mouth frowning while his eyes sparkle.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Ellie is one of my closest friends. Didn’t you hear—I attend all his dinner parties.”
I blink at him once. Twice. Thrice.
“You’re deranged.” I turn on my heel, resolving to ignore him the rest of the night.
Unfortunately, that resolution proves impossible to keep. The conversation throughout dinner is dull, mostly because everyone seems content to hang on Alex’s every word.
It becomes really annoying, really fast.
I want to get home to Ruthie, who will meow at the top of her lungs, demanding dinner the moment I walk through the door. Ruthie is a fickle creature, constantly vacillating between hesitant affection and complete disregard for me, but she’s my best friend in the whole world.
I check the time: 8:23 p.m. Maybe I’ll stay until nine.
Nine p.m., then home to Ruthie.
I glance up from my phone, and my attention is caught by the woman next to Cat, offering to pour her some wine. Cat covers her empty wineglass and shakes her head.
Ellie reaches out and grabs Cat’s hand. Fingers interlocked, they share a loaded look, small smiles tugging at their mouths.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
I run my index finger along the scar on the inside of my right thumb, up and down, in an attempt to ground myself.
“Everyone’s been talking about this mass exodus to Texas for years. I’m just waiting for it to shave time off my commute,” Alex concludes to a chorus of overenthusiastic laughter.
“Speaking of exoduses—exodi?” Ellie says. “I miss Patrick and Madison,but seeing their yard, I can’t begrudge them leaving. I don’t think theymakeyards that big in LA.”
“How are they liking Dallas?” It takes me a moment to realize Cat’s question is directed at me. I’m too zeroed in on her empty wineglass.
“Sorry, what?”
Why put out a wineglass if you know you won’t use it?
“Has Madison mentioned if they like Dallas?” Cat clarifies.
“Oh. Yeah, I think they like it. I know she’s pregnant—”
“Again?” she screeches with excitement.
“No, just the once—” I catch my mistake too late.
Cat eyes me with pity, and I feel my fist clench around my fork as heat rushes to my face.
“She gave birth to Olivertwo monthsago,” she says gently, as if breaking bad news.
“Right. How could I forget?” I say lamely.
Honesty time: I haven’t spoken to my best friend in months. I’ve been busy working my ass off, trying to make partner. She’s been busy with, apparently, motherhood. I forgot to wish her a happy birthday… and she, I suppose, forgot to tell me she delivered a baby into the world.
Or maybe I’m the one who forgot to check.
