"No."
"I see a woman who's been trying not to look at the kitchen. I see someone who's very interested in not making eye contact with a specific person in that kitchen."
"I don't know what you mean."
"Sure you do." She sips her wine.
I don't respond. I can't. Because she's right, and we both know it.
The band has been pressing me about the mystery girlfriend since the cottage. A full week of pointed questions. Sandy is the worst offender. She appears at my elbow with a drink and the particular grin of a woman who's been thinking about this.
"Is she here?" she asks.
"Is who here?"
"Your mystery person. The one you soft launched at the cottage." She leans against the counter. "Come on. Spill."
"I didn't announce anything."
"You saidI'm seeing someone.That's an announcement."
"No. Go away."
"Is it Riley? Is it Martin?”
I roll my eyes.
“No.”
Sandy's eyes go wide. She's already doing the mental calculations. Counting people. "Is it Rebecca? You can’t do that, that’s Jo’s?—"
"No."
"Is it Jani?”
"No."
"That's a dodge. Is it Ana?"
I make a face.
“I suppose not Ana then. Is it Jeremy?”
I roll my eyes.
"No. Stop asking me.”
"Then it's someone from the industry. Someone from—" Sandy stops. She narrows her eyes. "Oh my god. It's someone you've been hiding from everyone. That's why nobody knows."
Jeremy, from across the room: "Sandy, come on. Leave her alone."
"I'm not interrogating. I'm expressing healthy concern as a friend."
"You're interrogating," Jeremy says, laughing, walking toward us. "Leave the poor woman alone."
"But she's so close to breaking. I can feel it." Sandy looks at me in the eye, and I look away. "Is she here tonight?"
I don't answer.
