Page 31 of Wreckage and Rain

Summer

I've been looking forward to this for three weeks.

That's the part that makes it pathetic. Not the curling iron or the green dress or the earrings I've changed four times. It's the anticipation. Twenty-one days of building this night in my head. The table. Colt next to me. A night that's about me. Not Bennet Holdings. Not Tidewater. Not the slow erosion I have been watching happen to my marriage for months.

Twenty-four years old today. I am standing in my bathroom putting on mascara, believing tonight might fix something.

My phone sits on the edge of the sink. No calls. No texts. I pick it up and type:

Me

Dinner at 7 at my parents'. Don't forget.

Stare at it. Send.

Read receipt pops up immediately.

No response.

I tell myself he's in a meeting. He saw it and smiled. He'll walk through the door in twenty minutes smelling like Tom Ford and pull me in by the waist and say something that makes me feel like the only person in any room he's ever stood in.

I tell myself a lot of things these days.

***

King's Diner is beautiful.

Mama has outdone herself. Sunflowers on every table. My favorite since I was six and Daddy grew them along the back fence. A banner across the wall that says HAPPY BIRTHDAY SUMMER in gold letters. Daddy's handwriting. Careful block print. The man has never written in cursive.

The diner is closed tonight. Just for us. Mama's made fried green tomatoes and shrimp and grits and the brown butter cake she only makes for birthdays.

Autumn is on a barstool when I walk in, boots on the rung. She screams when she sees me. Actually screams. Daddy flinches behind the register.

"The green dress." She grabs my hands. Holds my arms out. "You absolute weapon."

"That's the plan."

"Where's Prince Charming?"

"On his way."

She doesn't say anything to that. Just smiles. Squeezes my hands. Pulls me toward the table where Jake is sitting with a beer and a wrapped present.

"You're late to your own party." Jake stands and lifts me off the ground. "Happy birthday, King."

"Put me down."

"You look good. The green thing is working."

"It's called a dress, Jake."

"Whatever it's called, it's doing what it's supposed to do."

Daddy comes around the counter. Kisses the top of my head. "There's my girl. Twenty-four. Lord help us all." He looks past me toward the door. "Colt parking?"

"He's on his way."

Daddy nods. His jaw tightens. He smooths it out before he thinks I notice. I notice.