Page 30 of WASP

With a meticulous flick of her wrist, her mother snapped the binder on the counter closed, once again looking between Austin and Noémie and letting out a long breath. “It was very nice to meet you, Naomi. Andrew, let’s go; we have guests to greet,” she said, moving past the pair and grabbing her husband’s hand, dragging him into the foyer.

“It’s Noémie,” Austin called after their mother, but it was unclear whether the correction reached her. He turned to face everyone still standing in the kitchen. “Well, that went great,” he said cheerfully.

They all burst out laughing as Drew stepped forward, holding his hand out to Noémie. “Welcome to the family. We can be an entertaining bunch. Andrew Junior, but please call me Drew.”

Avery’s eyes flicked to their brother, indignation on her face. “Since when?”

Drew bristled, rolling his shoulders slightly in a movement Annie recognized from over the years. “In the last few months. I like it better.”

“Dude, took you long enough. I love this for you, man.” Austin clapped Drew on the back, resting his forearm on Drew’s shoulder.

Where Austin was tall and lanky with fiery red hair, Drew was shorter, a little under six feet, with a slightly stockier build and fair blond hair. Avery, like Austin, had inherited the height and red hair. Annie mirrored Drew in looks and build, but with a touch more of a ginger tint in her blond strands. The four of them, standing side by side, created the perfect spectral display of the various mixes of Dillinger genetics.

“I’m Avery, and this is my husband Brett. Welcome to the fam, I guess.” Avery patted Brett’s bicep. “C’mon sweetie, we should go help with welcoming guests.”

Brett protested, “You go, I want to stay here and chat,” but a stern look from Avery had him quickly falling in line. “Nice to meet you!” he called over his shoulder. “Can’t wait to talk more.”

“We should probably go out there; you know how Mom gets about party etiquette.” Annie punched her brother’s arm playfully. “You could have given me a heads up about all this.”

Austin rubbed his arm, a pout firmly in place even though they both knew she had barely touched him. “I could have. But you know I love the wow factor.”

It was true. Austin had always been the most boisterous of the bunch, loud and over the top, and always at the center of everything. She looked at Noémie. “Are you sure this is who you want as your husband?”

Austin put his arm around Noémie’s waist, pulling her to him and placing a kiss on her cheek as she responded with a smile. “He might be an attention seeker, but I promise I always put him in his place.”

“She really does.” Austin nodded vigorously.

“Then welcome to the family, Noémie,” Annie said, turning and ducking out of the kitchen. She walked through the narrow hall leading to the dining room, allowing her to bypass the foyer. She had one goal tonight: Avoid as much awkward small talk as possible. Her plan—always be on the move. Continuously circling to find the least crowded rooms and, when absolutely needed, hide upstairs. There was no shame in that game.

A nudge against her shoulder shifted her attention to Drew, his arm stretched out to her, a shot glass in hand. “Thought you might want this.” He grinned, knocking back the shot of golden liquid.

Annie took the shot, sniffing it and crinkling her nose at the burn of synthetic cinnamon instantly triggering the memory of stealing their grandfather’s Red Hot candies. “It’s been a minute since I’ve ripped a straight shot of this stuff.”

“Don’t be a wuss,” Drew egged her on.

Annie glared at him, bringing the glass to her lips and tilting her head back as the liquid burned the back of her throat in a fiery bite. Her face twisted with her disgust. She’d never been very good at taking shots.

“Good luck,” she said.

“And godspeed,” Drew answered.

For the next hour and a half, Annie mingled her way through the party. Striking up pleasant and appropriate conversation with her parents’ friends and acquaintances. Mingling was a skill taught early in the Dillinger household, one that by now she had perfected and turned into an art form. This party had always meant so much to her mom so Annie pretended to care, acting like she was interested in what these people had to say.

After successfully distracting Mrs. Pittman, her old cello instructor, by pointing Austin out across the room, Annie ducked up the back stairs. She slipped into her bedroom, closed the door softly behind her, and leaned her back against it.

She didn’t bother turning on the light; she wanted to be in the dark, in the quiet, alone. The muffled sounds of the party going on below drifted up through the aged wooden plank flooring. She took a deep breath, then another, moving towards the mirror above the dresser. She flattened the flyaways that had managed to escape her meticulous slick-back. Leaning back, she admired her work, straightening the golden pendant locket, centering it against her black turtleneck.

A soft knock at the door surprised her, but not nearly as much as who was on the other side.

“Caroline,” she breathed.

Ugh.

“I thought I might find you up here. Can I come in?” Caroline’s voice was soft, the one she used when she needed something, which instantly made Annie uneasy. But she didn’t say no. She didn’t say anything.

A moment passed, long and slow and uncomfortable, before Annie flicked on the light and pulled the door open, inviting her into the same bedroom they had shared on numerous visits home to Wellington Point—the only difference now being instead of their suitcases strewn out across the floor, it was all of Annie’s belongings.

“What do you want?” Annie spat. Annoyance at Caroline’s audacity to even seek her out tonight creeping into her words.