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Chapter 3
“Thank you for not making us do any games,” I said to Linley on Saturday. Her bridal shower was so low key, it didn’t even really have a theme, except for purple, her favorite color. Everyone had assumed she’d use that as one of her wedding colors, but she said she’d wanted to have that one day of her life without purple. We all brought something we’d made, we had drinks, she opened presents, and everyone went home when they wanted to. I hung around to help Martha clean up, and she asked me how I was doing.
There seemed to be a lot of concern for me lately, and it was starting to get on my nerves. Like, yes, I had a bad year, but I was doing much better and wasn’t going to have a damn breakdown at any moment, at least not in front of people. I saved that stuff for showers or the middle of the night, or the bathroom at work, or the nature trail when it was raining, or my car.
“I’m good,” I said to Martha. I wondered if, now that Linley was getting married, she was going to turn her attention to me in an attempt to shove me into matrimony.
“Good,” she said, putting her hand on my shoulder. “We’re so happy to have you here with us. You know, I heard that a person was stabbed yesterday in Boston? That could have been you.”
I rolled my eyes. “There are people stabbed every day in Boston. It’s a big city. Wasn’t there a stabbing in Castleton last month?”
Martha waved me off. “That was different.”
I was going to argue with her about how that wasn’t different, but Linley came over, a tired smile on her face.
“Thank you for everything,” she said, giving me a huge hug.
“No problem,” I said. My gift to her had been a horrifically expensive ceramic knife set that she’d been coveting for ages, and she’d nearly cried when she opened it. Purple, of course.
“It was perfect,” she said with a happy sigh.
“Wasn’t it?” Martha said. “I’m almost sad it’s over. I wish I had someone else to throw a shower for,” she said.
Linley and I shared a look. We both knew who she was talking about.
“Let’s get another drink,” Linley said in my ear and we escaped to the kitchen to make ourselves another mimosa.
“It’s me, now, right? She’s going to focus on me now that you’re getting married,” I said as Linley handed me my drink, heavy on the champagne and light on the orange juice.
“I mean, probably? You should hear her asking me about grandchildren.” Linley sighed. “Neither Gray nor I are ready for that for at least a few years, so I have no idea what I’m going to do.”
“What about Rachel?” I asked.
Linley made a face. “She can’t get her act together to get to this shower, you think she could get her act together to be a decent parent? I mean, I love her, but she does not need to be bringing a baby into her messy life.”
Rachel had always been kind of chaotic, and some of us had had to set some boundaries with her. I’d almost completely cut off contact with her when I’d had to bail her out of too many scrapes without an apology or promise of change.
“True,” I said. “So, I guess it’s me. Can you tell me if she starts making any concrete plans to set me up? I’d like to head them off, if possible,” I said.
“You got it, coz.”
* * *
I went over to Paige and Esme’s after the shower, so it was kind of like an after party.
We sat on the screened-in porch and chatted, while Paige’s orange cat, Potato, begged for attention, and Esme’s husky, Stormy, ran around on the lawn with a ball and occasionally stopped to howl at anything and everything.
“Have you heard the drama?” Paige asked. “I was going to tell you at the shower, but I didn’t want anyone to overhear.”
“What drama? Tell me,” I said, leaning toward her.
I lived for Castleton drama. It was like being in the front-row seat of a reality show.
“Gretchen and Wyatt are on again,” she said, pretending to gag.
Gretchen, Natalie’s older sister, had gotten pregnant by Paige’s ex-boyfriend, Wyatt, last year, and they’d gotten married just a few months before their daughter, Kennsleigh, was born.
Last I’d heard, they’d had a huge blowout in the parking lot of the Pine Tree Bar and Grille and she’d thrown him out.
