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“I don’t foresee that being a problem,” I say watching her as she makes her way around the kitchen. There’s something in the way she moves. She moves with the kind of grace and confidence I wish I had, almost like she was given the extra dose the rest of the world was shorted. When Ann is satisfied with the placement of her monogrammed napkins, she moves on. But not before turning toward me to give me the once-over. I smile. You’re right, Ann. Something is different. “What’s up with you today?”
“Nothing.”
Her face falls. She’s disappointed by my lies. “This is serious, Sadie. I want everyone happy tonight—everyone needs to have a good time.”
“I understand.”
This time it isn't just her expression that changes, her entire demeanor shifts. She doesn’t like it that she can’t figure me out, that she can’t pin me down. She turns away again. But she’s not fooling me. She’s going to come at me from another angle. “Paul’s home, and I want to make tonight good for him. Darcy will be here too. There’s a lot riding on this party. ”
My bottom lip juts out. Not that she’s looking. How sweet that her words carry daggers. It’s almost like she’s trying to make me jealous. It works.
“Anyway—there’s more champagne out in the garage. Just make sure we don’t run out and keep everyone’s glasses filled. God knows they need it.”
I don’t offer a response. I’m too busy filling champagne flute after champagne flute in preparation for her guests’ arrival. Any moment now, I think, checking the time on my phone. I’m secretly hoping to see a text from Ethan. But I suppose Chet would be a halfway decent substitute.
“Do your arms hurt?” Ann asks watching me put the phone away and then stretch my triceps. Always one to look on the bright side, she’s reminding me in her subtle way that not only am I kissing someone’s ass, I’m getting a workout in at the same time. “Here,” she says. “Let me.”
She runs her hands down the length of my arms and back up. It doesn’t go unnoticed when I get the chills. “Better?”
“Yes.”
“Have a drink. It’ll help warm you.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Well, I am. Have you seen the people in this town lately?” she asks. “They’re like zombies. They could stand to loosen up a little.”
I don’t know what she’s getting at. I can’t help but take it personally. “Who specifically?”
Ann cocks her head. “Do I really need to answer that?”
I wouldn’t have asked otherwise. I shake my head. I know better than to say what’s on my mind.
“God,” she says. “I don’t know why I’m so nervous. But I am. I just want everyone to be happy, you know. It’s the holidays.”
I recall my husband’s favorite words. They work on anybody. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it,” I tell her, even though I don’t really know what exactly it is.
“You promise?”
“I promise,” I say, making a mental note to stay away from the champagne. Then, when Ann is once again preoccupied with her list, I pop an Ativan for good measure. It should help with my clammy palms and the flip-flop feeling in my stomach.
“So….” Ann says, handing me veggies to chop. I brace myself for what comes next. I can tell by her inquisitive tone that she knows. I’m pretty sure she can smell sex and happiness on me. She clears her throat. “What’s your New Year’s resolution?”
I pretend to mull her question over as I slice cucumbers and then arrange them on a tray. The chopping goes on and on, and it never ends. I have no idea how many people the Bankses are expecting, but apparently it is a lot. Finally, I tell her, “I don’t do New Year’s resolutions.”
“What a shame.”
Once I’ve finished arranging the last of the vegetables on the tray, I move to the other side of the kitchen where I can stare down the lane toward home. It feels like waking up after a long slumber. Ann asks who I’m looking for. What I’m looking for. This is her way. As much as I enjoy her company, she has a way of going too deep, too fast. I think that’s what Ethan liked so much about her. You should check out her podcast. She’s real. She doesn’t hide behind things. She tells it like it is. I think she could help you…
Ann picks up the knife I used for chopping and tosses it in the sink. “I feel like you’re missing a major opportunity for hope—for growth.”
“Probably.”
She walks over to where I’m standing. She twirls me around, forcing me to face her. “I know the holidays are hard. God, do I know. But you can’t lose focus, Sadie. You can’t. And it would serve you immensely not to be so cold.”
“I’m not.”
She gives me that “atta girl” look, the one we all crave. “Fine then. What’s the one thing—out of anything—that if you could have it—you’d want?”
