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Claire shrugs. “Seems fair, if you ask me. I was even exercising restraint with that threat. Be proud of me.”
I laugh hard over the image of her going to bat for me. Oh, how I love this girl with my whole heart.
We head back into the living room. Claire joins Ethan in a snuggle on the couch. I claim the adjacent chair.
“I hear you are attending a charity gala this evening, Angie,” Ethan says, making small talk.
“Yeah. It’s to raise money for cancer research,” I volunteer softly.
“Wow, that’s really awesome to be part of something so important. My mom is a breast cancer survivor.”
I nod with a warm smile, fighting back the tears that want to start. My mom was a cancer victim. Clearing my throat, I look to Claire. “Zander is picking me up around 5:40 p.m. If you need a ride there, just let us know. Remember, it starts at six.”
“Wait,” Ethan says. “You’re going? Why am I just hearing about this now? Hmm?”
He bends down to tickle Claire’s sides. She squeals and wiggles, trying to free herself, nearly knocking her plate onto the floor. I laugh at her reaction. I am happy that she is happy. Everyone deserves love.
“You should come,” I persuade. “There will be dancing though.”
“Why am I getting invited by your bestie instead of by you? Huh?” he asks her with a smile. “Do you think I am incapable of moving my hips?”
Claire tries to get away from him, but he is twice her size.
“Stop,” she playfully yells.
“Huh, is that it? Let me prove my point about my hips that you must be questioning.”
Ethan places the half-empty bagel plate on the coffee table and swings Claire over his shoulder with ease, marching upstairs. She lifts her head to look at me on her ascent, giving me just enough time to implement our you-better-use-protection hand sign, consisting of three Girl Scout pledge fingers getting covered by the opposite hand. Of course, Claire mimics the gesture using just her middle finger instead of three. Either way, equally effective. The sound of a door shutting rather loudly and her muffled yelps make me flush.
I shuffle into the kitchen and busy myself with cleaning every surface, before moving into the living room to do the same.
By the time I am done, Claire and Ethan make their way down the stairs, a post-sex glow over their skin. Claire is dressed in a bright yellow dress with short sleeves and a black belt that sits around her tiny waist. She looks like a ball of sunshine.
“Wow, you look amazing.”
“Thank you. I have to pick up my gala dress from the shop. I just hope it fits. Is it okay if we meet you there? We have a couple of errands to run.”
“Yeah, no problem. I am going to throw in a load of laundry and then spend the rest of the day getting myself ready.”
“Cool. I’ll text you when we get there.”
I watch as the happy couple exits, smiling at how good they look together. I can’t help but wonder if that will someday be me—despite my own personal hang-ups when it comes to love. It’s not like I don't know what it is. I just have more experience with what it isn’t. It is more of a delusion. People in love put blinders on and take everything at face value, never reflecting enough to uncover motives or intent. Love takes work, and I have enough on my plate to avoid it at all cost.
Second chances are expensive.
Third chances are nonexistent.
* * *
By the time Zander picks me up in front of my townhouse, I’m already a bit exhausted from all of the primping I did to get ready for tonight’s event. I am not into these big social scenes, yet I know if I don’t attend, I will forever feel guilty over it.
“You look wonderful, Angie.” Zander opens the passenger door for me and helps me inside. “I love the”—he gestures toward the layers of chiffon fabric of the long flowing skirt—“I don’t even know what color that is, but it suits you.”
I laugh. “It’s called champagne.”
He mumbles something that I think is another compliment and then shuts the door gently. I take a deep breath and glance in the mirror at my wavy hair as Zander rounds the front of the car and gets settled behind the wheel. I second-guess if my eyelashes are too long or if my makeup is a bit much for the gala. Wanting to look my best and actually accomplishing the task are two different things. Plus, people will be too polite to tell me if I flubbed up.
“I appreciate you escorting me this year.”
