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Zander shoots me a smile as he backs out of the parking spot and heads toward the main road. “Anytime. Plus, I’m pretty sure I’ll forever be in debt to you for rescuing me from humiliation at The Shack for open-mic night.”
I look over at him. “I’m glad my nerves didn’t get the best of me.”
“You sounded amazing, Angie.” His soft-spoken tone pulls at my heart. He is such a great guy. Why is he single? “You stole the show.”
I swallow hard. Singing for me is a painful memory of what I have lost. Some things are meant to stay buried. However, I have to admit to myself that I liked the duet that unexpectedly occurred. It was reminiscent and actually soothing—but only until my brain caught up with my heart. The void that remains in my life is not filled completely by that moment. It is just the start of removing a bandage that is meant to stay covered.
After about ten minutes of silence, Zander clears his throat. I can tell he has something on his mind and is reluctant to bring it up.
“Everything okay?”
“So, this Graham person. What is he to you?” His words shake with hesitation.
“A friend,” I blurt out. Is that what Graham is? A friend? He definitely acts levels above an acquaintance, but classifying him as something with an actual label just seems—
Pretentious?
We definitely touch more than friends usually do. And there are kisses.
I can tell that Zander has internally battled with whether or not to ask. I wish he hadn’t. The car is starting to feel claustrophobic.
“Are you guys dating?”
I turn to look at him. Why all these questions? “Not dating. He’s just someone I met recently through an acquaintance.” I feel pangs of guilt for being so cryptic. However, I’m still trying to figure things out on my own.
Zander pulls up to where the valet worker is waiting to take his keys. “Well, he seems like a pretty intense individual.”
“Yeah, he can be,” I whisper, opening my door and hoisting myself out. I shoot Claire a quick text letting her know we arrived. Luckily inside, the tables are all assigned to guests.
Zander jogs to my side. “I would have helped you, Angie.”
I smooth out my dress and pull my shoulders back with fake confidence. I think all of the interrogation questions got to me, because I’m still trying to figure out what Graham is to me myself.
Gorgeous guys like Graham are dangerous for a girl like me. He is experienced and seasoned. Addictive. Then again, he has completely fallen off the grid this week, so maybe all of my internal analyzing is a waste of headspace.
The gala is held at a private resort on the water. Lights strung from trees light the path leading up to the main entrance, like magical lanterns in the night. Dozens of people gather outside the venue to talk about sponsors, take some photos near the backdrop sign, or to get interviewed.
Skipping some of the hoopla, Zander and I meander inside with linked arms.
“I’m not used to seeing you this dressed up,” I say, smiling up at him. “A black suit looks good on you.”
His smile calms my nerves.
The main entranceway of the building is set up with tables of champagne, a guestbook to sign, and a pledge to donate area. I try not to allow thoughts of inferiority to flutter through my head, but it’s hard being around designer labels when I am wearing a rent-the-dress that made it into the consignment sales after being retired. Dozens of girls could have worn this very dress. Granted, I gutted the thing and made it extra special with my sewing skills. I doubt anyone can tell that it is semi-homemade, and I’d like for it to stay that way the whole night. It’s not like anyone would ever ask me who I was wearing; I’m not special.
Instrumental music filters in from the main hall, where circular tables and chairs are arranged to almost mimic the scene of a wedding reception.
A man in a tux escorts us to our table, just in time for Ethan and Claire to come walking in from the side door.
“Oh, good, you guys made it,” I say in relief. Having my bestie here will calm my nerves a bit, and at the very least will keep Zander from asking me more questions I don’t really know how to answer about Graham.
“Are you participating in the silent auction?” Claire asks.
“I doubt I have enough money in my bank account to even hit the minimum bid. So, no,” I laugh awkwardly. Sadly, I’m here mainly to honor my mom in spirit and not be an ample financial contributor. Sure, the sale of my ticket helps, but it is very meager compared to some of these bigger donations.
The host for the evening announces for everyone to sit down, while he goes over the reason why we are all gathered tonight. A slide show plays in the background featuring photos of passed loved ones. I wait with anxiousness for Momma’s picture to appear.
I sip from my wine glass and fidget with the sheer layers of my gown. At least it has a halter top, and I can worry less about my boobs slipping out. Despite knowing that I belong here at this event, it still feels so weird being here to honor Momma without James or Dad.
