You. Have. Got. To. Be. Kidding. Evie looks perfect. I can see her shoulders slumping with dejection, and all I want to do is sit Melony down and force her to order a spring wardrobe from a Walmart catalog until she apologizes.
Evie flashes a tense smile up at me and wraps her arm around mine. “Alrighty then. Let’s get this party started.”
EVIE
I hate being in this house. It’s wrapped in memories that I despise.
“Do you feel that?” I whisper to Jake as we follow Mama from the foyer into the parlor where, supposedly, the rest of the guests have been waiting on us for the past fifteen minutes. I call bull. We were right on time! If they were waiting, it’s because those snooty booties got here early.
“Feel what?”
“That plunge in temperature. My mama’s heart is so cold it keeps the house at a chilling 63 degrees.”
Jake laughs, which draws Mama’s attention. She looks over the shoulder of her powder-pink linen dress and scowls. “I know you’ve been out of society for a while now, but do try to remember your manners, Evelyn Grace. None of your jokes at the dinner table if you want to leave here with a check in your pocket.”
“No, all you said was that I had to attend tonight to get the check. You can’t change the rules now, Mama.”
“As long as I am holding the pen, I can change the rules whenever I like,” Mama says with a lazy smirk as she pauses outside of the parlor threshold.
Everything looks exactly as it did the day I left home. Dark-chestnut hardwoods, cream walls, and the same color wood as the floor lines the molding of the windows and doors. Plush rugs with various shades of slate-blue, cream, and burgundy dot the floors, and in the center of the foyer, there is the same round antique table that would make Joanna Gaines salivate.
Mama’s house has been featured in Southern Living as one of the most beautifully designed houses in Charleston, but it’s not my style. Everything feels overdone. Over-decorated. It’s not warm and inviting like Jake’s house. And instead of smelling of vanilla and teakwood, I think the candles they burn here have wicks made from hundred-dollar bills, giving it the overall aroma of wealth.
Mama gestures with her hand for us to enter before her. She casts a disgusted look at Charlie, and I know she’s annoyed that I brought him. I feel a familiar prickle of dread roll over me, and just as I’m considering kicking off my heels and running for the door, I feel Jake’s hand land on my lower back. I glance up at him, and he winks at me with a smile that makes my heart grow.
That’s when I realize this night isn’t going to be anything like all of the rest. Jake is by my side. I have a sidekick. Someone to shoulder some of the weight and help me deflect the fiery scowls my mama will throw at me.
I’m feeling lighter and hopeful as we step into the room together. And then, as plain as day, I can spot the trap, and I want to turn around and bolt again. In fact, I do. I spin out of Jake’s hand and make a beeline for the door, but Mama catches my arm before I can escape, and I realize it’s too late. We’re toast. Done for. All good feelings are gone.
Mr. And Mrs. Murray are seated on a loveseat, and Tyler is standing by the beverage cart with something am
ber-colored already floating in the glass in his hand. I hate when he drinks. It makes him cockier. And handsier.
I’m now realizing that this is what my parents were hoping would be a family dinner. Because that’s what they want all of us to be: one weird, competitively dysfunctional family. I wouldn’t be surprised if I looked in the corner and found a preacher gagged and tied until they were ready to force him into officiating a ceremony.
“I thought you said we would be having a dinner party with important guests,” I hiss at my mother. She’s no longer Mama to me. It’s Mother from here on out. I knew she was underhanded, but this feels like too much. Forcing me to eat and be merry with people whom I have clearly been avoiding.
She’s got her fake pageant smile on and that disgustingly sweet voice that gives me PTSD. “Of course I did. Because these are the most important guests, dear. It’s been much too long since you’ve seen Tom and Amy.” She’s spinning me around, and old habits really must die hard, because I’m pasting my fake smile on too, even though I really want to stomp on my mother’s foot and yell “NEVER!” before running out of the room.
I just keep reminding myself, though, to not rock the boat tonight. Get in. Grab the check. Get out.
“Evie, how nice to see you again!” says Amy Murray. She’s as feline as I’ve ever seen. The only woman who could ever give my mama a run for her money. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, right? Mama and Amy act like friends; they keep everything Southern sweet, but there is the unspoken code between them that says if you double-cross me, I will destroy you. “Tyler, dear, come see Evie! How long has it been since you two have seen each other?”
My eyes meet Tyler’s, and he’s smirking like the devil as he looks between me and Jake. I feel a chill settle over me, and I’m worried that Tyler is in on this trap. I fall in line beside Jake, and suddenly, I feel his hand wrapping around my shoulder. “Mine,” says his arm, and I like it. Maybe if I Sharpie his name across my forehead for the rest of the night, everyone would get the picture that I’m never going to be Tyler’s, and whatever they are planning won’t work.
“Actually, Tyler and I already ran into each other a few days ago. By the way, how’s that rash treating you these days, Tyler? I hope it’s all cleared up.”
“Evie Grace, always such a jokester,” says Tyler, rounding the loveseat to come stand in front of Jake and me. He’s wearing a suit that I’m sure costs upwards of five thousand dollars and sticks his hand out toward Jake, giving him his most winning (vicious) courtroom smile. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Tyler Murray. Longtime friend of Evie.”
Looking on, you might think this is polite. No way. This is a strategic power move, because now, Jake is forced to let go of me to shake Tyler’s hand.
“Jacob Broaden. Guy who’s lucky enough to be dating Evie,” says Jake, and I cringe because he’s broken my second rule. Keep your mouth shut.
Everyone in the room chuckles like they’ve already somehow rehearsed this little skit before we arrived and know their cues.
Daddy swoops in out of nowhere. “You’ll have to be more specific than that, Jake. Any number of men could boast that same title.” Umm, that is so not true. Not even a little. Well, actually, it’s just a tiny bit true. But it’s not my fault that guys don’t want anything serious with me. If they take me out, it’s only for one night, and when I don’t sleep with them at the end of it, they don’t call again.
My smile tightens, and I look at Jake, afraid that he’s going to be mad by what he’s heard, given his past relationship with his wife. I know he’s skittish. But when I look up, he gives me a reassuring smile and puts his hand on my lower back again. “I’m just grateful to have made the cut, then.”