“Get me some wine glasses, will ya,” I directed Lena, who nervously pulled the foil off the platter of Baklava. She was unusually squirrely, and her erratic energy was driving me nuts. I took a tumbler out of the dish rack and filled it with wine. “Here, drink this. I think you need to chill out.”
Lena took the glass but didn’t drink. “Don’t be pissed, Adam. It was all done innocently.”
I frowned, not liking where this was going. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, Mom invited—” Lena started to say but was interrupted by my mother breezing into the room.
“There you are, Adam,” Mom announced, coming over to kiss my cheek. Her face wrinkled in disgust. “You smell like you’ve bathed in drug store cologne. And you’re all sweaty.”
“Sorry, Mom. I was out on the course with Rob all afternoon. I was late getting home. Didn’t have time for a shower. I may have gone overboard with the body spray.” I should have known my perfectionist mother would notice my less than the pristine state of hygiene. She wasn’t a bitch about it; she simply had standards. It’s one of the things that I prided myself on inheriting from her.
“You can’t even be presentable for your loving mother who has slaved over a hot stove to provide you with a delicious dinner,” Mom intoned dramatically, but with the hint of a smile, so I knew she wasn’t entirely serious.
“If by “slaved” you mean peeled the film off a container of potato salad,” Lena snickered.
Mom playfully smacked her arm. “Don’t you start, missy.”
I hugged my mother. “You know I appreciate it, Ma. I’ll dress in a three-piece suit next time.”
She pinched my cheek. “Still handsome, though.”
“So, Lena says you invited some people over for dinner. Who is it? The Mitchells? I ran into Becky last week, and she said she was going to call you about getting together.” I heard someone laugh, and I felt tense. My guts wrenched, and my chest felt uncomfortably tight.
Mom took the bottle of wine and filled two glasses. “Take these out to our guests. I’m sure you’ll be happy to see her. It’s been a long time.”
“Her?” I looked at Lena, who wore a slightly panicked expression.
“Adam, just be cool—”
“Marion, where do you keep the Tylenol? Meghan has a horrible headache. Lack of sleep and not eating enough if you ask me…”June Galloway bustled into the kitchen full of frenetic energy and rapid-fire sentences. “Oh, hi, Adam!” She engulfed me in a rose-scented hug that was straight out of my childhood. The woman never changed except for more grey hair than the last time I had seen her.
Then I registered what she said.
Meghan.
Meg.
Well, shit.
Chapter 6
Adam
“Hi, June. It’s great to see you,” I said, with an easy smile I suddenly wasn’t feeling. I felt ambushed, and it wasn’t a pleasant sensation.
My eyes zeroed in on my sister.
“I didn’t know,” she mouthed in my direction. I believed her. She was entirely too bugged out to be anything but surprised.
I patted June’s back as she released me. “I think you grow better looking every time I see you,” Meg’s mom commented.
“Even if he smells like he took a hobo shower,” my mom criticized, and the two women tittered together. My mom and June had been thick as thieves for my entire life. Having become friends in the ninth grade after June’s family moved to Southport, they were inseparable ever since. They were maids of honor in each other’s weddings. They went on vacation together. They even attended the same Lamaze classes when Mom was pregnant with me and June with Meg. It was only natural that Meg and I had become just as close.
At one time, I couldn’t have imagined my life without Meg in it. Our friendship had always felt like something more. Like something deeper. We had finished each other’s sentences. We could practically read each other’s minds. There wasn’t a secret between us.
I should have known that it couldn’t last. Male/female friendships inevitably morphed into uncomfortable, hormone-laden travesties. I had stupidly thought Meg and I wasn’t like that. That we were made of stronger stuff.
I hadn’t anticipated how wrong I was.
“Don’t just stand there … take the wine out to Meghan and your dad. I got some of those beers you like. They’re in the fridge,” my mom instructed, shooing me out of the kitchen.
Lena, coming to my rescue, took one of the glasses from my white-knuckled hands. She walked with me out onto the deck where my dad was sitting, his face to the sun, talking to a woman whose back was to me.
I couldn’t see her face, but I’d recognize that mane of unruly red hair anywhere.
It had been over a year since I had seen her. And before that, it had been at least eight years. So many days, so many months since speaking to the woman who used to be my other half.