“You too,” Chloe said, shaking her hand.
My mother then made a big show of coming over to give me a kiss on the cheek, which both Wade and I rolled our eyes at.
“Enjoy your food,” Wade said before they walked off. Luckily, all the seats within talking distance were taken, so they ended up across the room.
“Err, sorry about that,” I said. I rubbed my eyes, wishing that we had gone to another restaurant. I didn’t even realize that she and Wade actually went out to eat together.
“It’s okay,” Chloe said. “I just ... it’s kind of weird.”
“What is?”
“Well, how we were just talking about keeping things between us a secret and then your mom shows up and we tell her that nothing’s going on. It just felt kind of weird. Not to be up front about it. Especially because she asked. It was like we lied to her. I just met her and I’m already lying to her!”
I had to smile. “Don’t feel weird about it. Honestly, the less she knows, the better.”
“She seems nice.”
“She has her moments.”
We started to eat, and I tried to ignore the fact that I could feel my mother’s gaze on us from across the restaurant, even though I wasn’t looking in her direction.
Chapter Twenty
Chloe
At least once every summer, my parents hosted a big party and invited everyone they socialized with during the summer. It was mostly my mother’s thing, but my father would help out a little by contributing a bottle or two of good scotch, and I was expected to dress up and play the role of good-natured hostess. The majority of the people were from the yacht club and my dad’s golfing buddies, and it was usually boring, but there was good food, so at least in that regard, it was worth going to.
And of course I wanted to invite Graham, except I knew my parents would flip out if I did. I would have much rather hung out with him, but I’d never hear the end of it from my mother if I bailed.
Tara’s family always attended, and this year, so would Riley and his parents. Most of the other people I didn’t really know, despite being introduced to them on many occasions over the years. They all looked the same to me, with their expensive shirts and deep suntans, the women with their jewelry and impeccable nails. The men talked about finances or how they’d done on the golf course; the women gossiped or complained about their live-in help. It was so stereotypical and exactly what you’d expect to see in a movie or something. I didn’t want to grow up and be like that.
The large dining room table had been cleared off and the caterers had covered it with all sorts of dishes. There were crab cakes and oysters on the half shell; several types of cold pasta salad, some sort of meats on a skewer with an assortment of glazed vegetables. Lots of salads, both of the fruit and vegetable type. Vegetarian sushi, although if you were going to have sushi it seemed pointless to have it without the fish. And, of course, plenty of alcohol. Champagne, wine, even some beer, and my dad’s scotch.
I put a smile on my face and did my best to mingle, though I’d never been any good at just inserting myself into a conversation that had already been started. Not like Tara, whom I saw across the room, talking with a few guys who I didn’t recognize. She had an animated expression on her face and both of the guys were laughing at whatever it was she was saying.
But other people didn’t seem to have much of a problem coming up to me.
“So, what is that you do?” This question had been posed to me several times tonight, this time the person asking was a man whose name I forgot, who was in real estate.
“I’m in art school,” I said.
“Oh?” He actually looked somewhat interested when I said this, which was a bit surprising. Most of the other people just smiled vaguely and said something along the lines of, “That’s nice, dear,” before moving on to talk to someone else whose ambitions might be set a little higher.
“And are you enjoying it?”
“I am. I’ll be starting my senior year next year.”
“Art is a very subjective business,” he said, frowning, as though he was genuinely concerned that I had chosen a subjective business to be interested in. “Not like real estate.”
“I’d think real estate is very subjective, too,” I said. “I mean, just because one person likes a house doesn’t mean everyone will, does it?”
The man smiled. “That’s a very simplified way of looking at it. Yes, we all have our own personal tastes, but there are some things everyone can agree on. A waterfront property is always going to be worth more than something located in the bad part of town.”
“There are no bad parts in this town,” I said, even though I understood the point he was trying to make.
“Exactly.” He swirled his wine around in the glass. “Your parents have an impressive wine collection. Anyway, my point being—art can be a difficult career to find success in.”