Chapter 12

twelve

Lily

At 6:00 p.m. sharp I descend the steps from River's studio to the party below. It is jam-packed with the usual suspects for Peacock Springs. Looking around I see Prudence reading cards at a table packed with Stef's female cousins. There is a rousing chat between Pippa Whitter, Seth's middle sister and co-owner of Pages, and Albert, the librarian. They are loudly debating who is allowed to prominently display which new releases to avoid long holds and low sales.

Carmine Salvatore is in the kitchen chatting with the line cooks. Contemplating the thank you owed for his support during the months I tried to learn to cook abruptly ends when I see his girls swarm around him. No thanks, not interested in being front and center for the firing squad.

Rosie, the florist, is adjusting a bouquet. It's hard to believe how much she's aged since I was last home. Susan has outdone herself with the event. Yellow blooms decorate every flat surface creating a burst of sunshine. There are easily over a thousand of them scattered around the party in every shape and hue. They perfectly pay tribute to Stef's warm demeanor.

This is capped off by ornate framed photos of Stef and Lee scattered around the room. The couple grows from infants to adults; it shows a healthy mix of family, friends, and milestones. The traditional cap and gown photo with Mom and Dad flanking the graduate stings. It also leads me directly to a series of gold serving platters holding a variety of appetizers. Their heavenly scent was wafting upstairs as I got ready, making me drool. My stomach rumbles as I take in the display and quickly fill a plate and try to make myself blend in.

My eyes shift from group to group trying to figure out who is safe to talk to versus avoiding my gaze. More importantly, who will be respectful enough not to ask a barrage of invasive questions. I'd go over to River who is currently standing behind the bar despite swearing this evening he'd have someone cover, but the Kelly men are talking to him.

The duo are the rules loving sticklers who would consider marching me across the square and plopping me down in the stocks today just because I'm in town limits. Right? They're going to care, aren't they? I just want to avoid people who don't want me here, is that too much to ask?

I'm trying desperately to find where Nessa and Delia are, and hoping they aren't mad that I "ditched them" so far on this trip. I can explain, if Nessa will allow it. Trying to slip outside to the porch for some air, desperate to leave this crowded room and thwarted by a man's imposing figure. I send out a silent prayer: please be a cousin or uncle who won't know me. I breathe in the same scent I woke up surrounded by and immediately know.

"River," I say more breathily than I planned. His hands run down my arms causing soft jolts of electricity to dance across my skin. He pulls me in closer, hugging me, as I grumble, "I need a fucking drink."

I'm not used to this sort of causal touch. The deep pressure steadies me more with each passing second. I think I missed hugs, and I wonder how he knew. His lips skim my ear, "You've got this, tiger. Drinks we can do but, maybe, less strong tonight? Fewer?"

Entwining our fingers together, he leads me through the crowd of people. I keep my eyes on the floor and watch to not step on anyone while silently reciting to myself a calming phrase. You do not know them anymore, and they do not know you. You do not owe them anything, and they do not owe you until we duck under the arm of a waitress raising a tray. I grab some of the tequila from the top shelf.

"Sure, less strong than yesterday. Have at it. "

He winks so I shake the amber liquid over ice cubes.

Nessa and Delia's voices reach me as I pour the first few shots. I wave them over as Seth rounds the bar and joins us. The men do a manly greeting ritual, first high fives with back pats, that morphs to vocalized adoration, wrapping up with a hug. The performance is just over the top enough to break my momentary anxiety and cause my heart to overflow. I love these people. I've missed them and I want to be here.

Don't I deserve to be here? The question seeds into my head, but I push it aside.

"We need a toast," Delia interrupts my train of thought.

Seth raises his glass, "To honor!"

Delia groans.

This awful relic of his college days boasts about coming ‘on her' which raises Delia and Nessa's collective ire. I've heard all about this toast, but never the entire thing but as River claps a hand on the back of Seth's head and he stops.

He sternly warns, "I can cut you off before you get your first drink. Show some respect."

Nessa, always one to swoop in and stir the pot counters with, "To River! The best best man in town!"

Before shooting back the sweet floral a?ejo cries of "To River!" ring out.

River's gaze becomes uneasy when he's called the best man, and it takes a minute to piece it together. This is not the first time he's held the role, because he was our best man too.

The Hendrix and Long families were close, Grant and River played hockey together, so it was perfect. Elizabeth was often around, our moms would work together on school activities and town events. Hell, it was Elizabeth who found me digging under the sink trying to read the boxes of feminine products and re-explained what we learned in health class to me when my first period came. She sent me for clean underwear, showed me how to put the pad on, and waited by the door for me to change. When I exited Elizabeth pinched my cheeks hard before giving a soft hug. She explained that her mom did the same, a family tradition to bring the blood back to your face to ensure rosy cheeks and beauty in womanhood or some old wives tale .

River though, he did almost nothing for that wedding. He stood up there and planned a boys' night out. From what I recall hearing, it was just another typical hockey party at Kirk's mom's house. It seems like there is something more to it. Does he believe he's cursed? I never took him for someone who believed in those, I should take him to Prudence for a reading.

Unfortunately, I can't because the front doors swing open and the crowd roars, "Congratulations!"

Stef is visibly not surprised as they make the rounds to her large family, his parents, college friends, sorority sisters, and townsfolk. Finally, as they approach the bar, I pray Lee can't tell or doesn't care. She's blissfully lit from within as she waves her new jewelry around for all to see. This sparkle is more than just her self-proclaimed drunk "Asian Glow." Although they do partake in another round of tequila shots with us.

Between the drinks, appetizers, and shots, a trip to the ladies' room is very necessary. It's urgent enough that I step directly into a woman exiting the bathroom.

"I'm so sorry, excuse me!" comes out in a huff before I fully process what's happening.

It's Belinda exiting as I rush in, and now my head is spinning. Whether the cloying scent of her floral perfume or the alcohol hitting me is to blame, I can't tell. The womens' room door shuts too quietly to know how long she stood there before walking out. Did she care that it was me? Would she want to talk?

I feel an ache set into my chest, as my brain asks the worst question to itself: Does she miss me? I mean, it's my mom. Even if Belinda Long is not my favorite person, she's my mom. I don't think people understand the number of times I hovered over her contact card in my phone, thinking that if I tried to call or text she would help me. Nothing serious, just advice on adulting.

Should I use credit cards or cash and have less saved? Do I pick the job with a more interesting location and a worse boss? Do you miss me at holiday time? If I showed up, wore the lipstick I hate, and smiled in photos, could we meet in the middle? Why has she never called or written to me?

The world is coming further off its axis. I desperately need to leave .

Leaving the stall, I walk to a row of sinks topped by a large mirror. While I wash my hands, I take a self-inventory. Makeup: not running. Hair: a bit frizzy because of the humidity, but managed. Freckles: those are showing, and she can get over it, I can't help that she hates her own and I inherited them. It's a trait I finally learned to love in the last few years. Outfit: feminine and appropriate. My blue dress is a shade between midnight and royal. A soft cotton cut to cover any undergarments, heaven forbid someone knows you wore a bra with straps. My neckline is an appropriate height and the simple gold chain with the ‘L' pendant they gave me at graduation still skims my throat. I'm wearing peacock feather earrings, dangling and fluttering within my waves. The hemline is respectable. Everything is completed with metallic gold sandals.

All in all, this is a cardigan away from fully Belinda-approved but it's too hot for the added layer. Beyond that door is a large public gathering. She did not try to speak to me, I guess she will ignore me. Is that better than us making a scene? Probably. I'll try to accept it, but the bile in my stomach is creeping towards my throat.

In my tequila haze, I find Jim still at the bar without his dad or my friends. His shoulders climb towards his ears, his tension is palpable, but I'm too frustrated to be passive.

Poor Jim gets all of the wrath meant for Belinda.

"Fuck, Jim, you know where the girls are. Just tell me."

I'm not sure how River tolerates their cordial relationship but his stuffy demeanor just makes me boil.

"Can you please just get over whatever caused you to dislike me so much that you'd sabotage the only party I almost hosted in high school? Can you just act like a human being towards me?"

"Yeah, thanks for the invite, Long," Jim grumbles.

Turning, I snap, "What was that narc?"

I'm about to pounce when a firm arm pulls me towards their chest, and a hand lobs a s'more into my mouth.

"Easy there, tiger," River nods, "I've got it from here, Jim."