Chapter Four

“And finally, please lift your glasses and toast Barbara’s daughter, Remy, who planned and organized this entire event. We couldn’t have done it without her. To Remy! ”

“To Remy! ” everyone echoed, glancing at me before sucking down more champagne.

“And now, ” my mother said, smiling at Don, who hadn’t stopped grinning since the organist had started the “Prelude” for the ceremony two hours earlier, “please, enjoy yourselves! ”

The string quartet began playing, my mother and Don kissed, and finally I let out a breath. The salads had been served, everyone seated. Cake: check. Table centerpieces: check. Bartender and liquor: check. This and a million other details completed meant that now, after six months, two days, and approximately four hours, I could relax. At least for a few minutes.

“Okay, ” I said to Chloe, “ now I will have some champagne. ”

“Finally! ” she said, pushing a glass at me. She and Lissa were past tipsy, red faced and giggly enough to have attracted attention to our table more than once already. Jennifer Anne, who was sitting on my left with Chris, was drinking seltzer water and watching us, a pinched look on her face.

“Great job, Remy, ” Chris said, spearing a tomato from his salad and stuffing it in his mouth. “You really made this a good day for Mom. ”

“After this, ” I told him, “she’s on her own. Next time, she can go to Vegas and get married by an Elvis impersonator. I’m out. ”

Jennifer Anne let her mouth drop open. “Next time? ” she said, shocked. Then she looked over at my mother and Don, who were now at the head table, managing to eat and hold hands concurrently. “Remy, this is marriage. In front of God. It’s forever. ”

Chris and I just looked at her. Across the table, Lissa burped.

“Oh my God, ” she said as Chloe began snorting with laughter. “Excuse me. ”

Jennifer Anne rolled her eyes, clearly offended at sharing a table with a bunch of peons and cynics. “Christopher, ” she said, and she was the only one who ever called him that, “let’s get some air. ”

“But I’m eating my salad, ” Chris said. He had dressing on his chin.

Jennifer Anne just picked up her napkin, folding it delicately. She’d finished her salad already and left her utensils in that neat cross in the middle, signaling to the server that she was done.

“Sure, ” Chris said, standing up. “Air. Let’s go. ”

Once they were gone, Chloe hopped over two seats, with Lissa following along behind her clumsily. Jess was missing, having had to stay home with her little brother when he came down with a sudden case of strep throat. Quiet as she was, I always felt things were out of balance when she wasn’t around, as if Lissa and Chloe were too much for me to handle alone.

“Man, ” Lissa said as Jennifer Anne led Chris out into the lobby, talking the whole way, “she hates us. ”

“No, ” I said, taking another gulp of my champagne, “she just hates me. ”

“Oh, stop, ” Chloe said, picking through her salad.

“Why would she hate you? ” Lissa asked as she tipped up her glass again. Her lipstick was smudged, but in a cute way.

“Because she thinks I’m a bad person, ” I told her. “I go against everything she believes in. ”

“But that’s not true! ” she said, offended. “You’re a wonderful person, Remy. ”

Chloe snorted. “Now, let’s not get crazy. ”

“She is! ” Lissa said, loud enough so that a couple of people at the next table‑ Don’s dealership coworkers‑ glanced over at us.

“I’m not wonderful, ” I said, squeezing Lissa’s arm. “But I am a bit better than I used to be. ”

“That, ” Chloe said, tossing her napkin down on her plate, “I can agree with. I mean, you don’t smoke anymore. ”

“Right, ” I agreed. “And I hardly get falling down drunk at all. ”

Lissa nodded. “That’s true too. ”

“And finally, ” I said, finishing my drink, “I don’t sleep around nearly as much as I used to. ”

“Here, here, ” Chloe said, lifting up her glass so I could tap mine against it. “Watch out Stanford, ” she said, smiling at me. “Remy’s practically a saint now. ”

“St. Remy, ” I said, trying it out. “I think I like that. ”

The dinner was good. No one else seemed to think the chicken was a little rubbery besides me, but then I’d lobbied hard for the beef and lost, so I might have just been sore. Jennifer Anne and Chris never returned to our table; later, on my way to the rest room, I saw they’d defected to one where I’d put several of the local bigwigs Don was friendly with from the chamber of commerce. Jennifer Anne was talking away to the town manager, waving her fork as she made a point, while Chris sat beside her, a stain now on his tie, shoveling food in his mouth. When he saw me he smiled, apologetically, and just shrugged, as if this, like so many other things, was completely out of his hands.

Meanwhile, at our table, the champagne was flowing. One of Don’s nephews, who went to Princeton, was busy hitting on Chloe, while Lissa, in the ten minutes I’d been gone, had crossed over from happily buzzing to completely maudlin, and was now well on her way to flat‑ out weepy drunk.

“The thing is, ” she said, leaning into me, “I really thought that Adam and I would get married. I mean, I did. ”

“I know, ” I said, feeling relieved as I saw Jess, in one of her few dresses, heading toward us. She looked uncomfortable, as she always did in anything but jeans, and as she sat down she made a face.

“Pantyhose, ” she grumbled. “Stupid things cost me four bucks and feel like freaking sandpaper. ”

“Well, if it isn’t Jessica, ” Chloe said, her voice high and giggly. “Don’t you own any dresses from this decade? ”

“Bite me, ” Jess told her, and Don’s nephew raised his eyebrows. Chloe, hardly bothered, went back to her champagne and some long story she’d been telling about herself.

“Jess, ” Lissa whispered, falling off my shoulder and onto hers, her head nudging Jess’s ear, “I’m drunk. ”

“I see that, ” Jess said flatly, pushing her back to me. “Gosh, ” she said brightly, “I’m so glad I came! ”

“Don’t be like that, ” I told her. “Are you hungry? ”

“I had some tuna fish at home, ” she said, squinting at the cen terpiece.

“Stay here. ” I stood up, easing Lissa back against her own chair. “I’ll be right back. ”

I was just on my way back to the table, plate of chicken and asparagus and pilaf in hand, when I heard the microphone up front crackle, a few guitar chords jangling behind it.

“Hi everyone, ” a voice said as I ducked between two tables, sidestepping a server clearing plates, “we’re the G Flats, and we’d like to wish Don and Barbara the best of happiness together! ”

As everyone applauded this, I stopped where I was standing, then turned my head. Don had insisted on handling the band, claiming he knew someone who owed him a favor. But now, I wished more than anything that I’d just hired the local Motown group, even if they had played two of my mother’s previous receptions.

Because of course it was Dexter, the musician boy, standing in front of the microphone in a black suit that looked a size too big. He said, “What do you say, folks? Let’s get this party going! ”

“Oh, my God, ” I said, as the band‑ a guitar player, someone on keyboards, and in the back, the red‑ haired Ringo I’d met the day before‑ burst into a rousing rendition of “Get Ready. ” They were all wearing thrift shop suits, Ringo in the same clip‑ on tie. But already people were crowding onto the dance floor, shuffling and shimmying, my mother and Don in the middle of it all, whooping it up.

I went back to the table and gave Jess her plate, then flopped down into my seat. Lissa, as I’d expected, was now teary‑ eyed, dabbing at her face with a napkin while Jess patted her leg, mechanically. Chloe and the nephew were gone.

“I don’t believe this, ” I said.

“Believe what? ” Jess asked, picking up her fork. “Man, this smells great. ”

“The band‑ ” I began, but that was as far as I got before Jennifer Anne appeared beside me, Chris in tow.

“Mom’s asking for you, ” Chris said.

“What? ”

“You’re supposed to be dancing, ” Jennifer Anne, queen of etiquette, informed me, gently nudging me out of my seat. “The rest of the wedding party is already up there. ”

“Oh, come on, ” I said, looking at the dance floor, where of course my mother was now staring right at me, smiling beatifi cally and waggling her fingers in that come‑ here‑ now kind of way. So I grabbed Lissa up with one arm‑ damned if I was going out there alone‑ and dragged her with me, through the maze of tables, and into the crowd.

“I don’t feel like dancing, ” she sniffled.

“Neither do I, ” I snapped.

“Oh, Remy, Lissa! ” my mother shrieked as we came closer, reaching out her arms to pull us both in close. Her skin was warm, the fabric of her dress slippery and smooth as she brushed against me. “Isn’t this just so fun? ”

We were right in the middle of the crowd, people dancing all around us. The band segued cleanly into “Shout, ” accompanied by a whoop from someone behind me. Don, who had been dipping my mother wildly, now grabbed my arm and spun me out, hurling me into a couple doing the bump. I almost felt my arm disconnect from my body before he yanked me back, gyrating his pelvis wildly.

“Oh, Lord, ” Lissa said from behind me, having seen this. But then I was flying out again, this time in the opposite direction. Don danced with such vigor I feared for the rest of us. I kept trying to send him back to my mother, but she was distracted dancing with one of Don’s little nephews.

“Help me, ” I hissed at Lissa as I whizzed past her, Don’s hand still clamping my wrist. Then he pulled me close for a weird, jitterbug kind of hopping that made my teeth knock together, but not enough to distract me from seeing Chloe, who was standing off to the side of the dance floor, laughing hysterically.

“You’re a great dancer! ” Don said, pulling me in close and dipping me wildly. I was sure my cleavage would bust out of my dress‑ the fittings, while many, had not quite done the trick‑ but then he pulled me back up, lickety‑ split, and I got a mean head rush. “I love to dance, ” Don yelled at me, throwing me out into another spin. “I don’t get to do it enough! ”

“I think you do, ” I grumbled, as the song finally began to wind down.

“What’s that? ” he said, cupping his hand over his ear.

“I said, ” I told him, “that you really can move. ”

He laughed, wiping his face. “You too, ” he said, as the band finished up with a crashing of cymbals. “You too. ”

I escaped as everyone was applauding, pushing my way to the bar, where my brother was standing nibbling on a piece of bread, alone for once.

“What was that? ” he said, laughing. “God, it looked like some wild tribal ritual. ”

“Shut up, ” I said.

“And now, folks, ” I heard Dexter say from the stage as the lights dimmed a bit, “for your listening pleasure… a little slow song. ”

The opening strains of “Our Love Is Here to Stay” began, a bit clumsily, and people who’d been avoiding the dance floor during the faster numbers started getting up from their chairs and pairing off. Jennifer Anne appeared next to me, smelling of hand soap, and slid her fingers over Chris’s, dislodging the bread he was holding.

“Come on, ” she murmured, tactfully dropping the bread onto a nearby table. Whatever I felt for her personally, I had to admire her technique. Nothing stopped this girl. “Let’s dance. ”

“Absolutely, ” Chris agreed, and wiped his mouth as he followed her, glancing back at me as they reached the floor. “You okay? ”

I nodded. “Fine, ” I said. The room had grown quieter as the music did, people’s voices more hushed as they moved together, cheek to cheek. Onstage, Dexter sang on while the keyboardist looked bored, glancing at his watch. I could relate.

What was it about slow dancing, anyway? Even in junior high I’d hated the moment the music stalled, screeching to a halt so that someone could press their sweaty body to yours. At least with real dancing you weren’t trapped, forced to rock back and forth with a total stranger who now, simply because of proximity, felt it was perfectly all right to grab your ass and anything else within reach. What a bunch of crap.

And it was crap. Totally. Because all slow dancing was really only about getting close to someone you wanted close or being forced to be close to someone you wished was far, far away. Okay, so my brother and Jennifer Anne looked totally smitten, and yeah, okay, the words to the song were nice and romantic. I mean, it wasn’t a bad song or anything. It just wasn’t my thing.

I grabbed a glass of champagne off a passing tray, taking a sip and wincing as the bubbles worked their way up my nose. I was fighting off a coughing fit when I felt someone come up beside me. I glanced over to see a girl who worked with Don‑ her name was Marty, or Patty, something with a middle t. She had long, permed hair, big bangs, and was wearing too much perfume. She smiled at me.

“I love this song, ” she said, taking a sip of her drink and sighing. “Don’t you? ”

I shrugged. “I guess, ” I said as Dexter leaned into the microphone, closing his eyes.

“They look so happy, ” she went on, and I followed her gaze to my mother and Don, who were laughing and doing dips as the song wound down. She sniffled, and I realized she was near tears. How weird that weddings do that to some people. “He’s really happy, isn’t he? ”

“Yeah, ” I said, “he is. ”

She wiped her eyes, then waved her hand at me apologetically, shaking her head. “Oh, dear, ” she said. “forgive me. I just‑ ”

“I know, ” I said, if only to save her from whatever she was about to say. I’d had all the sentimental stuff I could handle for one day.

Finally the last verse came to an end. Marty/Patty took a deep breath, blinking as the lights came up again. Under closer scrutiny I could see she was actually crying: red eyes, face red, the whole deal. Her mascara, which I could not help but notice was applied a bit too plentifully, was beginning to streak.

“I should…” she said shakily, touching her face. “I need to freshen up. ”

“Good to see you, ” I told her, the same way I’d told everyone who I was forced to talk to all night long, in the same cheery hey wedding‑ ho! voice.

“You, too, ” she said, with less enthusiasm, and then she was gone, bumping against a chair on her way out.

Enough, I thought. I need a break.

I walked past the cake table and out a side door to the parking lot, where a couple of guys in waiter’s jackets were smoking cigarettes and picking at some leftover cheese puffs.

“Hey, ” I said to them, “can I bum one? ”

“Sure. ” The taller guy, whose hair was kind of model‑ poofy, shook a cigarette out of his pack, handing it to me. He pulled out a lighter and held it for me as I leaned into it, taking a few puffs. He lowered his voice and said, “What’s your name? ”

“Chloe, ” I said, pulling back from him. “Thanks. ” I eased away around the corner, even as he was calling after me, finding a spot by the Dumpsters on the wall. I kicked off my shoes, then looked down at the cigarette in my hand. I’d done so well: eighteen days. It didn’t even taste that good, really. Just a weak crutch on a bad night. So I tossed it down, watching it smolder, and leaned back on my palms, stretching out my back.

Inside, the band stopped playing, to scattered applause. Then the canned hotel music came on, and a few seconds later a door farther down the wall banged open and out came the G Flats, their voices loud.

“This is of the suck, ” the guitar player said, pulling a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and shaking one out. “After this, no more weddings. I’m serious. ”

“It’s money, ” Ringo the drummer said, taking a sip of a bottled water he was holding.

“Not this one, ” the keyboard guy muttered. “This is a gimme. ”

“No, ” Dexter said, running a hand through his hair. “This is the bail money. Or have we all forgotten that? We owed Don, remember? ”

There was a grumbling acquiescence, followed by silence. “I hate doing covers, ” the guitarist said finally. “I don’t see why we can’t do our own stuff. ”

“For this crowd? ” Dexter said. “Be serious. I don’t think Uncle Miltie from Saginaw wants to dance to your various versions of ‘The Potato Song. ’”

“It’s not called that, ” Ted snapped. “And you know it. ”

“Settle, ” the redheaded drummer said, waving his arm in a peacemaking gesture I recognized. “It’s only a couple more hours, okay? Let’s just make the best of it. At least we get to eat. ”

“We get to eat? ” the keyboardist said, perking up. “Seriously? ”

“That’s what Don said, ” the drummer replied. “If there’s enough left over. How much longer of a break do we have? ”

Dexter glanced at his watch. “Ten minutes. ”

The keyboardist looked at the drummer, then the guitarist. “I say food. Food? ”

“Food, ” they replied in unison. The keyboardist said, “You in, Dexter? ”

“Nah. Just nab me some bread or something. ”

“Okay, Gandhi, ” Ringo said, and somebody snorted. “We’ll see you in there. ”

The guitarist tossed down his cigarette, Ringo threw his water bottle toward the Dumpster‑ and missed‑ and then they went inside, the door slamming shut behind them.

I sat there, watching him, knowing for once he couldn’t see me first. He wasn’t smoking, instead just sitting there on the wall, drumming his fingers. I’d always been a sucker for dark‑ headed boys, and from a distance his suit didn’t look so tacky: he was almost cute. And tall. Tall was good.

I stood up and brushed my hands through my hair. Okay, so maybe he was really annoying. And I hated the way he’d bumped me against the wall. But I was here now, and it seemed only fitting that I take a few steps toward him, show myself, if only to throw him off a bit.

I was about to come around the Dumpster and into full sight when the door opened again and two girls‑ daughters of some cousin of Don’s‑ came out. They were younger than me, by a couple of years, and lived in Ohio.

“I told you he’d be out here! ” one of them, the blond, said to the other. Then they both giggled. The taller one was hanging back, hand on the door, but her sister walked right up, plopping down beside Dexter. “We were looking for you. ”

“Really, ” Dexter said, and smiled politely. “Well, hello. ”

“Hello yourself, ” the blond said, and I made a face, in the dark. “You got a cigarette? ”

Dexter patted his pockets. “Nope, ” he said. “Don’t smoke. ”

“No way! ” the blond said, hitting him in the leg. “I thought all guys in bands smoked. ” The taller girl, still by the door, glanced back behind her, her face nervous. “I smoke, ” the blond said, “but my mother would kill me if she knew. Kill me. ”

“Hmmm, ” Dexter replied, as if this was actually interesting.

“Do you have a girlfriend? ” the blond said abruptly.

“Meghan! ” her sister hissed. “God! ”

“I’m just asking, ” Meghan said, sliding a little closer to Dexter. “It’s just a question. ”

“Well, ” Dexter said, “actually…”

And at that, I turned around and headed back the way I’d come, already pissed at myself. I’d come close to doing something really stupid‑ way lowering my standards, which judging by Jonathan were rock bottom already. This was the way the old me worked, living just for the next second, hour, wanting only to have a boy want me for a night, no more. I’d changed. I’d quit that, along with smoking‑ okay, with one lapse‑ and drinking‑ for the most part. But the sleeping around thing, that I’d held true to. Completely. And I’d been ready to throw it away, or at least bend it a bit, for a Frank Sinatra wanna‑ be who would have easily settled for Meghan from Ohio. God.

Back inside, the cake was out on the dance floor, with my mother and Don posing beside it, their hands intertwined over the cake knife as the photographer moved all around them, flash popping. I stood on the edge of the crowd, watching as Don fed my mother a piece, carefully easing it into her mouth. Another flash popped, capturing the moment. Ah, love.

The rest of the night went pretty much as I expected. My mother and Don left in a shower of birdseed and bubbles (with much of the hotel cleaning staff standing by looking hostile), Chloe ended up making out with Don’s nephew in the lobby, and Jess and I got stuck in the bathroom, holding Lissa’s head while she alternately puked up her fifteen‑ dollar‑ a‑ head dinner and moaned about Adam.

“Don’t you just love weddings? ” Jess asked me, passing over another wad of wet paper towels, which I pressed against Lissa’s forehead as she stood up.

“I do, ” Lissa wailed, missing the sarcasm. She patted the towels to her face. “I really, really, do. ”

Jess rolled her eyes at me, but I just shook my head as I led Lissa out of the stall and to the sinks. She looked in the mirror at herself‑ smeared makeup, hair wild and curly, dress with a questionable brown stain on the sleeve‑ and sniffled. “This has to be the worst time of my life, ” she moaned, blinking at herself.

“Now, now, ” I told her, taking her hand, “you’ll feel better tomorrow. ”

“No, you won’t, ” Jess said, getting the door. “Tomorrow, you’ll have a wicked hangover and feel even worse. ”

“Jess, ” I said.

“But the next day, ” she went on, patting Lissa’s shoulder, “the next day you’ll feel much better. You’ll see. ”

So we were a bedraggled bunch as we made our way out into the lobby, with Lissa held up between us. It was one in the morning, my hair was flat, and my feet hurt. The end of a wedding reception is always so goddamn depressing, I thought to myself. And only the bride and groom are spared, jetting off into the sunset while the rest of us wake up the next morning to just another day.

“Where’s Chloe? ” I asked Jess as we struggled through the revolving doors. Lissa was already falling asleep, even as her feet were moving.

“No idea. Last I saw her she was all over what’s‑ his‑ bucket back there by the piano. ”

I glanced behind me into the lobby, but no Chloe. She always seemed to be elsewhere when anyone else was puking. It was like she had a sixth sense or something.

“She’s a big girl, ” Jess told me. “She’ll be fine. ”

We were hoisting Lissa into Jess’s front seat when there was a rattling noise, and the white van I now recognized as belonging to Dexter’s band pulled up in front of the hotel. The back doors popped open and out jumped Ringo, now without the clip‑ on tie, with the guitarist hopping out from the driver’s seat and following him. Then they disappeared inside, leaving the engine running.

“You need a ride? ” Jess asked me.

“Nope. Chris is in there waiting for me. ” I shut the door, closing Lissa in. “Thanks for this. ”

“No problem. ” She pulled her keys out of her pocket, jangling them. “It went okay, don’t you think? ”

I shrugged. “It’s over, ” I said. “That’s all that matters. ”

As she drove off, beeping the horn once, I started back to the hotel to find my brother. When I passed the white van, Ringo and the keyboardist were coming back out, hauling equipment and bickering.

“Ted never helps, ” the keyboardist said, hoisting some big speaker into the back of the van, where it landed with a crash. “This vanishing act is getting old, you know? ”

“Let’s just get out of here, ” Ringo replied. “Where’s Dexter? ”

“They get five minutes, ” the keyboardist said. “Then they can walk. ” Then he reached in the open driver’s‑ side window and planted his palm on the horn, letting it blare out, loud, for a good five seconds.

“Oh, good, ” Ringo said sarcastically. “ That’ll go over well. ”

A few seconds later the guitarist‑ the elusive Ted‑ came out the revolving doors, looking irritated.

“Nice, ” he yelled, coming around the van. “Real classy. ”

“Get in or walk home, ” the keyboardist snapped. “I mean it. ”

Ted got in, the horn sounded one more time, and then they waited. No Dexter. Finally, after what seemed like a bit of bickering from the front seats, the van chugged away, taking a right onto the main road. The turn signal, of course, was busted.

Back in the hotel, the cleaning crew was at work on the reception hall, clearing glasses and pulling off tablecloths. My mother’s bouquet‑ eighty bucks of flowers‑ sat abandoned on a tray table, still as fresh as when she’d first picked it up at the church over nine hours earlier.

“They left you, ” I heard someone say. I turned around. Dexter. God help me. He was sitting at a table next to the ice sculpture‑ two swans intertwined and quickly melting‑ a plate in front of him.

“Who did? ” I asked.

“Chris and Jennifer Anne, ” he replied, as if he’d known them forever. Then he picked up a fork, taking a bite of whatever he was having. It looked like wedding cake, from where I was.

“What? ” I said. “They left? ”

“They were tired. ” He chewed for a second, then swallowed. “Jennifer Anne said she had to go because she had an early seminar tomorrow at the convention center. Something about achievement. She’s very bright, that girl. She thinks I might have a future in the corporate and private leisure activity sector. Whatever that means. ”

I just looked at him.

“Anyway, ” he went on, “I said it was fine, because when you showed up we’d just give you a ride. ”

“We, ” I repeated.

“Me and the guys. ”

I considered this. And I’d been so close to being scot‑ free, home by now care of Jess. Great. “They’re gone too, ” I said finally.

He looked up, his fork midway to his mouth. “They what? ”

“They left, ” I repeated slowly. “They beeped the horn first. ”

“Oh, man, I thought I heard the horn, ” he said, shaking his head. “Typical. ”

I looked around the mostly empty room, as if a solution to this and all my other problems might be lurking behind, say, a potted plant. No luck. So I did what seemed, by now, inevitable. I walked over to the table where he was sitting, pulled out a chair, and sat down.

“Ah, ” he said, with a smile. “Finally, she comes around. ”

“Don’t get too excited, ” I said, dropping my bag onto the table. I felt tired in every part of my body, as if I’d been stretched thin. “I’m just getting the energy up to call a cab. ”

“You should try some of this cake first. ” He pushed the plate at me. “Here. ”

“I don’t want any cake. ”

“It’s really good. It doesn’t taste chalky at all. ”

“I’m sure it doesn’t, ” I said, “but I’m fine. ”

“You probably didn’t even get any, right? ” He wiggled the fork at me. “Just try it. ”

“No, ” I said flatly.

“Come on. ”

“No. ”

“Mmmm. ” He poked at it with the fork, gently. “So tasty. ”

“You, ” I said finally, “are really pissing me off. ”

He shrugged, as if he’d heard this before, then pulled the plate back toward himself, dipping the fork in for another bite. The cleaning crew was chattering away in the front of the room, stacking chairs. One woman with her hair in a long braid picked up my mother’s bouquet, cradling it in her arms.

“Da‑ da‑ da‑ dum, ” she said, and laughed when one of her coworkers yelled at her to stop dreaming and get back to work.

Dexter put down the fork, the tasty, non‑ chalklike cake gone, and pushed the plate away. “So, ” he said, looking at me, “this your mom’s first remarriage? ”

“Fourth, ” I said. “She’s made a career of it. ”

“Got you beat, ” he told me. “My mom’s on her fifth. ”

I had to admit, I was impressed. So far I’d never met anyone with more ex‑ steps than me. “Really. ”

He nodded. “But you know, ” he said sarcastically, “I really think this one’s going to last. ”

“Hope springs eternal. ”

He sighed. “Especially in my mom’s house. ”

“Dexter, honey, ” someone called out from behind me, “did you get enough to eat? ”

He sat up, then raised his voice and said, “Yes, ma’am, I sure did. Thank you. ”

“There’s a bit more of this chicken dish left. ”

“No, Linda. I’m full. Really. ”

“Okay then. ”

I looked at him. “Do you know everybody? ”

He shrugged. “Not everybody, ” he said. “I just bond easily. It’s part of the whole repeating‑ stepfather thing. It makes you more mellow. ”

“Yeah, right, ” I said.

“Because you have to just go with the flow. Your life is not your own, with people coming in and out all the time. You get mellow because you have to. I mean, you know exactly what I’m saying, I bet. ”

“Oh yes, ” I said flatly, “I am just so easygoing. That is precisely the word that describes me. ”

“Isn’t it? ”

“No, ” I told him. “It isn’t. ” And then I stood up and got my bag, feeling my feet ache as they settled into my shoes. “I have to go home now. ”

He got to his feet, taking his jacket off the back of the chair. “Share a cab? ”

“I don’t think so. ”

“All right, ” he said, shrugging. “Suit yourself. ”

I walked to the door, thinking he’d be behind me, but when I glanced back he was across the room, going out the other way. I had to admit I was surprised, after such intense pursuit, that he had given up already. The drummer had been right, I supposed. The conquest‑ getting me alone‑ was all that mattered, and once he saw me up close I wasn’t so special after all. But I, of course, knew that already.

There was a cab parked out front, the driver dozing. I climbed into the backseat, sliding off my shoes. It was, by the green numbers on the dashboard, exactly 2 A. M. At the Thunderbird Hotel across town, my mother was most likely fast asleep, dreaming of the next week she’d spend in St. Bart’s. She’d come home to finish her novel, to move her new husband into the house, to take another stab at being a Mrs. Somebody, sure that this time, indeed, it would be different.

As the cab turned onto the main road, I saw a glint of something through the park, over to my right. It was Dexter, on foot, turning into a neighborhood, and in his white shirt he stood out, almost as if he were glowing. He was walking down the middle of the street, the houses dark on either side of him, quiet in sleep. And watching him head home, for a second it was like he was the only one awake or even alive in all the world right then, except for me.