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Think. Fast.
“I needed some air. I was thinking of going outside to study.”
She narrows her gaze. “Humph… I know it’s impossible for you to imagine, but I was once twenty-one myself, you know. I got up to a few tricks of my own.”
“Still twenty for a few more hours and there’s nothing to see here.” I offer her an innocent smile.
“There better not be.” She taps the pointy tip of a red-lacquered fingernail against the trim of the doorway. “Not only have I been planning this party for over a year, but it’s also not every day you become a woman in the eyes of the family.”
She blinks.
Twice.
She’s waiting for me to say something.
I stare right back, waiting for her to leave. She just stands there. Like if she looks at me hard and long enough, I’ll break, confessing what the backpack is actually for.
I sigh, pasting on a dreamy smile. Crossing my arms, I lean casually against the doorframe. “I can’t believe I’m going to finally be twenty-one,” I say. “Now I can drink in front of you, right?”
“In front of me?” she laughs. “I may be old but I’m not senile. I clearly remember you and your friends wearing tiny bikinis, dancing barefoot in the white sands of the Parish, pomegranate daiquiris in your hands.”
“You’re the one who took me to Europe—legal drinking age is18 there. And, like you said, you remember being twenty. I highly doubt you never got a little tipsy before you could get into a bar. I’ve heard you were wild before you met Dad.”
She gives a pretty shrug. “I was also a nurse at an elderly person’s home, so it balanced out.”
“Mmm.” I sniff.
“What?” She eyes me, wondering how much I’ve heard about her glory days.
The Beauties, like aunts to me, are pretty quiet about their pre-Bachman days.
“Kidding, Mom. You know your flock wouldn’t spill your secrets.”
Their lips are sealed as tight as their bodies in their elegant shapewear.
“We are a loyal bunch. And I’m proud you will finally, officially, be one of us after this party.” She reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. Her big blue eyes almost fill with tears. “My little Katie Paisley, all grown up.”
My throat tightens at my mother’s tender show of emotion. My voice comes out raspy. “No one calls me Katie anymore, Mom. Except for Dad. And you when you’re on your third glass of pinot. Maybe one day you’ll tell me what you were like at my age.”
“Stories for another day,” she sighs, flashing her rare blue diamond ring as she passes a delicate hand through the air. “Like, when I’m on my deathbed.”
That makes me laugh. The laughter goes weird sounding, sticking in the back of my throat as I catch the look she’s giving me. It’s that one I hate most, making my stomach go all tight and sick.
“Mom—”
“I have to ask.” She smooths a hand over my hair. “You know I do.”
“Don’t.”
“Are you going to be alright tomorrow night. Without Pippa there?”
Her blues eyes search mine and I have to look away.
“Yes.” I brush her hand away. “I’m fine. It was a long time ago.”
“Not that long ago. Anyway….” She clears her throat then eyes my ripped jeans, hoodie, and sneakers. “It’s going to take hours to get you ready for this party tomorrow. Meet my glam team in my dressing room at four o’clock.”
I hold in a groan. “That’s four whole hours before the party,” I say.
