“This is your first year here with me. Let me do this.”
Grant was so set on the issue—so pleased with himself—that she couldn’t bear to burst his bubble. She’d relented, but with a sinking feeling. She didn’t want his friends to think she was the one pushing the issue, demanding to celebrate even though they barely knew her. It had been a rule among her New York friends to ignore each other’s partners until they were too embedded in the circle not to. A cruel but cautionary way to not get “too attached.” As she half hid and healed, the coldness had suited her, but these were Grant’s people. She was thirsty for his approval—and the last thing she needed was to be the topic of their gossip.
She agreed to a six o’clock dinner on Friday night with four other couples: Braithe and Stephen, Tara and Matt, Viola and Samantha, and Gary and Linney—a couple Grant knew from high school that he affectionately referred to as Old Faithful. Ten minutes before they were supposed to leave, Tara had texted links to the group with several reviews she’d found online about the restaurant.
Five cases of food poisoning in the last four months, she’d said. Didn’t know if you wanted to chance it...
No one had. And by that time, it was too late to get a reservation for ten people anywhere else. The dinner had been canceled, and Rainy was left with the distinct impression Tara had wanted it that way. Rainy had never figured out why Tara disliked her, and she’d learned to not care. There were plenty of people who liked her well enough.
Now, she glanced around and saw five sets of eyes pinned on her. The sudden surge of attention from everyone at one time was making Rainy dizzy.
“Take my hands, Lorraine Ives.” Tara’s nails were painted a pearly white. She flipped them over and held two small palms toward her, so soft and unblemished Rainy was fixated. Had the woman ever so much as fried bacon in her life? Tara cleared her throat and Rainy offered her hands apologetically.
“Sorry, artist acknowledging beautiful hands.”
Tara flushed, pleased with the compliment. Viola kicked Rainy under the table and Rainy shot her an apologetic look. What? She has beautiful hands.
Before she could make sense of why everyone was watching her and what was happening, Tara launched into her sell.
“So! We know you’re new to the group, and we don’t always like the new people,” she said, winking. The others murmured their agreement, and Rainy wondered who the last new member had been. Maybe one of Grant’s other girlfriends? Tara continued. “But we’re all totally obsessed with you—that’s why—and you can absolutely say no, buuut we won’t let you.” They all laughed at the joke she didn’t get and Rainy held her breath as she waited for the punchline. Were they going to suggest matching tattoos? Were they swingers, asking her into their circle? The possibilities were endless as Rainy sat sweating beneath their eyes. She could feel her eyebrows dancing comically in confusion.
“Picture sun, heat—” she said the word heat with reverence “—and drinks by the pool! We’re inviting you on our girls’ trip...to Vegas!”
At first, Rainy’s relief was immense; a girls’ trip was kind, inclusive. And then she processed the word: Vegas. She glanced over at Viola and wondered if they would have invited her instead if Viola wasn’t in her last trimester, and then corrected herself for thinking that way. It was a nice gesture, one she never intended to accept. But she couldn’t tell them why.
They were waiting for her to say something, but she was having trouble forming words.
“You guys,” Viola said from beside her, “give her a minute to swallow what you eager beavers are saying.” She felt a much gentler kick under the table: Viola saying, You okay?
Tara loosened her hold on Rainy’s fingers, which was a good thing because Rainy’s hands were starting to sweat, and she doubted her sweat was organic enough for anyone in the room.
“Okay, let me explain.” Tara pushed her hair behind her ears and scooted forward on her stool. She had pale blond hair that on the average day was scooped back into a ponytail, but tonight she wore it parted and past her shoulders. “Every year we go on our annual girls’ trip. We’ve done all sorts of things,” she said, waving a hand in the air. “Camping near the hot springs, we’ve driven up to Canada for the week and stayed in a lodge...”
“What about the year we rented those tree houses?”
Rainy glanced over as Braithe set down a baked brie, surrounded by a cluster of fruit, in front of them. The room seemed to hinge on Rainy’s answer, but it was one thing eating cheese with these women a few minutes from her own home, another entirely to go away with them. Shit, why had she drunk the wine so fast? She couldn’t think of a good lie fast enough.
“Vegas is not my thing. Trust me, I’m not fun, not even a little bit. Look, you sat me next to the pregnant woman—you all know it’s true in your hearts.” That brought a cry of outrage from Viola, and a few laughs from the others.
“That is not true, Rainy! We love hanging with you!” This came from Mackenzie, who was always positive, always inclusive. She was married to Bryan Biggs, a software engineer; the group fondly called them BigMac.
Rainy reached for the cheese, slamming back a mouthful to buy herself time. They wouldn’t understand this, her hesitation. They had just emerged from a bitter winter, and everyone was jumping at the chance to travel again. She should want to go. Any normal person would want to go.
“Well, we certainly aren’t going to force you to come,” Braithe said a little hesitantly. Her face was conflicted but Rainy couldn’t tell why. She was a fairweather member of the group and they’d always been okay with that.
“But I for one am going. And you know what else? I’m not going to feel bad about all the money I’m going to lose at the slot machines...and I plan on losing a lot of it, more than last time.” She pointed around the table, daring anyone to contest, and Rainy breathed a sigh of relief. She owed Braithe one. The banter continued, and the air of planning descended on the group. Rainy was content to listen to them talk about it, laughing when Tara and Ursa got into an argument about setting drink limits, so no one would be chaperoning anyone else.
“Last time we were there I had to drag you back to the room as you vomited into my bag,” Tara complained.
“Well, leave me where I am next time and mind your business,” Ursa shot back. “Besides, I am not sitting at a slot machine pressing buttons the first time I get a vacation in two years. Send me to a club and let me dance!”
She spotted the time on Braithe’s range right as they were discussing hotels and stood up a little too abruptly; her chair screeched painfully against the floor.
“Rainy, no! Stay longer!” Tara said. Her teeth were stained purple, like she’d been feasting on the wine instead of drinking it.
“I have to go let Shep out.” The planned excuse tumbled easily out of her mouth. She wanted to give herself a congratulatory pat on the back.
Tara had a poodle named Stacey that she treated better than most parents treated their kids. She nodded right away like she understood.
“Promise us you’ll at least think about it, okay?” Tara was smiling, the blond daggers of hair contrasting with the sweetness of her tone.
Rainy knew this tactic, and she wasn’t going to allow herself to be guilted or strong-armed into something she didn’t want to do.
“Think about what?” She said it casually, but she supposed if you listened closely, there was a nip to her voice. Tara’s smile became fixed. Rainy could see her thoughts ticking behind her eyes.