Rainy watched them bicker playfully for a minute, and then Samantha steered Viola toward the kitchen. A sharp burst of laughter issued from the next room, and then Tara’s tinkling voice calling over the noise: “Ladies, let’s get this party started!” All of a sudden, everyone was pushing into Viola and Samantha’s dining room, where the cake and presents were set up. There were at least thirty people there, half of whom she didn’t know. They’d called this a “sprinkle,” which was supposed to be smaller than a typical baby shower, but there was nothing small about this gathering. A woman who looked like a younger, emo version of Samantha breezed past from the living room to join them. Must be her sister, Rainy thought, lingering near the front door. She hesitated; she wanted to get the chair out of the back of her truck, but she knew that if she didn’t go in and make her presence known, they would hold up the whole thing till she was back.
When Rainy walked into the room, she skirted the group so that she was standing at the back of the small crowd. Rainy spotted Tara at the center of the group, wearing a silk jumpsuit and holding a glass of champagne. Her signature ponytail was held back with a gold scrunchie. Rainy did not envy Tara’s gift of holding court. Without Braithe present, all the women were enraptured with her second-in-command. Tara’s eyes were busy scanning faces, checking attendance. Her eyes briefly rested on Rainy before she began announcing the night’s festivities.
A few minutes after the first game ended, Rainy slipped out the kitchen door and headed for her truck. The night air was sharp and fresh, and it swept through her lungs, revitalizing her. She planned on grabbing the rocking chair and leaving it on the front porch with the card she’d taped underneath a white bow. Rainy had been secretly working on the chair for two months, after hearing Viola say she “couldn’t find anything but basic bitch rocking chairs.” Rainy had constructed the chair out of metal and wood, combining Samantha’s midcentury modern taste with Viola’s industrial.
“Hey! Hey, Rainy.” She turned to see Tara tiptoeing toward her over the gravel, trying to keep her heels from sinking.
“You’re not leaving, are you?”
It was dark outside. Rainy could just make out Tara’s expression as she passed the kitchen window and trotted toward her. She looked...strained.
“Um...no. I just have to run back out to the truck to get Viola’s gift.” Her fingers drifted to her neckline, where they pinched at the links of the gold chain that rested there.
“Oh.” Tara stopped where she was, looking embarrassed. “You’re coming back in, right?”
A slow drizzle was falling on Rainy’s head and shoulders. She nodded, confused by Tara’s sudden interest in her comings and goings.
“Is there...do you need me for something?” Someone cheered inside the house, followed by a round of laughter. Tara glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen door, and then looked uncertainly back at Rainy.
“No,” she said finally. And then: “I’ll see you inside.”
Rainy didn’t watch her walk back into the house; she turned, eyes wide, and jogged to the truck. What the—?
She’d wrapped the chair in old sheets, and she pulled them off before carrying her gift to the front porch and setting it down where they could find it later. She checked her phone, hoping Grant had texted. Nothing. Then, steeling herself, Rainy walked through the door.
Halfway through the baby shower, Viola pulled her into the pantry and handed her a fresh glass of wine. “I’ve got the tea,” she said, and dipped her head around the corner to make sure no one was in earshot, her braids sliding across her bare shoulder. Then she did a little dance without lifting her feet off the ground, shuffling left, then right.
“What is it?” Rainy laughed, taking a sip of her wine. Their pantry was neatly organized and labeled—even the pasta was in matching glass jars with labels that read Bucatini, Angel, Bowtie. “Wow, okay...” Rainy said, looking around. “I definitely feel like a failure.”
Viola waved an annoyed hand in her face. “Pay attention!”
Rainy faced her in the cramped space, barely able to lift her wineglass to her mouth. “Go,” she said.
Viola didn’t need further nudging.
“So, I accidentally picked up Tara’s phone earlier instead of my own—you know how we both have that same phone case.”
Rainy nodded.
“Dude, Braithe is not sick. Her text said, ‘Thanks for covering for me, I owe you.’”
“It might not mean anything,” Rainy said. But the pantry, no longer charming with its labels, suddenly felt smaller. Her breath caught and she felt hot. Viola was blocking the door with her body, her belly between them; Rainy’s back was now to the pasta, and she wanted out.
“This party was her idea. She has no reason to not want to be here.” And that was true; Braithe was consistent, and she adored Viola.
“Okay, but I’m not finished. The next text from Braithe said, ‘I’ll tell you everything tonight. Come over after the party.’”
That was harder to explain. Rainy bit her lip, trying to think of something so that she could get out of the pantry; it felt like the walls were squeezing tighter by the second.
“What are you thinking?” she asked Viola.
“Honestly, I have no idea. She told me she was sick when I texted her—‘I can barely stand up’ are the words she used to describe her situation. Do you think she’s mad at me?”
“Can Braithe be mad at anyone?”
Viola took a minute to consider that one. Then she shook her head. “No, she’s not like that.”
“Maybe she’s mad at me,” Rainy suggested. “Or one of the others. Or maybe she really is sick, and she needs Tara to come keep her company later.” With her non-wine-holding hand, she reached past Viola and turned the door handle. The door swung open and cool, fresh air reached her lungs. “Either way, this is your baby shower, and you shouldn’t be worrying about this.”
“You’re right.” Viola backed out of the pantry.
Rainy thought about how Tara had chased her outside earlier when she went to her truck for the rocking chair. That had been weird. “You’ll text me if you hear anything, yes?”
“Yeah,” Viola said. “You want to sneak out the kitchen door now, before anyone knows you’re gone?”
“Don’t you need me here?” Her voice was laughably flat.
Viola winced, holding a hand to her belly, and shook her head. “Go, before they come in here. And drive slowly past the Mattson place and see what you can see.”
“Oh my God, I love you so much.” Rainy’s relief gave way to affection and she gave her friend an awkward, over-the-belly hug before heading for the door.
“Your present is on the front porch.”
“It better be good,” she heard Viola say as the door closed behind her.
5
Then
Tanned faces stared at her from all around the room. No one was pale here, Summer noted. Even in California there were pale people, but not here. She liked that; it meant they were outside a lot. Everyone was wearing the same white T-shirt. She felt silly in her brightly colored, mismatched clothes...and then she felt embarrassed. She didn’t have much to choose from: a couple T-shirts with flowers and pants with stripes, everything faded. Taured had them stand side by side next to a table ringed with blue and yellow balloons as he spoke into a microphone, introducing them. The room squealed with glee and everyone clapped their hands for Summer and Lorraine, their newest family members. She felt so important in that moment she didn’t see the gift being handed to her, a basket overflowing with things. Her mother was handed another, and she politely thanked the room for them both. Summer was counting the kids in the room, all looking at her with equal parts jealousy and curiosity.
“We’re celebrating someone else tonight,” one mother said to a crying five-or six-year-old.
“What about cake?” the kid screamed. “I want my cake!”
There was, indeed, a cake set out on a table—white with pink roses. Summer was allowed to cut the first slice like it was her birthday. She cut a giant square where all the frosted roses were clustered and was told that that was her slice. The kid from earlier screamed again and his mom carried him out by the armpits as he kicked and wailed. Little brat! Summer thought. The adults were all drinking beer—the one her dad called “bitch beer.” Even her mama had one in her hand. She wasn’t smiling like Summer thought she’d be, but at least she was talking to people. The mother came back in with the bratty kid. She was holding his hand and his face was red.
“Come here,” Taured said. The little boy went to him. Summer stopped chewing as she waited to see what would happen. The kid didn’t seem afraid of Taured. In fact, he hugged his leg and stared up into his face.
“Enoch Aaron, let’s welcome our guest and not be selfish.”