boat. He was part of the College and Career group.”
Now I remember him, stretched out, sunning himself on the bow of the boat with his best friend, Maurice. Pale and thin, Maurice kept his shirt on and wore his black hair slicked back in a sort of 1950s style. Maurice had a voice and a manner like Liberace and he was the femmiest guy I’d ever met. Though, I don’t think I actually did meet him; he didn’t talk much to anyone but Shaye.
“How come I haven’t seen you all night?” Drew asks me.
“Because she pissed off the bride in the first ten minutes,” Jill says. Loud. She’s so damn loud. “She’s supposed to stay away from her.” Jill puts her dinner plate on my lap, takes a pack of smokes out of her purse and lights one.
“Ah, poor Trudy,” Maggie says. “Don’t take it personally. I’d be in a shitty mood if I had to marry into our family too.”
Someone stomps out onto the loading dock behind us. I turn to see Hugh Tink standing there.
“You girls have about three more minutes,” he says. “There are dessert plates to clear.” He turns on his heel and goes back inside.
“Bag your face, motherfucker,” Jill says once she’s sure Hugh’s out of earshot. “I just sat down!”
I reach for one of my sneakers again, undo the laces and spread the canvas as much as possible so that I don’t rub my heel too much getting it in.
“Sammie,” Drew says. “Don’t. I—um—I got socks. Put mine on.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I put my toes into the sneaker. “I’m fine.”
“No.” He sits on the step below me to undo his laces.
I look at his foot as he lifts it out of a black Oxford dress shoe. “Why are you wearing jock socks with a suit?”
“Because I’m a goof.” He pulls one white tube sock off. “My mom just bought them for me. Brand new, see?” He takes off his other shoe and sock number two.
I can’t look at Drew when he’s this close. I stare at the socks in his hand instead. They look just like Ruby’s chocolate layer cake to me right now. So damn nice.
I’m afraid to let my face move much because it feels as if chunks of me will start breaking off if I do.
“I didn’t see your mom inside,” I say, and the words come out all hoarse.
“Don’t ask.” He exhales.
“Big fight with my mom!” Maggie says from the bottom step. “Battle of the battleaxes.”
I take my foot out of the sneaker while Drew slips his bare feet back into his dress shoes. He waves the socks in front of himself. “Lemme air ’em out a little for you.”
Stop being so kind. Stop it, stop it, stop it!
Jill leans into my ear. “I’m going in. I’ll tell Hugh you’re in the bathroom.” She takes a last drag off her cigarette, flicks it away and disappears inside.
“How’s your mom?” Drew asks.
“Fine. Better. I don’t know.”
He lays one sock on his knee and then he gathers up the leg of the other and readies it for my foot as if I’m three years old.
I laugh a little. “I can put it on myself.”
But I raise my foot and let him slip the cool damp cotton onto it. Setting my foot on his knee, he folds his white tube until it’s an ankle sock. My eyes well up as he moves on to the second foot.
Maggie smiles as Drew carefully puts my shoes on. Her face is gentle and her big blue eyes remind me of a doll’s.
“Better?” he asks me.
I nod and then whisper a thank you as I do up my laces. “I have to go back inside before I get in trouble.”
The two of us stand up.
“Hey, Sammie,” Maggie says. “You and Drew should come out to the farm and go riding this week.”
Drew turns to me, his mouth opens a little, and I can hear him breathing.
“I have to go,” I tell him, and start back up to the landing. “Thank you. And Maggie, too, um … nice to meet you.”
Drew stands where he is, halfway down the steps. One pant leg rides up a bit and shows a sliver of his bare foot. It looks so vulnerable, like the soft spot on a baby’s head.
I spend the rest of the night trying to stick with muck-work in the kitchen, scraping plates, dumping out chafing dishes, wrapping up leftovers.
Soon the music slows again. When the door swings