Sterling’s head lifts and he studies me for a second, the look on his face inscrutable. Finally, he shakes his head. “You just seemed busy,” he says, sounding more tired than mad now. “I’m not much of a partier. I didn’t want to rain on your parade.”
“I know that.” I force a smile, the knot in my throat loosening a little. “We can sneak off after—”
“There you are!” Poppy’s voice trills. “I’ve been searching everywhere for you.”
I glance between my best friend and my boyfriend, torn.
Sterling bobs his head in her direction. “Go on. I’ll stick around.”
“No way.” I pull on his arm until he slips his hand from his pocket and twines it with mine. “I’m not letting you out of my sight.”
“Sure.” He sounds anything but; however, he comes with us.
The party is moving inside to the ballroom, DJ included. A fresh champagne tower is already flowing, and the bar is open. The presents have been brought in, stacked high next to a table full of jars of candy and small plastic balls with a sign that reads ‘Trick-or-treat.’ Poppy’s thought of everything my mom would have done, down to the Halloween candy and the party favors.
“Don’t go anywhere,” she orders me. “I want you to open presents in a minute.”
I force myself to smile—to pretend like I’m enjoying myself.
“How are you doing?” Sterling asks when we’re alone. He hasn’t spoken once since we came inside, and he’s no longer holding my hand.
I rectify that, clasping his again, and shake my head. “My mom loved to throw me birthday parties. Every year there was a theme centered around Halloween. I know Poppy meant well, but all I see are the ways this isn’t the party my mother would throw.”
“Like?” he asks.
“She definitely would have stuck with champagne and skipped the hard liquor,” I tell him. “Mom didn’t like underage drinking.”
“But champagne was okay?” Behind his puzzled expression something darker flashes.
“She would say drinking is to escape.” I can practically hear her speaking. “But champagne is to experience.”
The ache is back, amplified by thoughts of her. I clear my throat, trying to get rid of it. “Candy?”
Sterling shrugs. He really doesn’t want to be here. I can’t blame him. Instead, I hold his hand tighter. We make our way to the jars on the table, and Sterling picks up a plastic ball while I unwrap a Belgian chocolate.
“What’s this?” He holds it up.
“A trick or a treat. It is Halloween.” I try to sound cheerful, but I wonder if he picks up on the strain.
He pops it open and his eyes grow wide.
“What did you get?” I angle my head to peek, discovering a folded up bill.
Sterling unfolds it to reveal the face of Ulysses S. Grant.
“Not bad.” I grab one and pop it open to discover a condom. Panic seizes me and I snap it closed.
“Trick or treat?” he asks.
I swallow. “Hard to say. Definitely not as good as yours.”
“You keep it.” He holds the fifty-dollar bill out to me. “It’s your birthday.”
“No way. You chose it.” When he scowls, I grab another prize and toss it to him. “Maybe you’ll like this more.” I drop the ball, holding the condom on the table nonchalantly while he opens the new one.
“That’s more like it,” he mutters and withdraws a rubber duck.
“It’s cute,” I protest.
Before I can grab another, Poppy glides towards us, smiling widely. “I can’t wait for you to see what I got you.”
“Come with me,” I beg Sterling as she hooks her arm through mine to lead me off.
He waves off my request, shoving the plastic ball in his pocket. “Go open your gifts. I’m not going anywhere.”
Why does he sound so resigned? I allow Poppy to lead me over to the gift table, daring a glance back just in time to see Sterling deposit one of his prize balls back into a jar. Poppy thrusts a package into my hands, and I slip into hostess mode. Not something I enjoy, but a trait that seems encoded in my DNA. The Southern woman’s curse. My gaze darts back to Sterling to see if he’s watching as I tear off the bow.
He’s standing with Cyrus, talking. Or rather, Cyrus is. At least he’s not alone. I relax and focus on the present, which turns out to be a Tiffany bracelet from Cyrus himself. Poppy gushes over the heart charm dangling from it.
“He’s so thoughtful,” she says meaningfully, and I wonder how much champagne she’s had to drink.