Mom made an appointment to have my hair done too. She found someone to come to our house even. Earl Rae occasionally trimmed my hair since he didn’t let me handle anything sharp after the mirror incident, but he couldn’t cut a straight line no matter how many times he tried.
When the hairstylist was done, she’d taken off some length, cut a straight line, and styled my hair in a way she called “Hollywood glam.” I called it “driving me nuts all night from being in my face,” but it did look nice.
Now that I’m sitting here, minutes from stepping inside the party, I feel like the dress and the hair are an illusion. Kind of like taking a can of gold spray paint to a rotten tooth—the shiny coat doesn’t change that what’s beneath it is still decaying.
Mom opens my door when I don’t open it. “Are you okay, Jade?”
I’ve heard that question so many times over the past two weeks my automatic response is conditioned into me. “Yeah. Just making sure I have everything.”
As I slide out of the backseat, Mom holds up a thin silk scarf in the same color as my dress. She had it dyed to match and everything. “Did you decide on this, sweetheart?”
I stare at it hanging from her hand. I don’t want to hide behind it, but I wonder if I should. Just because everyone inside this building has to know about the collar by now and has probably seen pictures of my scar doesn’t mean they need to see it two feet in front of them.
It doesn’t mean they don’t have to either.
I think of the turquoise wrap Torrin got me. I think of the way he unwound it from me. I think of what he said to me.
“No, I’ll go without.”
Mom holds it for another second, seeing if I’ll change my mind, before stuffing it into her purse. “It will be here if you change your mind.”
Dad gives the horn a tap as he drives away, then we’re walking inside. I hear the noise coming from the reception room right away. Mom told me there’d only be a hundred people or so, but it sounds more like a thousand.
It makes me freeze in the middle of the hallway.
“Jade?” Mom stops when she realizes I’m not beside her anymore. “Is this too much too fast? You don’t have to do this. I’ll explain to everyone—I know they’ll understand.” She grabs my hand and holds it like it’s a flower that’s petals are about to fall off. “We can try this again later. You don’t have to do this.”
The doors leading to the room are closed, but the noise keeps growing.
“I want to.” I swallow. “I’ll be okay.”
“Jade . . .”
“Really, Mom, I’m good.” When I move to unfreeze my feet, they come loose.
She exhales like she doesn’t believe me, but she keeps moving with me.
“Everyone’s not going to, like, yell surprise and throw confetti, are they?”
“No, absolutely not. I asked everyone just to keep doing whatever they’re doing when you come in so you don’t feel like the center of attention.”
I catch the scent of Mom’s perfume. It’s the same one she’s worn for as long as I can remember, and for some reason, it calms me.
“Is that okay?” she asks.
A rush of air comes from my mouth. “So okay.”
The longer we walk, the longer the hallway seems to become. I feel like those double doors will always be fifty steps away no matter how long we walk.
“Have you given any more thought to the news interviews?”
My spine goes rigid. “I’m not ready.”
“The cameras, the reporters, they’re not going away until you tell your story. At least, I don’t think they will.”
“They’ll lose interest eventually.”
Mom sees right through my lie. “What some of those national networks are offering . . . it’s substantial. It could set you up for the rest of your life.”
I’ve heard the numbers. They’ve been in the seven-figure range. Instead of making the interviews more appealing, it makes them less. Almost like I’m ready to announce the exact price for whatever is left of my soul. “Mom, I don’t even know what my life is right now. I’m not exactly worried about financial planning for whatever it is.”
She wants to say more—her thoughts are that loud—but she keeps her words to herself and forces a smile. “Then let’s not worry about any of that. Let’s just enjoy tonight, okay?”
Somehow we’ve ended up in front of the ballroom doors. They’re closed still, but the noise is almost deafening. It sounds like I’ve just stuck my head into a beehive.
“Ready?” Mom’s hand drops to the handle of the door.
I take in a breath. It doesn’t reach my lungs. “Ready.”
As she opens the door, I wonder how much longer I’ll have to lie about being ready. I’m starting to believe I’ll always have to lie.
She opens the door slowly, noiselessly, like she knows I don’t want a grand entrance but a secret one. She waves me inside with a careful smile. I focus on her face as I move inside because the buzz that had been coming from in here a moment ago is fading. Fast.
The secret entrance is turning into the other kind.
This is confirmed when I make myself look around the room. It’s swollen with bodies, brimming with people dressed in nice clothes, holding their drinks as closely as they’re holding their expressions.
I feel like everyone has noticed me. Some are doing a better job of hiding it, but everyone’s stolen a glance. The noise continues to dull in volume.
Behind me, the door whispers closed as Mom steps up beside me. She waves at a few people who are motioning us over, but she stays at my side.
Smile, I tell myself. Just smile.
At least that’s a start.
I don’t recognize a single face in the sea of them rolling over me. Strangers are everywhere I look. The ones who hadn’t been outright staring are now. It isn’t my face they’re staring at though.
My fingers curl together. I wish I’d taken the scarf from Mom.
I feel it grappling at me again—that feeling of spinning out of control. The sensation of losing my grip on the weight I’m hanging onto.
This was a bad idea. The worst. If I lose it right here, all of these people won’t just have the external scars burned into their memories.
My breaths are coming harder and faster, but it isn’t oxygen I’m taking in—it’s something else. Something that cripples me instead of reviving me.
The sequins from cocktail dresses catch the overhead lights just right, bouncing lasers around the room. The smells coming from the food tables. The smells coming from the open bar. The heat pulsing over me from all of the bodies.
My vision blurs again, and just when the familiar flash of white starts to go off before I pass out, everything goes dark.
If it weren’t for the shrieks firing around the room joined with my mom’s gasp, I would assume I’d blacked out. I haven’t though. The lights have just gone off.
I don’t gasp or shriek or even shift though. This isn’t dark. Not like I know it.
“What happened to the lights, for God’s sake?” Mom’s voice rings through the room, a note of nervousness in it.
I know why. She’s worried this will be the straw that breaks my back. She doesn’t realize I feel more comfortable now than I did when I stepped into the light just now.
I take a few steps inside the room, my breath returning, and someone reaches for my arm. “Let’s leave them in the dark for another minute—what do you think?”
I hear the tipped smile in his voice. I feel the warmth in his fingers radiate up my arm. I smell the hint of the same shaving cream he’s been using since his first shave the summer he turned sixteen. I feel my nerves unravel, my stomach coil, and everything else get pulled in his direction. Like I’m a million shavings of iron and he’s a magnet, everything moves toward him.
“Are you responsible for this?” I whisper, turning toward him. It’s dark, but I can make out his outline. Or maybe I’ve just memorized it enough to pictu
re it.
“Why? Are you going to tell on me?”
When his hand slides away from my arm, I grab it. That isn’t a conscious decision. It’s something my subconscious dictates. “No, but I was going to thank you for it.”
“And how are you going to thank me for it? I’ve made promises of celibacy, obedience, and to paraphrase, to abstain from anything of a fun nature.” His voice is light as he braids his fingers through mine.
It’s a small thing, but the sensation makes me teeter in place.
“I could always, you know, just thank you with words. The old-fashioned way.” My voice is light too. It sounds strange to my ears, but it feels good. Right. “Thank you.” I enunciate it slowly, which makes him laugh.
“Yooou’re weeelcome,” he replies.
That’s when the lights fire back on. It takes me a few seconds to clear my vision, but when I do, he’s staring down at me with something I don’t recognize in his eyes. It’s new. I want to ask him what it is, but I chicken out. I think I’m afraid of the answer.
“Okay, everyone. Crisis averted.” Mom’s voice echoes through the silent room. “Please just get back to enjoying the night. Thank you for coming.”
He’s still looking at me, and I’m still looking back, and now I know others are starting to look at us. He must realize it at the same time because he unwinds his hand free from mine.
“Probably don’t need any more awkward questions than you’ll already get.” His eyes scan the room as his hand slides into his pocket.
He’s in black and white again, as he’s always been in the past two weeks, but this isn’t the same black-and-white outfit I’m used to. I step back just to make sure I’m not seeing things. And maybe I step back to get a better look at him.
“Are you wearing a tuxedo?” My heart picks up, and I know why. Seeing him like this, without his priest’s collar, blurs the lines for me too much. It’s easier to forget what he is and succumb to what I wish he was instead—mine again.
“I’m pretty sure that’s what you call it.” He glances down at himself. “At least that’s what the guy at the rental place called it.”
I glance at his neck. “You traded in your collar for a bow tie.”
“Yeah,” he says, yanking at the bow tie. “But it’s still choking the hell out of me.”
I smile at him yanking at the tie. It doesn’t look as tight as his priest’s collar. It doesn’t look half as restraining. “You look good.”
Actually, he looks better than good. He looks better than great. But I don’t think I’m allowed to say that to a priest. Especially with the way people are tuning into our conversation, slowly creeping a little closer.
“No, you look good. I look like an eyesore next to you.” His gaze skims down me, lingering in places I’m not sure a priest’s eyes are supposed to linger.
My fingers curl into my palms. “Thank you for coming. I know you’re busy and this probably isn’t your thing, but I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m glad I’m here. And you’re wrong about this not being my thing.” His eyes make their return trip to mine. “You’re here.”
The whole room feels like it’s creeping in around us, listening, watching. I’m already a lightning rod because of what happened to me; I don’t need to be one for being a priest’s temptress.
“Jade, sweetie.” Mom comes up beside Torrin and me, glancing around the room. “Your guests. Everyone’s eager to say hello.”
“Hi, Eleanor. Great party,” Torrin says.
“Hello, Torrin. I’m pleased you could make it.” Her voice isn’t unkind, but it’s stilted.
I know she doesn’t want me getting hurt, but I’ve already been hurt. Being with him, in whatever way I am, makes me a little better each time. It’s almost like every time I’m with him, another shattered piece comes back together.
“You wouldn’t happen to know what happened to the lights, would you?” Mom asks him, an eyebrow arched.
Torrin’s face goes flat. “I don’t have a clue.” He can’t keep up the act though. A smile breaks as he winks. “It must have been a fluke.”
“It must have been,” Mom replies, looking at me. Her eyes soften from seeing me relaxed, smiling, not about to lose my shit all over the room. Leaning closer to Torrin, she pats his arm. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Even his innocent face is guilty.
“Don’t play innocent with me.” She pats his arm one final time, waiting for me. “Father.”
Torrin laughs a note and waves as Mom steers me away. I can’t look away though. Not right away. Because he’s in a tux, and he’s staring at me the way I am at him, and he’s trying to tell me something I think I’m starting to understand.
He makes himself look away first—like he knows I’m incapable of it.
Mom steers me through the room. I wave and smile at people when they do the same, but most I don’t recognize. Other than some family members and a few close friends, everyone else is a blank.
“There’s Sam and Patrick,” Mom says when my sister and who I guess is her husband come through the door like they’re not sure they’re in the right place.
My dad shakes hands with Patrick and gives Sam a kiss on the cheek. That’s my sister’s husband. My younger sister’s husband. They have a baby. They have impressive-sounding jobs. They’ve grown and evolved in the past decade while I haven’t even managed to stay the same—I’ve wilted from the feel of it.
“You want to go say hi?” Mom catches me watching my sister, but I look away as soon as she brings it up.
They look happy. Relaxed. I don’t want to change that by popping up and introducing myself to her husband as the sister who was kidnapped ten years ago.
“I think I’ll mingle over here.” I don’t know most of the faces in the cluster of people closest by, but I’d rather face them than my sister.
Connor left last week for his Scottish adventure, and even though he offered to skip it, I encouraged him not to miss out just because I was back. Truthfully, I was relieved he was gone because it meant one less family member to have to pretend around. One last person to try to convince that I was okay.
Mom examines the group I’m moving toward. “Okay. Find me if you need anything. I’ll stay close by.”
She pats my arm and watches me as I keep going. She looks at me the same way as she did the day I started preschool—like she wanted to cry but was staying brave for me so I didn’t.
When I’m a couple feet away from the group, the circle of people notices me coming and start to open up.
“Hey, Jade,” one of the girls about my age says first. She’s the only one not staring at my neck so obviously I can almost feel it burn. “I’m Paige Arlington. We were in choir together in high school.”
I relax when I recognize her. The name, the association, it makes everything so much easier.
“Hey, Paige. Thanks for coming.” I can’t figure out where to put my arms. They feel strange at my sides. Weird behind my back. Wrong clasped in front of me. “Hey, everyone.” I make eye contact with the others, not looking away until they stop gawking at my neck.
A variety of greetings come back at me. Everyone seems to shift at the same time. This is going so, so badly. I’m not just socially awkward now—I’m socially inept.
Someone wanders up to join the group, but this face I remember. Just not the name that goes with it. “Jade Childs. You look just as great as ever.”
He holds out his hand—I guess for me to shake. When I put my hand in his, he grasps it too firmly and shakes it too hard. He’s probably using a perfectly acceptable touch, but it’s crushing to me. I rub my hand when he releases it.
“Trent Covington. We were bio partners our sophomore year.”
When he smiles at me, I remember. “You were on Torrin’s soccer team.” I snap my fingers. “You played goalie.”
His smile falters but doesn’t totally disappear. “Yeah, I played on the high school team, and actually, I play
ed striker.”
“Oh,” I say, trying to remember. I can’t. I wasn’t exactly watching the other players on the field when I went to cheer at Torrin’s games. “Yeah.”
I glance over my shoulder, looking for an escape. I know these are my friends from school, and they seem like nice enough people, but I don’t fit in. No one knows what to say to me—I don’t know what to say to anyone.
I notice Torrin talking to another group of people we probably went to school with. He’s smiling, and they’re all laughing, and at least five conversations seem to be happening in that circle. No one’s uncomfortable around him. And he’s the priest.
His head turns, and he sees me watching him. His smile stretches. Just when he’s about to get back to the conversation, he seems to notice something. His eyes slide away from me but land on someone close by. His smile vanishes.
“So, Jade . . .” Someone nudges me.
I flinch from the unexpected contact. It’s Trent.
He’s moved closer, and his smile’s back. “It’s been forever. How have you been?”
I don’t really think much of his question, but the mouths of the people around me drop. Paige hisses something at Trent.
What he’s said hits him. From the look on his face, it hits him like a hatchet to the back. “Oh my god. Sorry.” He blows out a breath and brushes my arm. “Such a stupid question. Just ignore the idiot in the room.”
I step back because I still haven’t gotten used to people touching me.
“You want to hear a stupid question, Covington?” Torrin’s voice breaks the silence. He’s beside me like he’s been here the whole time. Trent tips his head, but Torrin turns toward me. He lifts his elbow. “Wanna dance?”
“What?” I ask, able to fill my lungs again. “Really?”
Torrin’s eyes lighten. “Really.”
“There isn’t any music.” I wave around the room because not only is there no music, there’s not really even a dance floor.
“Already taken care of.” Torrin tips his head toward the front of the room where I see someone hooking up something that looks like it could play music. “The guy even has the song I requested.”
“No one else is dancing.”