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Time to make my escape.

My salvation is in the form of Eve, who is here because I begged her to be, and because her family is here, checking out their investments. She’s talking to her sister Helen when I appear, offering her a glass of champagne I stole off a tray and asking if she would like to sample some hors-d'oeuvres.

“I’d like to sample the clams around here if you know what I mean.” She’s eyeballing a woman in a green dress as we stand next to a wall. The orchestra finishes one piece and begins another, creating a scuffle of people in the middle of the ballroom as they leave, find new partners, or decide to have “just one more.” In a way, it reminds me of the gala I went to twelve years ago, where Ira Mathison and Kathleen Allen first charged into a relationship from hell.

A dozen years in the making, folks!

“Try to contain yourself. This is a family affair,” I joke.

“Oh, whatever. Like you’re faring much better than me.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I see all your favorite people here. In fact…” She tips her drink up, motioning beyond my body. “Here comes your ultimate favorite.”

“Evelyn.” Ira stands a mere few inches behind me, nodding to the both of us, acting like she’s all business. “You look nice.”

She glances down at her suit. “This old thing? Clearance rack at Kohl’s.”

“Cute.”

Eve downs the rest of her champagne. “That’s my middle name. Evelyn Cute Warner. Anyway… what the hell do you want?”

“Not you, surely.” Ira turns to me, and I can smell that cologne she was wearing the last time we made love. The time before that. Before that. “I came by to ask Kathleen to dance.”

I pretend that we have no romantic history. It’s the only way I can look her in the eye and channel the old Kathleen who would be tempted to rip her head off and present it on one of the champagne trays running around.

“Your father was telling me that you need to dance with someone. I guess it’s because you’re young and single.”

Boom. Right in the fucking gut. Yeah, I can play dirty.

Yet her expression only flinches. “I heard the same thing from your father. Funny, that.”

Either Ira is lying or my father has some explaining to do. Regardless, some man landed on my shit list yet again.

“Why would I dance with you?” I keep my champagne glass to my lips, letting it act as a buffer between us. Get any closer, Ira, and I might touch you.

It’s not like… I don’t want to touch you…

“You would dance with me because it’s not something you get to do every day. Meanwhile…” she jerks her thumb in Eve’s direction. “You can talk to her anytime you want.”

“Not true. I’m in grad school.”

“All right, whenever she feels like skipping class. Which is every day, I’m guessing.”

“Speaking of fucking off, Mathison, isn’t that what you should be doing?”

God, listen to us. A bunch of high school children standing in front of the lockers and acting like this is the most important moment of our lives. I’d blame these two immature imbeciles, but I’m not helping the situation any. In fact, my indecision is making things worse.

“All right.” I hand Eve my half-empty glass. I’m sure she’ll finish it off for me. “One dance, with enough room for Jesus, as Mrs. Caruthers would have said at Winslow Academy.”

“History?”

“Biology,” Ira corrects. “Mrs. Caruthers was an odd choice for a biology teacher.”

“You two need Jesus, that’s for sure.” Eve stalks off with two glasses in her hands. “I want the full report of how many times you called God tonight. And five Hail Marys for every time you feel bad about it.”

Once she’s gone, I snort.