Page 48 of All These Beautiful Strangers

“I didn’t,” I said. “Okay? Is that what you want to hear? I didn’t have a good time. I felt like some—like some—I don’t know. And I didn’t like it.”

He reached for me and wrapped his arms around me and I stood there stiffly, refusing to let myself sink into his touch or be consoled.

“Grace,” he whispered into my hair as he held me. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” I said. “Don’t apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He drew back, his hands on my shoulders, and he was shaking. I thought maybe he was upset about our breaking up; it took me a moment to realize he was laughing.

“What on earth is so funny?” I asked, a little pissed.

“It’s just . . . ,” he said, and then he laughed some more. “I only brought you tonight to impress you. I didn’t expect—I didn’t expect you to hate them as much as I do.”

“You’re really drunk,” I said.

“No,” Teddy said. “I mean, yes, I am. But that’s because that’s the only way to get through an evening with those people.”

I chuckled despite myself. “Yeah,” I said. “That’s kind of true.”

“They’re awful,” Teddy said. “The whole thing—the food, this suit, the vain look-at-me conversation, and whoever the hell Francisco Trivoli is.”

“Only the chef-patron of the Ivy,” I said, mimicking the haughty accent of the woman who had not been able to shut up about Francisco Trivoli all night. “Apparently, he’s got three Michelin stars.”

“Fuck him,” Teddy said.

I laughed.

“Please let me come in,” Teddy said, burying his hands in his coat pockets and bouncing from one foot to the other. “My balls are shriveling it’s so cold.”

“Fine,” I said. “But don’t get any funny ideas. You and your balls are sleeping on the couch.”

“Scout’s honor,” Teddy said, holding up one hand. “Cross my heart, poke my eye out, that there won’t be any funny business.”

I laughed. “That’s not quite how that goes.”

In the end, I let him in. We polished off an old bottle of Pinot I had in my cabinet, and Teddy, true to his word, slept on the couch. Only, I slept there too, snuggled in his arms, the glow of my old television set lighting my living room like some adult night-light as we both faded from consciousness. And as I drifted off to sleep, I felt the faint stirrings of something I hadn’t felt in years—not since Jake had passed away. It was the feeling that maybe—just maybe—there was actually someone out there who saw me, and got me.

Thirteen

Charlie Calloway

2017

Homecoming at Knollwood Augustus Prep was practically a Calloway family reunion. Grandfather and Eugenia came up, as did my uncle Teddy, who had gone to Knollwood for a bit when he was my age, and my aunt Grier, and their daughters, Piper and Clementine. My father would have come, because Knollwood was his alma mater, but at the last minute he had decided to visit Seraphina instead, since it was her homecoming that weekend as well and he didn’t want her to feel left out, or so he told me over the phone. I was disappointed, of course, but part of me was also relieved.

After everything Claire had told me the other weekend, I wasn’t sure I was ready to face my father. I knew I would measure every look, every gesture, every breath he took, terrified that I might see something hiding in the shadows of his features—something I hadn’t noticed before, or maybe, something I hadn’t wanted to notice.

That was the thing that got me, the dark thought I turned over and over again in my mind at night as I lay, unsleeping, in my bed. Was it that my father was incapable of the things Claire claimed, or was it that I didn’t want him to be capable of those things?

“I can’t for the life of me understand why Sera chose Reynolds over Knollwood,” Piper said, craning her neck to see over the tall man sitting in front of her in the bleachers. “Knollwood is superior in every way that matters—academics, extracurriculars, good-looking boys.”

It was Friday afternoon of homecoming weekend, and the whole school had turned out to see the Knollwood Lions take on our rivals, the Xavier Panthers. Piper sat next to me. On my other side was Eugenia, who had brought her own blanket and cushioned seat and wine and cheese basket. Every few minutes, she’d call down the row to my aunt Grier or my uncle Teddy, who sat on the other side of Piper with my cousin Clementine in his lap, and ask whether they would like a slice of Brie on a wheat cracker. At halftime, she took a full bottle of wine out of her designer wine carrier bag and poured herself a long-stemmed glass. When I said under my breath, “Eugenia, you can’t drink on school property,” she just smiled at me and said, “No, darling, you can’t drink on school property.”

Grandfather did nothing to stop her, but then, Grandfather could never really tell Eugenia to do anything she didn’t want to do, and so he rarely tried. Besides, he was in good spirits because Leo was quarterback, and he was having a good game. There were just two minutes left to go, and we were ahead by seven points.

“Well, Reynolds has a stable on campus where Seraphina can keep Peppermint,” I told Piper. “And for Seraphina, that trumped everything.”

Piper tossed her long blond hair over her shoulder. She was a Calloway, through and through, from her bright blue eyes to her tall forehead.