Page 45 of Play Nice

The open bar was a mistake; everyone’s drunk half an hour into the party.

“Congratulations,” Veronica says, kissing my cheeks.

“Thank you, thank you,” I say, faking a smile. “I’m so glad you could make it.”

“Of course! Wouldn’t miss it,” she says. “Even if we weren’t friends. Your line is amazing .”

Turns out that fashion is more forgiving of insanity than I’d initially assumed.

I actually gained followers from my unhinged Instagram activity, inadvertently created an aura of mystery for myself.

Hannah hooked me up with one of her friends, a designer for a London-based luxury brand with a romantic, gothic aesthetic.

They brought me on as creative director, and we worked together on a line that we’re celebrating tonight, on Halloween Eve. Mischief Night.

“This party, Clio! I’m obsessed with the decor. And these flower arrangements. Stunning,” Veronica says, fawning. “And, like, everyone is here.”

As much as I’m grateful to have landed on my feet, things are different for me now.

People whisper when I walk by. They stare.

There’s a caution in how I’m approached, a certain tone used to address me.

Even here at this party, my accomplishment, my art, it isn’t met with respect.

It’s met with the phony, condescending enthusiasm of an elementary school award ceremony.

That brief public exposure of my vulnerability—of my pain, my confusion, my fear, my grief—will forever overshadow everything I do.

“Hey,” Austin says, handing me a flute of champagne.

“Thanks, babe. Austin, this is Veronica. Veronica, Austin.”

“Oh my God!” Veronica says. “The man who finally locked Clio down. I’ve been so intrigued.”

Austin shakes Veronica’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”

“Is my family here yet?” I ask him.

“Yeah, just got here,” he says.

“I’ll be back,” I tell Veronica. “And we should get drinks soon, yeah? Next time I’m on your side of the river.”

“I’d love that. I miss you! Call me,” she says, blowing me a kiss.

Austin takes my hand and leads me through the crowd.

“Do you hate this?” I ask him.

He laughs. “No. But it’s not nearly as fun as my work parties.”

“I’m sure. I can’t compete with bingo night.”

“Appreciate that no one here’s asked me for cookies or drugs, though.”

“Not yet.”

We approach the corner, where Dad, Amy, Tommy, Leda, Daphne, and Daisy huddle around a cocktail table.

“There she is,” Amy says.

“Why is it so dark in here?” Leda asks. “I can barely see anything.”

“It’s the vibe,” I say.

“Congratulations, sweetie,” Dad says, hugging me. We exchanged apologies almost a year ago, but we don’t look at each other the same. He overcompensates. Last week, he offered to pay for my wedding. Austin and I aren’t engaged, but even if we were, I wouldn’t take Dad’s money.

I meant it when I told him I was sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t see him for who he was any sooner.

I’m sorry for the part he played in Mom’s destruction.

I’m sorry for the part he would have played in mine had my sisters not been on my side.

I will never know his motivation—if it was pure and he really thinks himself the hero, the white knight, saving us from someone battling demons.

Or if he was intentionally antagonizing our mother because it benefited him, because with her gone he could get everything he wanted.

Amy. Us. Or maybe he didn’t want to hurt her, but he was just fine watching her hurt herself.

Yeah, I said I was sorry for the sake of my sisters, to preserve some of what was good about our family. And yeah, he said it, too. But forgiveness is a different beast.

It’s fine. I don’t need him anymore. He has no power over me.

“It’s all so lovely,” Daisy says. She’s button cute, and the few times I’ve met her, she’s been dressed like a milkmaid.

“We’re proud of you, Cli,” Tommy says, pushing his glasses up his nose. He’s crying. He’s been crying continuously since they found out Leda’s pregnant. Such a softy.

“I don’t know how long we’ll stay,” Leda says. “But thank you for inviting us. Everything’s beautiful. From what I can see.”

“I’ll be right back,” Daphne says to Daisy. She grabs me and Austin. “It’s too crowded; it’s stressing me out. Let’s go smoke.”

—

The three of us go out to the balcony and pass around Daffy’s weed pen.

“Sorry. Long day,” she says. “This is really cool, Cli. Congrats.”

“The buyers fell through, didn’t they?” I ask her. She took over all things Edgewood after what happened that night with Roy.

He’s retired now, I hear. Probably for the best.

Daffy stays quiet, which I take as confirmation.

“That house will never sell,” I say.

“It’ll sell,” Austin says. “Just could take a while.”

I’m grateful for his optimism, and I trust that he actually does believe me about the demon. I’m just not sure he understands.

How could he? How could anyone? Our demons are ours and ours alone.

My mother’s demons were hers. Even if she were still here, I couldn’t ever really understand what it was like for her, why she did the things she did.

I tried in the wake of her death. A fool’s endeavor.

But I have no regrets, because I know now that she wasn’t crazy.

I’m not sure anyone is. I think it’s just easier to call someone crazy than it is to admit that they could be right.

Easier to call someone crazy than to confront the nuance of their circumstance, than to accept the callous cruelty that exists in the world we live in, the evil out there that revels in our suffering.

They say ignorance is bliss, and, yeah, maybe, but it’s still fucking ignorance.

So, no. No regrets. Not even on the restless nights when I’m trying to fall asleep and I hear it. That laughter. Sometimes it slithers through my dreams.

“Nothing fell through, Clio. It’s a good offer. Everything seems solid,” Daphne says. “The sale is moving forward.”

“Oh,” I say. “Wow.”

I haven’t been back to the house since that night, haven’t offered any more of myself, my time, my attention, my energy, my life, to the demon.

I had no intention of ever stepping foot in 6 Edgewood Drive again.

I was aware that my refusal to engage might come back to haunt me someday.

I realize now there was some small, repressed, devious, boredom-prone, chaos-addicted, diabolical part of me that was hoping it would.

I down my champagne.

“Hey, that’s great,” Austin says. “Weight off your shoulders.”

“Dude. You have no idea,” Daphne says.

“It’s a couple, you said?” I ask her.

She takes a deep breath. “Clio. We talked about this.”

“Yeah, I know. Not my circus…”

“Not my monkeys,” she finishes. “It’s time to let the place go. It’s gonna be fine. They’re gonna be fine. The house is…it’s…it’s over. It’s behind us.”

“Sure,” I say. Austin reaches for my free hand, and with the other I bring the flute to my lips, tipping it back. There’s no more champagne. My glass is empty. Tragic.

Daffy clicks her tongue. “All right. I’m going in. I should get back to Daisy.”

“Godspeed,” I say, saluting her.

“It’s cold out,” Austin says. “You want to go in? You want my jacket?”

“I’m good,” I say. “You can go in. I’m going to take a minute out here. To myself.”

“All right,” he says. “See you inside?”

“Yeah. I’ll find you.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

I cross my heart.