If she only knew.
Today, though, Nate's and my presence is required at the same event: the Thornhill's annual Fourth of July party. It's in our very own backyard, starting in the afternoon with a crab boil and extending through the evening fireworks. Apparently we'll get a good view of the country club's annual fireworks display just down the river.
My mom has absolutely insisted on buying me a new dress for the occasion, and even came into the fitting room with me to make sure it fit correctly. The shift dress is not exactly my style, but I've seen it on plenty of girls at school. I'm just worried about spilling tartar sauce on the bright white fabric. I pull on my new pair of gold wedges, and walk downstairs to see if my mom needs any help.
I'm taken aback by the flurry of activity downstairs. As I walk outside, I realize I've underestimated the scale of this party. When I heard “crab boil,” I was picturing a few picnic tables with red and white tablecloths, but this is clearly a classy affair. There are elegant round tables set, with flowing linens and extravagant centerpieces on top of them. The food is presented in silver trays, and garlands festoon the perimeter. I spot my mom talking in hushed, urgent tones to one of the caterers, and head over.
“Oh, Brynn, you look beautiful! That dress fits you so well,” she gushes.
“Thanks…do you need any help?”
“Mmm, no. I think we're OK. The guests should begin arriving in about ten minutes. Oh, go taste the Freedom Martini over at the bar and tell me what you think. I'm worried it's a little too sweet.”
“The Freedom Martini?”
“The signature cocktail we created for this event,” the caterer next to her chimes in with a chipper grin.
“Ah, of course,” I reply, heading for the bar. The bartender serves me a pale pink drink and I take a sip. Not too sweet—it's delicious, light and refreshing. Luckily the day isn't too hot, anyway. The temperature has managed to stay below ninety degrees for the party.
I decide to go down to the river since I'd just feel in the way while they’re setting up. I walk down to the lower lawn and down the steps. As I reach the shore, I navigate the rocky sand cautiously in my heels. A splash on the other side of the large boulder grabs my attention. I walk toward it and peer around. Nate's standing there, skipping rocks with a smooth sidearm motion. I pause, admiring his form, then decide it's best to just go back up to the lawn before he notices me. He's made it clear he doesn't want to talk to me.
I turn back and as I walk my heel catches on a rock. I gasp as I slip sideways, and feel two strong hands catching me under my arms to hold me up.
“Whoa, careful,” he says as he straightens me up.
“Thanks,” I reply as I turn to him and tuck my hair back behind my ears. “You escaping from the commotion, too?”
“Yeah. I don't really enjoy these things.”
“Really? You're so…” I trail off.
“What?” he asks with a grin.
I groan. “Fine. I was going to say 'charming,' OK?”
“I knew it,” he replies jokingly. “Well, whatever charm you might be noticing has been developed over many years of practice. My dad has been dragging me to these kinds of events for years. I know the routine. Smile, shake hands, tell the kinds of jokes that don't make anyone think too hard.”
“Sounds…horrible. But at least there's a lot of free food.” He gives me a bemused glance. “Right. Sometimes I forget I don't have to worry about that stuff anymore.”
“You were, um, not well-off before our parents—” he drops his gaze.
“I'd say we were struggling. But it was just the way I grew up. I never wanted for anything big, though we certainly frequented the Goodwill racks often enough. But I don't want you to think…I mean, my mom, she really cares for Pierce.”
“Relax—I don't think your mom's a gold digger. There have always been some of those around, and I can practically smell them at this point. I mean, maybe at first I was worried, but I'm not now.”
“Was your mom—” I begin, feeling brave.
“I don't like to talk about her,” he cuts me off, and chucks another rock out onto the water. It hits the surface with a plopping sound and sinks.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “How's your shoulder?”
“Hurts,” he replies shortly.
“I'll see you up there,” I say after a moment, since he's clearly done with the conversation.
“Hey,” he calls after me as I climb the steps. “Jackson and his parents are here. They're family friends. They're on the guest list every year.”
“Got it, thanks,” I reply, before mounting the rest of the steps. That was considerate of him, and it sounds like he was telling me that he didn't invite Jackson himself.
As I walk across the lawn, I can see that the first guests are beginning to arrive. I wonder if now that I'm Pierce's stepdaughter, I'm going be expected to put on the same song-and-dance routine as Nate. Usually if I have to go to a party, like my aunt's Christmas party, I'll hang out for a while, and then disappear somewhere to read a book.
My fears are realized as my mom waves me over to where she and Pierce are standing with two guests. I'm introduced to the couple, who turn out to be higher-ups for the State Department, and my accomplishments are trotted out while they murmur enthusiastically, though I have to wonder if anyone could possibly be genuinely interested in such self-serving prattle. As we talk, my mom breaks away to greet the guests that are now pouring in. I listen politely as Pierce chats away, impressed with his wit and charm. Clearly Nate gets it from his dad, even if he does insist that it's a learned skill.
I manage to slip away and head over to the buffet table. Like any good Maryland girl, I absolutely love crabs. As I pile my plate high, I feel a hand on the small of my back. I turn to see Jackson grinning at me. With his open, friendly face, it's hard to keep in mind what Nate told me about him, and what I experienced for myself.
“Hey, Brynn!” he says, brushing a kiss against my cheek.
“Jackson, good to see you,” I reply politely.
“You disappeared so fast the last time I saw you! I was worried,” he replies.
“Sorry about that,” I respond, wondering if Nate gave him any explanation.