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If she was going to meet Aaron at their old high school, she didn’t want to show up dressed like a lunch lady. She knew all too well what was in her closet, and there was nothing there that would stir him to think about her when their evening was over. After a brief chat with Abe, who told her to get lost for the rest of the day, she called Evie to meet her at Messengers, a privately owned unisex boutique whose name implied they should be able to deliver something. Their clothes and accessories were upscale and pricey but the promise of the evening was worth it.
The shop was more crowded than Fordham expected. She’d never realized how many people were free to shop midday. She had already tried and rejected a bunch of dresses from the sale racks when Evie came in looking pale and depressed. Her typical dewy shimmer was missing, and Fordham realized that without foundation, Evie just didn’t glow the same way. It certainly wasn’t worth mentioning. But Evie mentioned it anyway.
“I swear, Fordham, this menopause crap is for the birds,” she said, blotting her face with an already wet tissue. “Look at me. My makeup is sweating all over my face.” She consulted a mirror. “I look like Bette Davis in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane?”
“Don’t be silly,” Fordham said. “You’re beautiful. But menopause? Really?”
“Really. All the women in my family started young. I think my hormones found out that Dylan is expecting and just assumed that I have a rocking chair and dentures on layaway. But don’t worry. I plan to fight back.” She dabbed at her face again, this time with a fresh tissue. “Do me a favor—let’s not talk about it. It just makes me want to cry.” She shoved the tissue in her purse, took out the compact of dewy foundation, reapplied it to her satisfaction, and started going through the dresses as though nothing had happened. Glowy Evie was back with the same vigor she’d had when Fordham first told her why she needed a new dress. She thought sending the guitar guy was the most romantic gesture she’d ever heard of. Fordham wasn’t going to argue, even if she still wasn’t quite sure how she felt about it. She felt reassured knowing she could count on Evie to root for Team Aaron.
Fordham was thankful she wasn’t dealing with menopause yet, especially since she was still contemplating the idea of having another baby. She promised herself not to say a word about it to anyone, especially Evie, who was still in shock about Margo’s pregnancy and in denial about Dylan’s. Maybe that was part of the allure of Aaron being back in her life. Maybe the grand plan was that they were supposed to be parents together.
“What about this one?” Evie asked, holding up a strapless cocktail dress in a metallic fuchsia with a matching boa that Ray Charles wouldn’t have missed.
“It’s a date, Evie. He’s not paying me to be Miss Piggy for the evening,” she said, wincing, and continued her search on another rack.
“Fine. Be that way. But we both know how long it’s been since you’ve—”
“Actually looked forward to going out,” she said. Evie let the subject slide, and they went back to their search. Nothing was grabbing either one of them. Fordham was scanning a clearance rack when she noticed a familiar face shopping in the men’s department.
“Evie!” Fordham squealed.
“What?” Evie jumped, and Fordham was grateful to see the tangerine jumpsuit she wanted Fordham to try on fall to the floor.
“That’s Pam Lesley,” Fordham said.
“Gil’s old secretary?”
“No! I told you. The one Whitty’s principal is seeing.”
Evie followed Fordham’s instructions to locate the woman and check her out. “No way. How did they meet—she was selling him Girl Scout cookies?”
“I told you she was young.”
“Young is one thing, but I don’t think she can vote yet. Fordham, are you sure they’re dating?”
“She was ready to scratch my eyes out when she saw the two of us talking that night at the catering hall. Plus, I’ve seen them together at school. Oh, and this.”
Fordham showed Evie an Instagram picture that Pam had posted of Lily, Pam, and David celebrating Lily’s birthday, with the hashtags, #mommypammy and #luvinlifewithdavid.
Evie shook her head in disbelief and picked out a silver dress that had been a crumpled lasagna tin in a previous life.
“That’s it, Evie?” Fordham asked. “No reaction?”
“Years ago, pictures were worth a thousand words. Today, they’re worth a thousand questions.”
Fordham continued to eye Pam, who was happily preoccupied with her own shopping. “Evie! She’s buying him a tie. A nice tie. Oh. And a package of boxers. Funny, I pictured him as more of a briefs kind of guy. This is bad. I feel like a voyeur.”
“So stop looking,” Evie suggested. “Or go talk to her and do some digging.”
Fordham went over to the section where Pam was shopping and began to poke around in men’s wear.
“Mrs. Presser?” Pam asked, a blue robe slung over her arm and a lacy thong dangling from her wrist.
Fordham cringed. Pam could have just screamed You’re old to address her.
“Oh, hi, Pam. What are you doing here?” Fordham could feel her cheeks redden. Obviously, the girl was shopping.
“Getting a few things for David.” She giggled as if Fordham were an idiot for not knowing. “He loves when I shop for him.”
“Is it his birthday?” Fordham asked, thinking she might pick something up for him too.
“No, it’s kind of our anniversary,” she gushed. “But what are you doing in this department? Whitty said you’re divorced.”
Fordham wanted to beat her with a hanger, but she didn’t have the bail money. She was hoping for a supportive glance from her friend, but Evie wasn’t in range. “I am,” she said, forcing herself to stay calm. “My boss asked me to check something out for him.”
“That’s very smart of you,” Pam said flippantly. “It’s always a good idea to make your boss happy.”
Fordham wasn’t sure what the implication was, but she still wanted to beat Pam with a hanger.
“It’s been a pleasure, Mrs. Presser, but I have to get going. David wants ziti for dinner.”
“It’s Fordham. Have a lovely evening.”
She watched as Pam went to the register, the word anniversary screaming in her head. Then she went to catch up with Evie. She found her in the Scandalous section, picking out dresses that would make a prostitute blush.
“You shouldn’t have made me do that,” Fordham chided.
“I didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want to do.” Evie admired a see-through lavender gown before returning it to the rack. “So what did you find out?”
“Nothing I wanted to know,” Fordham said dejectedly. “They’re together, period, end of story.”
“I don’t understand. What difference does it make, anyway? You want Aaron. Don’t you?”
“Of course. I’m just playing around.”
That wasn’t entirely true. She did want Aaron. He was exactly what she needed in her life. But David was undeniably attractive, and Fordham resented that he had a girlfriend, even though she had absolutely no right to feel that way.
“Anything?” Fordham asked Evie, knowing they had exhausted every possibility.
“Nothing you’d be caught sober in,” Evie said, motioning that she was going to the lingerie section.
Fordham went through one more section then spotted the perfect dress, which was exactly like the one she’d worn on her date with Paul Nudelman. The answer to her fashion dilemma was sitting in her closet after all. Evie came back with a couple of items for herself—two kinky black silk teddies and a peekaboo bra. Apparently, fighting back meant she was planning to take menopause lying down.
***
THE WHOLE RIDE HOME, Fordham was playing out the evening in her mind. Aaron probably wanted to meet at the school so they could sit in the parking lot and reminisce. It was a romantic notion, but she had so many mixed feelings about their past relationship that she preferred looking ahead to looking back. Sure, they had good times, but in the end, he broke up with her, saying they were too young to make that kind of commitment and that he needed to focus on school and had too many things to do that didn’t include taking care of a girlfriend. She needed to get serious about her future, too, and it would be unfair of him to tie her down.
Blah, blah, blah. Evie and Marv had made it work, and if Aaron had really loved her, they could have worked through all their issues too. She spent days crying, puking, and torturing herself, listening to “It’s Too Late” until it started to skip and incessantly repeat the same plaintive line over and over. At the height of Fordham’s despondency, Dorie had sworn that she would never let “that nasty bastard” back in the house as long as she could breathe.
Fordham checked the time. Good. She had a couple of hours to regroup and get out of her self-imposed funk. She told herself it wasn’t prudent to dwell on negatives and sabotage a potentially good thing. But despite wanting to be optimistic, she kept hearing Elmer Fudd imploring her to be vewy, vewy careful.
An unfamiliar car was parked in front of the house as she arrived, and she hoped Dorie hadn’t invited any of her annoying Y Group friends for coffee. She didn’t feel like dealing with their opinions about her neckline or the hairs in her nostrils. She planted a Miss America smile on her face and entered the house, expecting to make a quick exit to her room.
Dorie was sitting on a chair, facing Fordham, and the back of another head was sitting facing the opposite way. “Fordham, look who’s here,” she announced as David stood up to greet her.
“David.” Fordham’s pulse quickened.
“I called your mother and asked if she had time to discuss some ideas for clubs to run through the library.”
Dorie had mentioned chatting with him about her different interests and ventures when she’d gone to pick up Whitty one afternoon. Fordham had assumed it was polite conversation that would have no consequence. She tried to form a response. Meanwhile, Ella surveyed the room, meowed, then jumped in David’s lap and got comfortable. Fordham was ready to shoo her away, but David welcomed the tabby with scratches behind the ears.
“Well, my mother is very resourceful,” Fordham said. “I’m sure she’ll be able to help you out.”
“Fordham, come sit with us,” Dorie requested. “I’ll call in for some takeout. It’ll be fun.”
“Oh. I would love to, but I already have plans I didn’t get to tell you about.” Although it was the truth, Fordham couldn’t help thinking it sounded lame. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I have to get ready.”
“That’s too bad,” David said. “I was hoping we could all powwow.”
Fordham’s heart melted a little. Not only did he sound disappointed, but he also used quirky words just as she did. Still, she went into her room and wiggled into the slightly tight black dress, all the while wondering if she’d have a better time staying home.
David was leaving just as Fordham was on her way out. She kissed Whitty good night, told Dorie she wouldn’t be too late, and let David hold the door open for them as they both left. She felt self-conscious, wondering if he remembered the dress.
“You look very nice,” he said.
“Thanks. And thanks for including my mom in your... whatever. It’s good for her to be active.”
“She’s smart. Smart is good for whatever.” He lowered his head and seemed to be struggling to find something else to say. “Whatever you’re doing, have fun.” He paused. Then he turned back. “You look beautiful.”
Fordham thanked him and got in the car. She primped in the mirror and watched him drive away. She wasn’t sure why he seemed so awkward around her this time. He’d said she looked beautiful. Maybe he wasn’t sure how to build their friendship. She wasn’t sure, either. The good thing was that they each had a romantic interest, so their involvement with each other could stay focused and unencumbered by the weight of inappropriate expectations. Despite the wisdom imparted by When Harry Met Sally, Fordham believed that once men and women knew where they stood with each other, they could be friends.
She started the car and tuned in to classic rock. She and Aaron used to listen to music all the time when they were together. He liked everything from ragtime and swing to blues and pop. He even played her things he’d heard during engineering gigs in different studios. Whatever she liked, he’d mix on tape for her. By the time their relationship was over, she had a collection that spanned every mood and occasion.
She was singing, “I Think I Love You” along with David Cassidy when she arrived at the school. The lot was empty except for a limo and a truck. She parked under a streetlight, thinking it offered a sense of protection, though with the improved visibility, any crazy person hiding in the bushes would have a better shot at her. She got out of the car reluctantly. When Aaron got out of the limo, she felt better. He was wearing a black tux complete with a boutonniere. If he told her he had jumped off the top of a wedding cake, she would have believed him.
Aaron’s motto in life had always been “Go big or go home.” They’d met before high school when he was a stock boy at Music Den in the mall and she already had a sort of boyfriend. She went in to the store to buy a birthday gift, and the next thing she knew, this gorgeous guy was lip-synching to “Pretty Woman,” which was piping through the speakers in the store. He asked for her number, saying she should forget her boyfriend and get used to being his girl. It wasn’t her nature to be that bold, but she appreciated it in him. In most ways, she was glad his youthful spirit had grown along with him.
She had to admit, he was still magnetic. He planted a soft kiss on her cheek then slid an orchid on her wrist before helping her into the limo. She was about to thank him, but he motioned her not to speak. As she sat down, Aaron pushed a button, and Stevie Wonder was singing “Golden Lady,” a song Aaron knew always tugged at her heart. He popped the cork on a bottle of champagne that had been chilling in a bucket alongside a pair of crystal glasses.
He poured them each some bubbly and gave a toast. “To a night of memories, laughter, and music, and to the girl who makes looking back a thrill and looking ahead a dream.”
It took all her will power not to start tearing up. That would have definitely messed up her mascara. She was intent on keeping her wits about her for this date. After a few sips of champagne, Aaron proudly presented a platter of caviar and crackers from the compact fridge. He fed her one then ate one himself.
Fordham was certain she was having an out-of-body experience. She wasn’t sure where the real Fordham was, but she was enjoying the moment too much to care. As soon as she finished her champagne, Aaron opened her door and led her into the school’s auditorium. The lights were dim, and soft music was playing. A disco ball hanging above spun around, casting patterns on the stage.
“This is incredible, Aaron. How did you do it?”
“I used to tutor the head custodian. He owed me.”
She was dazzled and in awe. “Not anymore.”
He led her to a seat in the back row and showed her where he had carved a heart with their names inside of it along with the date of their “anniversary.” She vaguely remembered Evie showing it to her at an assembly before Aaron had even told her about it. She couldn’t believe it was still there after all these years. She paid a hefty school tax and couldn’t understand why they had never remodeled.
“I carved that the second you finally agreed to go out with me. I still remember begging you to break up with that kid you were dating before I had the chance to ask you out. What was his name again? Mushroom? You know, the one I called the little Dutch boy...”
“Todd Goodman,” Fordham said. “And he was nothing like the little Dutch boy! You were merciless.”
“I was focused. I knew what I wanted.”
He led her to the stage, and they began to dance as if they had been studying each other’s moves for years. When the set ended, the custodian, dressed in a suit, wheeled out a beautifully set table like the kind her mother might arrange when Gloria was visiting. They sat down to oysters, lobster, prime rib, and an array of side dishes and topped it off with a dessert of baklava and pastries like the ones they used to get at the diner in the middle of the night. Aaron had thought of everything that Fordham could have wanted on her prom night.
After dinner, they spent what felt like only seconds reminiscing and dancing. Aaron was being a gentleman—affectionate but respectful, as though aware that this was the kind of evening that was more foreplay than let’s do it. She was surprised at how okay she was with waiting. They’d taken it slowly the first time around, and since she deemed herself a born-again virgin, she decided it was reasonable to let nature take its course.
A couple of hours later, the custodian came back and began clearing away her living fantasy piece by piece. It had been a perfect evening, and she glided across the parking lot arm in arm with Aaron as if a magic carpet were delivering her to her car. But something was missing.
“Where’s the limo?” Fordham inquired. A little Corolla was in its place—another piece of the fantasy gone.
“Custodian’s son. It was a quickie loan.”
“Oh. I guess everything comes to an end,” Fordham said wistfully.
“You and I don’t have to,” he said, looking straight into her eyes.
“We don’t?” she asked, meeting his gaze. “I’m not sure what else to say.”
“Fordie, say you’ll give us a try. Say you’ll be my girl again.” He swooped her in his arms and kissed her the way he had when she was sixteen.
“No guarantees,” she whispered.
“None. Just hopes.”
He kissed her again and helped her get in her car. She waved and pulled out of the parking lot, noticing in her mirror that he stayed there until she was gone.
***
THE HOUSE WAS DARK and quiet when Fordham returned to her real life. It wasn’t that late, but she wanted to linger in the moments of not feeling time, a respite from her ordinary relationship with the world. She went into the family room and lit a rose-scented candle she found in the end-table drawer. Then she found her favorite Laura Nyro collection, an old gift from Aaron, and popped it into the CD player she refused to part with despite its antiquity. She poured herself a glass of pinot noir and tried to keep the evening’s allure intact without the convenience of a custodian-busboy-waiter—and, somewhat ironically, without Aaron.
She wasn’t sure how to feel. On the one hand, she was elated about the evening, and the prospect of making a life with Aaron seemed almost natural and inevitable, but on the other hand, she was afraid her willingness to dismiss the past meant she hadn’t learned anything from their history. Maybe she was so enraptured by Aaron’s persistence that she wasn’t thinking straight. Or maybe she was falling in love with him again because he was wiser now and recognized her value. She didn’t understand how a grown woman could not know her own heart.
The sound of footsteps from the hall caught her attention. Dorie burst into the room, bordering on frantic. Fordham surmised that her mother had been awake, playing in the dark, waiting for her to come home.
“Do you spell ‘aeration’ with an e or an i?” Dorie squealed.
“An e.
“Dammit! Fordham, he’s done it again.” She threw her hands in the air. “I have so had it with him.” She started to leave then came back. “Uh-oh.”
“What?”
“You’re listening to Laura Nyro, which either means you and Gil are splitting up or you’re upset about something. And since you and Gil are already divorced, my guess is you’re upset about something.” She sat down on the couch next to Fordham. “How was your evening?”
“Strange, but... wonderful.”
“That’s what you say about my fish cakes,” Dorie said. “Explain.”
“Aaron and I met at the high school. He hired people and transformed the auditorium into our own private prom night.”
“You’re right. That is strange. They wouldn’t even let our group set up a bingo night. How’d he do it?” She sat on the couch.
“He has connections.”
“I can only imagine.” Dorie snickered. “So tell me why it was strange.”
“It was so easy to be with him again.”
“I can understand that. You were... friends.”
“Mom, he wants me back,” Fordham said.
“I’m not trying to rain on your adolescence, but isn’t the man going through a divorce?”
“Yes, but that has nothing to do with me.”
“Fordham, this has rebound written in neon letters all over it.”
“Mom, one of the finest attributes a person can have is knowing when to just smile and nod.”
“Sorry, but I’m your mother, not a dashboard bobblehead in a ’65 Chevy.” Dorie mimicked a bobblehead, forcing an unwanted chuckle out of Fordham, who was determined to stand her ground, regardless of how brittle it felt.
“I know, Mom. I know how you feel. You have made it clearer than a Swarovski piece.”
“Fine. I’m not going to say another word.”
“Can I have that in writing, please?”
“Only if I can ask you for the same. You know, someday Whitty is going to be all grown up, and when you see her heading into a storm, do you think the only thing you’re going to do is give her an umbrella?”
Dorie left, but before she was out of earshot, Fordham couldn’t resist having the last word. “I might throw in a slicker.”
Fordham felt a little guilty about giving her mother a hard time, but it was the only way she knew how to assert her independence. Whether she was right or wrong, the decision about who she would be involved with had to come from her. She drank a few more sips of wine and dozed off...
***
HER MOTHER AND LANKY little Paul Nudelman were arm in arm, strolling through the house, holding paint cans and singing, “six geese a-laying, five golden rings, four calling birds, three French hens, two turtle doves...” They passed her bedroom door, blasting a crescendo. “And a partridge in a pear TREE!”
“Mom?” She couldn’t grasp why the two of them were together.
“Oh, hi, dear. You remember Paul?”
“He’s unforgettable.” Fordham was thinking about his performance of the “Chicken Dance” at the wedding.
“He’s your daddy now. I met him on the website I joined, call-me-cougar-dot-com. Can you imagine?”
“No. And what’s that for?” Fordham asked, pointing to the paint.
“Oh. Paul wants to paint our room by numbers. Ours is going to be sixty-nine. It’s a lovely magenta.” She began swinging the paint can. “Fordham, dear, you really have to stop frowning. You’re getting jowls.”
The idea of Paul Nudelman being anything but a memory made a series of cannons go off on the front lawn. Fordham was thrilled when he and her mother finally exited. But then she found herself in a punk club. In the back, by the bar, was Whitty, decked out in Goth garb. She was standing with a hot guy who Fordham recognized as Brandon, dressed in his deli uniform. Whitty and Brandon began to make out passionately. Fordham ran over to separate them, but Brandon pushed her away.
“Um, like, Fordham, you had your chance, but you blew it. Your daughter is way hotter!”
“Yeah, Mom. While you were busy writing your book, I was busy getting salami from Brandon.”
The two of them were holding a six-foot hero, each taking huge bites from opposite sides. Fordham wanted to stay, but after a blink, she was in a delivery room. There was Evie, hugely pregnant, her feet in stirrups, in labor. Fordham was at her side, trying to decipher what she was saying through her panting and moaning.
“Marv read Flowers from the Heart: The Dentist with a Slow Drill. Hee, hee, hoo. That man always has”—the contraction escalated—“something to prooove!” At the top of her lungs she grunted, “Thanks for the best seller, Fordham!”
The next face Fordham saw was that of Abe, who was dressed as the attending physician, positioned between Evie’s legs. “Push! Push! It’s time to deliver.”
***
FORDHAM WOKE WITH A start. She got off the couch and went to check on Whitty. She was still fast asleep and, fortunately, still ten years old. Just to make sure she was truly awake, Fordham peeked at Dorie, who was sleeping alone, her room still a muted ecru. Satisfied that her dream had been just that, Fordham went to her room and clicked on her desk lamp, anxious to reread her comforting submission hanging on the wall. Somewhere in back of her mind, she believed she was replacing one dream with another. Or maybe she was trying to give herself the encouragement she needed to believe in what she could have with Aaron. After a few tears, she went over to her mirror and examined her face for signs of aging.
As much as she tried, there was no way she could sleep. She finally gave up and showered. Now was as good a time as any to work on the book. She went to copy a page, but it came out blank. She was going to have to buy more printer ink. Her desire for hard copies was an expense she would have to shoulder. She liked the feel of paper in her hands. Sure, e-books were more convenient, but turning pages was more engaging and exciting than pushing buttons. Convenience wasn’t everything. After all, drinking was easier than chewing, but no one outside of LA was willing to give up food.
There were more submissions to review, and everything was going relatively well, but again, she noticed that only one pile continued to grow. She was hesitant to tell Abe at this point in the project, but if this was going to work, she didn’t have much choice.
A couple of hours later Fordham entered Abe’s office, carrying coffee and doughnuts, determined to get his approval.
“How nice. For me? How’s the book coming along?” He sounded cautious, as if he sensed he was being played.
“That depends on what you decide. I think the best stories are coming from people over forty. I get erotica from twenty-year-olds who lost their virginity to hyperlinks. Thirty-year-olds haven’t screwed up enough to be interesting. I want to change the title to Flowers from the Heart: Love Online after Forty.
“It’s risky to be so specific.”
“Abe, we did Flowers from the Heart: The Golfer with a Low Handicap.”
“Yeah, I know. Don’t remind me. Headquarters is still on my case about that one.”
“But Flowers from the Heart: The ‘General Hospital’ Fan went into a second and third printing.”
“That’s true,” Abe said. “You know this project better than I do. I trust you. If it works for you, it works for me.”
Fordham toyed with the box and offered Abe another doughnut.
“Now what?”
“I’m having a dinner party. I know you haven’t wanted to go out much since you lost Harriet, but I’d really like you to come.”
“You cook?” he asked.
“I garnish. My mother cooks.”
“Your guy coming?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, now I understand,” Abe said. “Your mother doesn’t like him, does she?”
Fordham wasn’t sure how to answer that question. Maybe Dorie didn’t like Aaron, or maybe she didn’t trust that Fordham could make a good decision when it came to men. Regardless, Fordham didn’t want to ruin her day by starting off with a conversation about either possibility.
“Will you come?”
“Sounds entertaining.” Abe looked into the distance as if imagining the scene. “Okay, I’ll come. Even without the coffee and doughnuts.” He winked.
She returned to her office, glad that Abe was being so agreeable. It would be easier to work now that she was given more control. Everything was headed in the right direction. Around lunchtime, there was a knock at her door.
“Come in,” Fordham said, standing at the file cabinet, searching ferociously for stats on their last book about relationships. She glanced at the door and found a woman wearing a Blake Lively blond wig and a tight neon-lime minidress with sequins studding the deep neckline. She was also wearing matching fishnets and black stilettos. Fordham cringed at the thought that she was there to deliver a new singing telegram from Aaron. But then the woman spoke, and Fordham realized who it was.
“Evie?” she asked with a modicum of uncertainty.
“In the flesh.”
“You could say that. Has there been a career change you’d like to tell me about?” Fordham tossed a file on her desk. “Why are you dressed up like you jumped off the cover of Debbie Does Dallas?”
“What’s wrong with it? I lost six pounds!”
“And you are clearly thinner. But as a dental hygienist, you’re marketing a whole new look for a cavity search.”
“Fordham, you don’t get it. When I look in the mirror, my face doesn’t look happy to see me.”
“Right now, your face doesn’t even know you.”
“I’m thinking of having some fat from my butt injected into my lips,” Evie said.
“Why? So you can laugh out your ass?”
Evie was getting teary. Fordham knew she’d have to switch gears, or they were going to end up arguing. She realized Evie’s whole getup was another way to try to deal with the sudden onslaught of extreme middle age. As a friend, she would have to be more supportive.
“So Dylan is having a baby. That doesn’t mean you have to dress like a newbie at the Playboy Mansion.” With no reaction from Evie, Fordham floundered for the next thing to say. “You’re already beautiful and sexy—because you’re you.”
“You still don’t understand.”
“Of course I do. I just don’t think you need to handle it this way.”
“I have to go.” Evie sounded hurt, bordering on angry.
“Evie, wait. I’m sorry.” Fordham stepped in front of the door. “I’m having a dinner party, and I need you there no matter what you feel like wearing.”
“Is Aaron coming?”
“Yes.”
“Has your mother seen him yet?” Evie asked.
“No.”
“I’ll be there.” And with that, she tossed the wig onto Fordham’s desk.