I start walking again, deciding in this moment that I’m going to throw away the stupid envelope and just use a regular mailbox like everybody else. It is also in this moment when I realize that my house looks dead. It’s the only one on the block without lights illuminating the windows, the flicker of a television behind closed blinds. The only one without any evidence of life inside.
I walk closer, the Xanax cloaking my mind into a forced calm. But still, something is nagging at me. Something is wrong. Something is different. I look around my yard: small, but well-kept. A mown lawn and shrubs push against a raw wood fence, an oak tree’s mangled limbs casting shadows against a garage I’ve never once pulled my car into. I glance up at the house, now mere feet before me. I think I catch a glimpse of movement behind a curtain from inside, but I shake my head, force myself to keep walking.
Don’t be ridiculous, Chloe. Be real.
My key is in the front door, already twisting, when I realize what’s wrong, what’s different.
The porch light is off.
The porch light I always, always leave on—even when I’m sleeping, ignoring the beam of light it casts straight across my pillow through the gap in the blinds—is turned off. I never turn the porch light off. I don’t think I’ve ever even touched the switch. That’s why the house looks so lifeless, I realize. I’ve never seen it so dark before, so completely devoid of light. Even with the street lamps, it is dark out here. Someone could come up behind me and I’d never even—
“SURPRISE!”
I let out a scream and plunge my arm into my purse, searching for my pepper spray. The lights from inside flick on and I’m staring at a crowd of people in my living room—thirty, maybe forty—all staring back, smiling. My heart is slamming inside my chest now; I can barely speak.
“Oh my—”
I stutter, look around. I’m searching for a reason, an explanation. But I can’t find one.
“Oh my God.” I’m instantly aware of my hand in my purse, clutching the pepper spray with a strength that startles me. A wave of relief washes over me as I release it, wiping the sweat on my palm against the interior fabric. “What—what is this?”
“What does it look like?” A voice erupts to my left; I turn to the side and watch the crowd part as a man steps into the opening. “It’s a party.”
It’s Daniel, dressed in dark-wash jeans and a snug blue blazer. He’s beaming at me, his teeth a blinding white against his tanned skin, his sandy hair pushed to the side. I feel my heart start to slow again; my hand moves from my chest to my cheek, and I can feel it growing hot. I crack an embarrassed smile as he pushes a glass of wine toward me; I take it with my free hand.
“A party for us,” he says, squeezing me tight. I can smell his body wash, his spiced deodorant. “An engagement party.”
“Daniel. What … what are you doing here?”
“Well, I live here.”
A wave of laughter erupts in the crowd, and Daniel squeezes my shoulder, smiling.
“You’re supposed to be out of town,” I say. “I thought you weren’t getting back until tomorrow.”
“Yeah, about that. I lied,” he says, eliciting more laughs. “Are you surprised?”
I scan the sea of people, fidgeting in their places. They’re still looking at me, expectant. I wonder how loudly I screamed.
“Didn’t I sound surprised?”
I throw my hands up and the crowd breaks into a laugh. Someone in the back starts to cheer, and the rest follow, whistling and clapping as Daniel pulls me fully into his arms and kisses me on the mouth.
“Get a room!” someone yells, and the crowd laughs again, this time dispersing into various parts of the house, refilling their drinks and mingling with the other guests, scooping heaps of food onto paper plates. The smell from outside finally registers: It’s Old Bay. I glimpse a table of crawfish boil steaming on the picnic table on our back porch and am instantly embarrassed about feeling left out from the fictional party I had invented next door.
Daniel looks at me, grinning, holding back a laugh. I hit him on the shoulder.
“I hate you,” I say, though I’m smiling back. “You scared the shit out of me.”
He laughs now, that big, booming laugh that drew me in twelve months ago still proving to hold a trance over me. I pull him back in and kiss him again, properly this time, without the watching eyes of all of our friends. I feel the warmth of his tongue in my mouth, savoring the way his presence physically calms my body down. Slows my heart rate, my breathing, the same way the Xanax does.
“You didn’t give me much choice,” he says, sipping his wine. “I had to do it this way.”
“Oh, you did?” I ask. “And why is that?”
“Because you refuse to plan anything for yourself,” he says. “No bachelorette party, no bridal shower.”
“I’m not in college, Daniel. I’m thirty-two. Doesn’t that seem a little juvenile?”
He looks at me, cocking his eyebrow.
“No, it doesn’t seem juvenile. It seems fun.”
“Well, you know, I don’t really have anyone to help me plan that kind of stuff,” I say, staring into my wine, swirling it against the glass. “You know Cooper’s not going to plan a shower, and my mom—”
“I know, Chlo. I’m teasing. You deserve a party, so I threw you a party. Simple as that.”
My chest surges with warmth, and I squeeze his hand.
“Thank you,” I say. “This is really something else. I almost had a heart attack…”
He laughs again, downing the rest of his wine.
“… but it means a lot. I love you.”
“I love you, too. Now go mingle. And drink your wine,” he says, using his finger to tip the base of my untouched glass. “Relax a little.”
I lift the glass to my lips and down it, too, pushing myself into the crowd in the living room. Someone grabs my drink and offers to refill it, while another person shoves a plate of cheese and crackers in my direction.
“You must be starving. Do you always work so late?”
“Of course she does. She’s Chloe!”
“Is chardonnay okay, Chlo? I think you were drinking pinot before, but really, what’s the difference?”
Minutes pass, or maybe hours. Every time I wander into a new section of the house, someone else walks up with a congratulations and a fresh glass, a different combination of the same questions flowing faster than the bottles piling up in the corner.
“So, does this count as drinks soon?”
I turn around and see Shannon standing behind me, smiling wide. She laughs and pulls me in for a hug, planting a kiss on my cheek the way she always does, her lips sticking to my skin. I think back to the email she sent me this afternoon.
PS—Drinks soon? Need to get the details on the upcoming BIG DAY!
“You little liar,” I say, trying to keep myself from wiping the lipstick residue I feel lingering on my cheek.
“Guilty,” she says, smiling. “I had to make sure you didn’t suspect anything.”
“Well, mission accomplished. How’s the family?”
“They’re good,” Shannon says, twirling the ring on her finger. “Bill is in the kitchen getting a refill. And Riley…”
She scans the room, her eyes flickering past the sea of bodies bobbing together like waves. She seems to find who she’s looking for and smiles, shakes her head.
“Riley is in the corner, on her phone. Shocking.”
I turn around and see a teenaged girl slumped in a chair, tapping furiously at her iPhone. She’s wearing a short red sundress and white sneakers, her hair a mousey brown. She looks incredibly bored, and I can’t help but laugh.
“Well, she is fifteen,” Daniel says. I glance to my side and Daniel is standing there, smiling. He slides up to me and snakes his arm around my waist, kissing my forehead. I’ve always marveled at the way he glides into every conversation with such ease, dropping a perfectly placed line as if he’d been standing there all along.
“Tell me about it,” Shannon says. “She’s grounded at the moment, hence the reason why we dragged her along. She’s not too happy with us, forcing her to hang out with a bunch of old people.”
I smile, my eyes still glued to the girl, to the way she twirls her hair absentmindedly around her finger, the way she chews on the side of her lip as she analyzes whatever text just appeared on her phone.