Surrender

chapter 18

Chapter 18

Streetlights below filtered through the sheer curtains of Sophie's bedroom as she gathered her hair into her hands, debating on how she should style it for Max's birthday party. Tonight was the first time she'd go out in public and encounter old friends that she'd lost touch with after Sammy's death. She applied a layer of wine red lipstick to her plump lips and tossed her pin-straight dark hair over her shoulder, admiring the whimsical jar of fireflies necklace Chris had given her that evening. Her index finger brushed it as though it were a bubble that would burst, as though reality would come swooping in sooner or later and yank it right off her neck.

            Rolling the negative energy from her shoulders, she tossed on her leather jacket. She flicked the bedroom light off and ambled into the living room. Chris was typing away on his laptop on the couch, the TV murmured in the background, a mug of coffee rested on the coffee table in front of him.

            "Are you sure you don't want to go?" she asked, wringing her wrists. He'd told her that he had a deadline to meet tonight. He was nearing the end of his book, he'd said. "My sister is going to be there. I thought it would be nice if you could meet her. And Max is one of my best friends."

            "I'm sorry, Sophie." He grasped her hand. "If it were any other night."

            She nodded, trying to hide her disappointment behind a tight smile.

            "You look beautiful, by the way." He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

            "Thanks. If you get hungry, there's lasagna in the fridge and there's a bit of that salad left over. But you can order in if you want—"

            He rose and took her shoulders by the hands. "Sophie, go. Have a great time." He gave her a kiss on the cheek.

            Gathering her keys and her purse, she headed out the door. As she settled into the driver's seat of the Mustang, an unsettling feeling trickled from her throat to the whirling vortex in her gut. Max's birthday present lay on the passenger seat beside her, a vintage record player covered in silver wrapping paper and a neat bow made of navy blue ribbon. She turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb.

            On some level, she was relieved that Chris couldn't go with her. She was nervous enough as it was. The lasagna dinner she and Chris had shared just a few hours ago simmered in her throat like boiling water, threatening to spill over. She tapped her fingers against the steering wheel, matching the beat of the song playing on the radio to shake the tremors from her hands. She hadn't seen many of her and Sammy's friends since the funeral, and she wasn't looking forward to combating their sympathetic pats on the shoulders with an, "I'm doing well, thanks for asking" smile.

            The short drive took her downtown to Max's family-owned bar. It'd been closed down for the night for his birthday. Her knee-high boots clacked against the concrete, the birthday gift she cradled in her hands felt as heavy as a boulder. She stopped short and peered into the foggy window. She recognized some crewmembers from tour sharing a laugh and having a couple of beers. Inhaling an encouraging breath of air, she pulled the door open, a wave of chatter and live music hitting her smack in the face.  

            In a crowd of tee shirts and jeans, Angie stood out like an angel in hell. Her strawberry blond locks tumbled down the exposed back of her mauve halter top, the extravagant, side swept, silk bow dangled from her neck as she nursed an apple martini. Her engagement ring glimmered like a shooting star under the dim, yellow lighting.

            Sophie couldn’t shake the guilt from exposing Angie's engagement during the Sunday night family dinner. She waved to people she'd vaguely recognized as she made her way to Angie.