Just a Number(54)
“You shouldn’t feel bad,” I tell her honestly. “You couldn’t have foreseen the outcome of that.” I tilt my head toward the kitchen. “I saw her in there with Alan a minute ago.”
“Thanks.” She takes a couple of steps and then stops, turning back to me, her eyebrows pulled together with concern as her eyes move between mine. “You okay? You seem…I don’t know. Off.”
Sighing, I nod. “I’m fine. Really.”
Julia smirks, nudging me with her elbow. “You missing your girlfriend?”
I laugh, running my fingers through my hair. Her question is both ridiculous and accurate. While Amelia and I are in the same house, I do miss being able to say whatever I want to her or hold her whenever the mood strikes. So, yeah, I guess you could say I miss her. “Something like that.”
“Well, chin up. I’m sure you’ll talk to her before the night is over.”
She’s not wrong, but I won’t be able to say the things I want to say. As Julia continues on toward the kitchen in search of Amelia, I head back to the party in the living room. Walking to the table, I grab another drink and a plate of food, and when I turn around, I catch Carla looking at me from across the room. It’s not in her nature to be this upset, but I can’t fault her for it. We’ve put her in an impossible situation, and while I’m grateful she’s giving us the opportunity to tell Alan ourselves, I also hate that we’ve asked this of her.
I offer Carla a smile, but the one she returns to me is both strained and awkward before she turns away and begins talking to another guest. Seems about right, don’t you think?
As the night wears on, it’s as though nothing’s happened; no one is any wiser, save for the three who know otherwise, and by the time the last guest says goodnight, it’s well after midnight and we’re all beat. Carla and the kids stay to help clean up before saying goodnight to all of us—mine is obviously a little more clipped than the others, but I suppose that’s to be expected. After they’re gone, I take the last of the empty wine bottles to the kitchen and find Amelia standing at the sink washing dishes.
“I’m sure those can wait until morning,” I tell her, startling her. Perhaps I should start walking louder or wear a bell; she’s so easily surprised.
“You really need to stop doing that,” she tells me with a laugh, her voice calm and steady as though nothing happened tonight. Then she shakes her head as though remembering and she refocuses all of her attention on the dishes. “There’s only a few more left. I’d rather have them done so I don’t have to worry about them in the morning.”
I walk farther into the kitchen and snatch the dishtowel off the oven handle and stand beside her, reaching for one of the recently washed and rinsed dishes. “Then allow me to help.”
I notice Amelia furrow her eyebrows and press her lips together tightly. “It’s really not necessary,” she breathes softly. “There’s only a few.”
“Amelia,” I reply, “the sooner we can get this done, the sooner we can head off to bed.”
Her posture stiffens, and I suddenly realize what it is I said. “Shit,” I mumble, drying the dish. “You know that’s not what I…I just meant that it’s late, and we’re all exhausted.”
“I know.” Her voice is low, soft.
“Well, the living room is all cleaned up,” Alan declares, forcing us to drop our conversation and go back to the task at hand. “Oh, good. You guys have got the dishes covered.”
Amelia smiles, turning to her dad. “Yup. Almost done.”
“Carla and the kids should be here at about nine tomorrow morning,” he announces. “That should give us all a chance to sleep in a bit and get started on breakfast. What do you think?”
Amelia places the last dish in the sink in front of me, her hand accidentally brushing mine as I reach for another, and then pulls the plug to drain her side. “Sounds great.” She dries her hands on another towel and then walks past her dad, stopping to kiss his cheek. “I’m heading to bed. It’s been a long day.”
“Okay,” Alan replies. “Goodnight, kiddo.”
Before she can leave the room, I glance back over my shoulder. “Goodnight, Amy.”
Her cheeks brighten slightly in hue, and she smiles. “Goodnight, Owen. Sleep well.”
I didn’t. Sleep well, that is. I’ve never had a problem falling asleep on Alan’s couch before, but now, all I can do is toss and turn. I don’t know when it happens—definitely sometime after three in the morning—but I pass out. When I wake up in the morning, I’ve got a huge kink in my neck and my back is in knots. The clock on the mantle tells me that it’s just after eight. Getting through the day with less than five hours of sleep is going to prove difficult.