One step. Then two. Three. All the way to the table halfway between the steel semicircle bar and the door, to the girl hugging her purse. "That guy over there-" Lindsey pointed to the man she and Will had seen talking with the girl a couple weeks ago. The couple Will had urged her to say something to. "Let him buy you dinner."
"I'm sorry?"
"He likes you. Let him buy you dinner."
The girl cast a covert look at her Romeo-in-waiting, who was casting a covert look at her instead of chatting with his buddies and the four women around them.
"I don't know him," the girl said.
Lindsey didn't either. And her heart was fixin' to pound right on out of her chest-damn those Southernisms still sneaking into her brain-but she knew. She knew. These two needed to meet. "The bar's open until two. Lots of people around. Say hi. Tell him your name. Ask him where he's from. Tell him about your job. Or just go say hi. If nothing else, you'll make his night."
Before she could say anything else, Lindsey walked away. She rolled her shoulders and rubbed at her hip, then swiped at her nose. She itched again. Not from the dress, from the fabric, or from anything she could touch.
But it was almost a good itch.
Like she'd taken the first step in shedding skin that didn't fit her anymore.
"Whoops," she said when she returned to the stool where Dad was sitting. "Forgot my purse."
"You're leaving?" Nat appeared at her side and gripped her hand. "CJ's bringing us cheese fries. And you have to see this shot of you by the wedding cake monument. It's gorgeous."
"The dresses were gorgeous. That was all you."
"No, you were gorgeous. Please, Lindsey? Five more minutes? We all have to call it quits early because of the Battle of the Boyfriends tomorrow night."
"We haven't toasted the dresses yet," Pepper said. "You have to stay."
"And I could use a whiskey," Dad said.
Lindsey blinked at him.
"Dad?" Nat tilted her head. "What's wrong?"
"I had a dream fluffernutter sandwiches were marching on the capitol," Kimmie said over her pie. "And then they reached for their swords, except the swords were really bombs, and the bombs were fortune cookies, and then they popped like popcorn, and it was like, Poof! A bajillion fortune cookies, all with freaky fortunes. They were everywhere. And now-and now-"
"I've had to terminate my friendship with Marilyn," Dad said.
Nat's lips parted. Kimmie's cheeks were bright and splotchy, her chin wobbling so hard her nostrils were twitching too.
Kimmie had always borne the brunt of her mother's personality, and Dad's friendship had made the Queen General significantly more human.
Lindsey's itching got worse. It went under her skin, beneath her muscles, but she couldn't scratch her bones. Couldn't make it go away.
Because-because-
"Why?" she said to Dad.
"You know, I thought I could change her," he said slowly. He nodded to Nat. "When she was giving you such a hard time, I thought I could be a buffer. Remind her we were in the business of making magic for people, and that we were all on the same team. I thought she was getting better. Especially after the Games last summer. But then … " He shook his head. "She crossed a line." He lifted a finger to CJ. "Whiskey. The good stuff."
CJ nodded.
"What line?" Lindsey said. Her stomach fluttered, her heart begged for a break and that thick knot of icky emotions grew bigger behind her nose and eyes.
"You know what I missed most when your mom died?" he said. "I missed those minutes at the end of the day. She'd ask me how my day was, and I'd ask how hers was. We'd talk about you girls, about the shop, about committee meetings. Simple, but it's what I missed. Last summer, it occurred to me-Marilyn hadn't had any of that. Not for years. She didn't have anyone to unwind with at the end of the day. She was who she was because she was alone, and she didn't know how to be any other way. So when she was so rotten to you, Nat, I thought I could change her. I thought I could make her better for all of us. For all of Bliss."
Nat rubbed his back. "You did, Dad. She's still crazy and annoying, but she's better. And Bliss is better too."
"What line did she cross?" Lindsey repeated.
Dad wouldn't look at her.
"Dad?"
He took a shot glass from CJ and tossed it back, then sputtered out a cough. Dad's eyes watered, and a trickle of bubbly moisture dribbled out the corner of his mouth. "What in the-" he gasped.
"Ginger ale," CJ said. "I've seen you drunk. Can't be responsible for that again. Don't you worry, though. I'll charge you like it's top shelf."
"Finger paints and science kits for Noah's birthday," Dad rasped out.
"Pretty sure Margie and Saffron already have those covered," Pepper said. "Try a set of jacks. It's the only thing none of us are brave enough to buy. We know that comes with retribution."
"And payback's a bitch," CJ growled at his sister.
She snorted. "So? It's not like I'm ever getting married and having kids."
Lindsey watched Dad until he looked at her. "What did Marilyn do?" she said.
He scrubbed a hand down his face. "She said somebody needed to talk to your boss, so we could get you to doing what you should've always been doing. And I told her-I told her she could accept both my girls for who you choose to be, or she could get out of my life."
Nat shrank, quick injury flitting across her features.
Dad hadn't told Marilyn to shove it when Nat was taking the brunt of her shenanigans.
Kimmie wiped a smudge of cream off her nose, then took another bite from her pie.
"Six months, I've been patient," Dad said. "Six months, I've believed she could be better. I thought she was better. Your mother had a lot of respect for her, you know. Said she was a good friend in her own unique way, but it meant putting up with all the eccentricities, and knowing that she wouldn't even realize you were being her friend. But what she did to you, Nat-I was wrong. I can't change her. I shouldn't have tried. I'm sorry, hon. I'm sorry, and I'm done. You girls-you deserve better. Lindsey, I don't understand why you do what you do, but I'm proud of you. And you don't have to change for me-or for some boy-or for anybody. I'm done accepting people into my family who want you to. Either one of you."
"Dad-"
"You know what stings?" He fiddled with his shot glass. "She's a real pain in the ass some days, but she understood. She knew how hard it was to be lonely. She made me less lonely, but I-there are plenty of people to be friends with."
"Dad," Lindsey said again.
"I know. I'm sorry. Kimmie, I'm sorry to you too. Not fair to talk about your mother like this."
"Mmph," Kimmie said around a mouthful of pie. Her big blue eyes were shiny and tilted down with a morose acceptance. She'd probably known all day. No wonder she'd been quiet.
Lindsey bit her lip.
Compared to being unable to honestly tell Will they were a good match, this should've been easy.
Did bones have layers? Because hers were itching inside now. Itching and burning and protesting.
She never wanted to do this.
Never wanted to know.
She'd sworn a blood oath with herself to never tell anyone what she knew, because no good could come of it.
But Kimmie was miserable. Kimmie was bound to be miserable for the rest of her life if Lindsey didn't say something.
And Dad was sad. Sadder than he'd been since last spring, before he became friends with Marilyn.
And Marilyn-without Dad, she'd return to being the Queen General robot.
Or worse.
Payback wasn't a bitch. Grief was. And fresh grief-Lindsey knew a thing or two about that.
So she turned her back on every promise she'd made herself, every oath she'd sworn to herself, every bit of determination to ignore what she'd known for almost a year.
"Dad," she whispered, "Marilyn's a good match for you."
Nat choked on her drink. Pepper dropped her wine, the glass shattering on the floor. And CJ lost control of the soda hose.
Lindsey ducked but still got hit with the sticky stream of liquid. Dad, Kimmie and Nat all dove for cover while Pepper flew across the bar and grabbed the soda sprayer. "Smooth, Princess," she said to CJ.
"Like to see you keep it together if you're faced with having Marilyn as your mother-in-law."
Lindsey's eye twitched.
Nat straightened with a giggle. "Oh, God, Lindsey. That was mean. Don't do that to Dad."
Lindsey pulled out one of her favorite lawyer expressions.
"You're serious?" Nat said.
"You're serious?" Kimmie echoed, significantly more hope in her baby blues. She reached for her pie, now doused with wine and soda, and went in for another bite.
Dad eyed Lindsey. "You're serious."
"I'm not saying not to let her stew for a few days to come to the realization of what she's lost"-oh, the irony and the pain-"but don't write her off because of us. Nat can handle Marilyn. I can handle Marilyn."