I grabbed his tie and straightened it. “The last time I wore it, you freaked.”
“I did?”
“Yes, I wore it for prom and you said it was too revealing.”
“Oh. Well, you were so young back then. I had to protect you.”
“And now I’m old, so you don’t have to worry?”
He grinned. “No, now you’re a grown woman and can take care of yourself.”
If he only knew.
Mom bustled out of the kitchen, carrying the apple pie and dressed in a gorgeous dark blue, knee-length dress. “You look great,” I said. She looked surprised and I felt guilty. I knew I should be nicer to her. “Thanks, darling. So do you. It’s a good sign that you still fit into your prom dress. Many girls gain weight after graduation. I suppose all the stress in college leads to overeating. At least, there’s one good thing about your decision to work.”
I let her comment go, and thankfully Dad opened the door. “We should get going or we’ll be late.”
“Where do they celebrate?” I asked as we got into the Toyota.
“The party is held at their house. They have more than enough space after all,” Mom said.
I remembered the huge house of the Millers. Rachel’s family was old money. I’d spent so many days and nights there, having slumber parties, eating popsicles on their swing hammock.
“Nora, are you sure you are quite alright?” Dad glanced at me through the rearview mirror.
“I'm fine, Dad.”
“She doesn’t want to talk to us,” Mom said in a hurt tone.
Why had I thought coming home was a good idea?
Five minutes later, we drove into the private road that led up to the Miller’s house, though mansion would have been the more appropriate term. We pulled up in front of a magnificent house with a huge driveway that circled around a small fountain. I didn’t know anyone else who had a fountain. A strange sensation of wistfulness washed over me as I took in my surroundings. I hadn’t even realized until now that I’d missed this place, that I’d missed Rachel. We’d spent so much time together, sitting on the edge of the fountain, dipping our feet into the cold water, talking about school, teachers, our favorite bands and boys. Most of the time we’d been alone. Rachel’s father had worked all day in the family business and Rachel’s mother had been busy helping him. When we were young, at least Rachel’s brother had still been around sometimes, though he’d avoided us. He’d been seven years our senior and had stayed in his room when I was there. After he graduated, when we were eleven, he was never around anymore.
Dad found a free spot and parked the car. There were already more than a dozen cars parked around the driveway. We got out of the car and walked up to the front door with its white stone columns. Suddenly, I froze, remembering something. Rachel’s brother had been called Adrian.
Chapter Seventeen
Adrian Miller, not Black. Mom and Dad looked over their shoulders at me. I’d fallen a few steps behind. The tension leaked out of my body. And Rachel’s brother had looked nothing like my Adrian. My Adrian?
Not that I remembered that much about Rachel’s brother. He’d been blond like Adrian Black, all the Millers were blond and he’d even had green eyes, but he’d also been overweight. And not just a little chubby. He’d been the fat kid in school. The genius, fat kid.
I almost laughed in relief. And Adrian hadn't mentioned Harrington or Rachel or his parents, not that we’d talked about his private life that much.
“Are you coming?” Mom asked, a hint of impatience in her voice. Dad’s hand was already poised over the bell, waiting for me to catch up with them.
I let out a small breath and joined them in front of the door. The sound of Jazz music and laughter was coming from inside the house. Dad gave me a small frown, but he didn’t ask any questions. Mom on the other hand looked like she was going to combust from curiosity. She knew something was going on. I hoped she would blame it on my broken friendship with Rachel.
Dad rang the bell and a minute later the door was opened and Frank Miller stood there, beaming at us. My breath got stuck in my throat. Dad and he shook hands, then Mr. Miller kissed my mother’s hand. Mr. Miller was practically the older version of Adrian. His eyes were the exact shade of green as Adrian’s, his hair was the exact shade of golden blond as Adrian’s. They even had the same strong jaw. But Adrian’s last name was Black, not Miller. Maybe he was a distant cousin, who wasn’t invited and only by accident looked like the spitting image of Frank Miller. And then another memory crashed my hopes. Rachel’s mother had been called Black before the marriage. Adrian must have assumed her name after high school. Fuck.