An Honest Lie(12)

“The sign is dumb, right? Baby makes three what?” Viola said, taking the bowl from Rainy and making a face. “I told them it was stupid, and they looked at me like I was being too emotional.”

“You probably were.” Rainy didn’t have to check Viola’s face like she had to do with other people; Viola always got her jokes.

“Anyway, you look great,” Viola said, eyeing her dress. “You look like a dove in an exotic bird shop.”

Rainy didn’t have time to ask Vi what that meant because Samantha was walking toward them. Samantha—who Viola called Tata—was wearing dark-rimmed glasses and a black T-shirt on top of severely ripped jeans. The only thing missing tonight was the beanie, and she guessed Viola had something to do with that. Samantha was the stereotypical Pacific Northwest hipster with a hint of goth, and she wore it well.

“How come Tata gets to wear jeans?” Rainy widened her eyes, letting her mouth fall open in jealousy.

“Because Tata didn’t sign up for the Tiger Mountain Desperate Housewives’ Club.” Samantha smiled widely at Rainy, lifting her hand for a high five. As soon as Rainy’s hand met hers, she turned toward Viola. “They want you in the kitchen. It’s about the cake.”

“For what? They can’t do anything themselves?” Both of Viola’s hands were pressed against her belly as she spoke.

Rainy watched them bicker playfully for a minute, and then Samantha steered Viola toward the kitchen. A sharp burst of laughter issued from the next room, and then Tara’s tinkling voice calling over the noise: “Ladies, let’s get this party started!” All of a sudden, everyone was pushing into Viola and Samantha’s dining room, where the cake and presents were set up. There were at least thirty people there, half of whom she didn’t know. They’d called this a “sprinkle,” which was supposed to be smaller than a typical baby shower, but there was nothing small about this gathering. A woman who looked like a younger, emo version of Samantha breezed past from the living room to join them. Must be her sister, Rainy thought, lingering near the front door. She hesitated; she wanted to get the chair out of the back of her truck, but she knew that if she didn’t go in and make her presence known, they would hold up the whole thing till she was back.

When Rainy walked into the room, she skirted the group so that she was standing at the back of the small crowd. Rainy spotted Tara at the center of the group, wearing a silk jumpsuit and holding a glass of champagne. Her signature ponytail was held back with a gold scrunchie. Rainy did not envy Tara’s gift of holding court. Without Braithe present, all the women were enraptured with her second-in-command. Tara’s eyes were busy scanning faces, checking attendance. Her eyes briefly rested on Rainy before she began announcing the night’s festivities.

A few minutes after the first game ended, Rainy slipped out the kitchen door and headed for her truck. The night air was sharp and fresh, and it swept through her lungs, revitalizing her. She planned on grabbing the rocking chair and leaving it on the front porch with the card she’d taped underneath a white bow. Rainy had been secretly working on the chair for two months, after hearing Viola say she “couldn’t find anything but basic bitch rocking chairs.” Rainy had constructed the chair out of metal and wood, combining Samantha’s midcentury modern taste with Viola’s industrial.

“Hey! Hey, Rainy.” She turned to see Tara tiptoeing toward her over the gravel, trying to keep her heels from sinking.

“You’re not leaving, are you?”

It was dark outside. Rainy could just make out Tara’s expression as she passed the kitchen window and trotted toward her. She looked...strained.

“Um...no. I just have to run back out to the truck to get Viola’s gift.” Her fingers drifted to her neckline, where they pinched at the links of the gold chain that rested there.

“Oh.” Tara stopped where she was, looking embarrassed. “You’re coming back in, right?”

A slow drizzle was falling on Rainy’s head and shoulders. She nodded, confused by Tara’s sudden interest in her comings and goings.

“Is there...do you need me for something?” Someone cheered inside the house, followed by a round of laughter. Tara glanced over her shoulder toward the kitchen door, and then looked uncertainly back at Rainy.

“No,” she said finally. And then: “I’ll see you inside.”

Rainy didn’t watch her walk back into the house; she turned, eyes wide, and jogged to the truck. What the—?

She’d wrapped the chair in old sheets, and she pulled them off before carrying her gift to the front porch and setting it down where they could find it later. She checked her phone, hoping Grant had texted. Nothing. Then, steeling herself, Rainy walked through the door.

Halfway through the baby shower, Viola pulled her into the pantry and handed her a fresh glass of wine. “I’ve got the tea,” she said, and dipped her head around the corner to make sure no one was in earshot, her braids sliding across her bare shoulder. Then she did a little dance without lifting her feet off the ground, shuffling left, then right.

“What is it?” Rainy laughed, taking a sip of her wine. Their pantry was neatly organized and labeled—even the pasta was in matching glass jars with labels that read Bucatini, Angel, Bowtie. “Wow, okay...” Rainy said, looking around. “I definitely feel like a failure.”