by J.M. Thomas
is around . . .” he said.
He did not mean it. He did not mean it.
Anne relished parties. When Edward was home, she could not escape his presence even if he were on the other side of the house. There would be some sort of reminder he was there, and it turned her stomach. The time when she tried to cope with the physical reaction was long since passed. At parties, even with Edward in the same structure, she knew she could find respite in conversation with someone, anyone. The minimal amount of social anxiety she faced paled in comparison to being with Edward, and she found it easier to talk with someone.
She needed a glass of wine as a security blanket, just in case the social anxiety crept back into her mind. Anne’s glass of merlot was empty. She needed another.
The bar was in the Molton family room, tastefully remodeled the year before, and populated with the teenagers and college kids who were forced to attend the party. She did not make eye contact or address any of them. She walked to the large patio doors leading to the backyard. She tasted the win. She looked outside.
Anne saw Margot Wallace and Powell Campbell kissing at the wrought iron table.
Her head tilted in confusion. Am I seeing what I am seeing?
For a moment, she could not make the sight make sense, but she continued to watch. They continued to kiss.
For a moment, she felt good for Margot.
Then she felt jealous.
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