Free Autobiography of Us by Aria Beth Sloss Page A

Mother saying it was the neighborly thing to do. There was Buzz Fletcher, reed-thin and elegant as a professor in his small wire glasses.
    When Alex got close enough, Charlie Thornton took her by the elbow and kissed her on the cheek. He’d been in love with her forever and had given up trying to hide it years ago.
    “Charles, you prince,” she said, accepting the yellow rose he presented with a flourish. “Let it never be said that you lacked persistence.”
    “I call it dedication.” He beamed at her. “And you’re worth every bit.”
    She twirled the rose between her fingers. “Looks like you boys have kept yourselves busy guarding the bar.”
    “Well, maybe.” The rest of the boys nodded. In front of me and to the right, Bertrand Lowell raised his glass to his lips and a few drops of condensation rolled down the side, dripping onto his pale pink shirt.
    “You made it.” Oliver Hinden handed me a drink. “And in one piece, even.”
    “Barely.” I was glad to see him, his round, familiar face, and I smiled to let him know.
    “When’s the big solo?” Charlie picked up a pitcher and started pouring.
    Alex shrugged. “After the cake, I guess.”
    “Is there even a piano?” Betsy peered around.
    Alex took a glass from Charlie. “Last time I checked, Marlene didn’t need any help when she sang ‘Falling in Love Again.’” She threw the drink back in one long swallow, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and held out her empty glass. “Besides, I don’t plan on feeling much of anything by the time I get up in front of the crowd. In vino veritas, correct?”
    “Correcto!” cried Buzz.
    “Marlene?” Betsy whispered in my ear.
    “Dietrich,” I said. “Never mind.”
    “We were about to head on over into the shade. It’s hot as anything in this sun.” Charlie gestured at the edge of the lawn, where a cluster of avocado trees bent over a few chairs. “Shall we?” We moved together then, Charlie leading and the boys jostling one another, us girls trying to navigate that grass in our heels.
    “Careful.” From somewhere behind me, Bertrand Lowell appeared and caught Lindsey’s arm just in time.
    “Gosh, thanks,” she said, steadying herself against him.
    I saw what was happening right away: the smile that slid across her face as she looked up at him from behind her curls, a smile Bertrand Lowell returned, holding her elbow with his other hand as they walked across to the circle of chairs and sat down. I followed Alex through the grass and sat down in the chair Larry Templeton was holding. I took a long sip from my glass. I didn’t have much of a taste for alcohol in those days, but for all my mother’s efforts—the cocktail parties she pressed me to attend around the holidays, reminding me to speak to everyone, anyone, the dancing lessons I understand in retrospect we could ill afford—I never did learn to feel at ease around groups. Besides Oliver, there wasn’t a boy there I felt close to comfortable with.
    “It’s over.” Buzz looked around the circle. “Our boy’s gone and done it now.”
    “There but for the grace of God…” Doc grinned, shaking his head. Someone whistled; Larry gave an exaggerated shudder. They were boys, when you got right down to it—twenty, twenty-one, round in the face but still too skinny through the arms and legs, happy to sit with a cold drink in one hand, pretending to loosen their collars at the thought of marriage.
    And I—I stayed where I was, my drink sweating lightly against my palms. I stayed and watched Alex shred the petals of her yellow rose to pieces as she leaned in toward poor Charlie, deliberately letting the front of her dress dip down, letting the straps slide to the edges of her slender shoulders. Lindsey laughing a little too loudly, her head thrown back.
    And then there was Bertrand Lowell. Sitting across the circle with his strange pale eyes staring straight at me.
    * * *
    At a certain point I excused myself, telling Betsy