Free The Season by Jonah Lisa Dyer Page B

and shellacked it.
    â€œYou look fantastic,” I told Julia.
    â€œSo do you,” she replied, eyeing me in the mirror.
    â€œRight?” I said. We all laughed.
    â€œ
C’est le pied
,” Margot said to Julia, and then turned to me. To her credit she didn’t flinch as she held out the chair. I sat. We looked at each other in the mirror.
    I took a healthy swallow of wine and set the glass on the counter.
    â€œDo what you can.”

    The four of us sat in the living room, dressed and ready, in stony silence. Mom’s anger at my condition, and my decision to go anyway, hung palpably in the air.
    The doorbell rang.
    â€œI’ll get it,” I said, anxious to escape. I strolled in the general direction of the front door. For some reason, I couldn’t feel my feet.
    On the other side of the door would be my date, Hunter Carmichael. We had spoken a couple of times in the past week, but I had not met him in person. He was an attorney, apparently, in a downtown firm. I approached the door with a whiff of anticipation—after all, I wasn’t against the idea of meeting someone, and on the phone he sounded gracious, if a bit nervous. Who wouldn’t be?
    I turned the doorknob and got my first look at Hunter Carmichael, dressed in a vintage black tuxedo, his hair slicked down with motor oil, boxed corsage in hand and smiling like a beaver. I instantly concluded that, while well-scrubbed and earnest, he wasn’t my type—not by a countrymile.
    â€œMegan?” he asked, and of course he also had his first look at me. I had turned my face to the good side, just a bit, to delay the shock.
    â€œYou must be Hunter.”
    â€œSo nice to . . . finally meet you.”
    â€œThanks.”
    â€œYou look . . .”
    â€œI know,” I said, content to leave it at that.
    He tried not to stare, but that proved impossible. Sad too, because from the one side I looked good. Margot had achieved more than I thought possible, and in my lavender dress, with my hair back in an elegant chignon, I was tolerably pretty—except for the train-wreck part.
    Mom and Dad stood to greet Hunter, who glanced back at me one last time. I smiled sweetly.
    â€œThis is my mother, Lucy, my dad, Angus, and my sister, Julia. Mom, Dad, Julia—Hunter Carmichael.”
    â€œHunter,” Dad said.
    â€œSir.” They shook hands.
    â€œSo pleased to meet you,” Mom said, offering her hand.
    â€œIt’s an honor to meet you, Mrs. McKnight,” Hunter purred. “And what a lovely dress.” He was laying it on thick as peat moss. Julia and I exchanged looks behind his back, as if to say, “Oh well.”
    â€œWhy thank you, Hunter,” Mom said, blushing slightly.
    â€œVery nice to meet you too, Julia,” he said, turning.
    He offered me the box he still held.
    â€œI brought this for you.”
    â€œHow thoughtful,” I said.
    â€œMay I?” he asked.
    â€œOf course.” He opened the box and his fingers shook slightly as he tied a gorgeous violet orchid on my wrist.
    â€œIt’s lovely, Hunter. And the color goes perfectly with my face,” I said, without a trace of irony. Hunter tried to laugh, but it came out more like a late-stage tubercular cough.
    â€œHunter, would you care for a glass of wine, or . . . a drink?” Mom asked.
    â€œNo thank you.” He looked at me. “We should probably be going.”
    â€œWe should.”
    Julia’s date, Simon Lucas, arrived as we were leaving. Simon was Abby’s older brother, and we had spent family vacations with him and Abby since we were all kids. Simon was the perfect escort—he was fun and funny, and as they were cousins, there was exactly zero romantic pressure.
    â€œWe’ll be right behind you,” Dad said, waving from the front door.
    Hunter gallantly held the door for me and in a supreme waste of resources two couples boarded two huge limos