Free The Rules of Love & Grammar by Mary Simses Page B

three lifetimes ago. But I’m not sure what to say. I wish there were a better expression for not having a boyfriend. Between relationships? Sounds too presumptuous. Single? Sounds too, well, single. “I’m not seeing anyone at the moment,” I finally say.
    I catch a flicker in Peter’s eyes. “Really?” he says. “Then that makes two of us.”

Chapter 5
    An adverb tells us more about a verb and answers how, when, or where.
    Preparing carefully for an event can mean the
difference between success and failure.
    O h my God, Cluny. How can I go to this party? I have nothing to wear.” We sit in the front seat of my car, in the parking lot behind the Sugar Bowl. The engine is off, the windows are down. I’m mentally reviewing my closet.
    “You must have something,” she says.
    “Yeah, pink and green preppy dresses I bought at Snapdragon the summer I worked there during college. I can’t wear those.”
    “Don’t you have any other cocktail dresses here?”
    “I do, but they’re too… Connecticut. I need something edgier. More Hollywood.” I run my hand over the steering wheel. “I really want to look good for this party. Peter was so sweet. And did you hear the way he asked if I had a boyfriend?”
    Cluny grins. “He couldn’t take his eyes off you.”
    “Really?” I’m getting chills just thinking about it. “I need something fantastic to wear.”
    “I don’t have any Hollywood clothes, either,” she says.
    “But you’ve got tons of nice things,” I tell her as a car pulls in next to us. And she does. I’ve seen photos of Cluny with Greg at local charity events for animal causes and children’s relief organizations she’s involved in, and she always looks great. I wish I were five foot eight and not five foot six. Then I could borrow something from her.
    “What do you think people wear to Hollywood parties, anyway?” she asks.
    “I’m not sure,” I tell her. “Maybe the same kind of clothes they wear to movie openings.”
    She looks out the window, contemplating this. “I don’t know. You might have to buy something new, then.”
    “I’m coming to the same conclusion.” It’s an expense I don’t need right now, but, with the sidewalk sale taking place, maybe I can find something at a good price.
    Cluny laces her fingers together. “If you want something a little funky, we should go to Bagatelle.”
    Bagatelle. Nice but expensive. I think about my bank account, which is shrinking by the minute. I can’t keep up with Cluny at Bagatelle, but I don’t want to give her any more reason to think she needs to loan me money. “Yeah, okay.”
    “I bet they’ll have some good deals,” she adds, reading my mind. “Sidewalk sale and all.”
    We walk out of the parking lot, onto Main Street, and make our way through the crowds. I stop to say hello to Mrs. Meisner, who’s been a friend of Mom’s for years. Dressed in peach golf shorts and a matching peach top, she smells like Calvin Klein Eternity, the only perfume I’ve ever known her to wear.
    “Come over for a drink,” she says, touching a tanned hand to my arm. “We’re always around at cocktail time.” She winks and walks away.
    We pass racks of sweatshirts, sweaters, dresses, and beach cover-ups and weave through piles of jeans, from the darkest inky blue to the palest shade of iceberg. One store has a table overflowing with handbags. I stop to pick up a plastic tote and, almost without thinking, check the inner pocket. There’s only a price tag in there. I put the bag back and keep moving.
    Mom once bought a handbag at the sidewalk sale, and after she got it home, she found a little note in the inside pocket, written in Hindi by someone in India. Translated, it meant Good luck to you. She carried that note in her wallet for years. It’s probably still there.
    Cluny waves to Poppy Norwich, who’s across the street, loaded down with shopping bags. Poppy went to middle school with us before going away to prep school. Now