Page 46 of The Roads We Follow

Not that I’ve thought all that much about his long legs.

The hotel concierge has arranged for a town car and driver to meet our crew at a side exit door at six o’clock sharp to take us to dinner and then to whatever special arrangement Mama has made for us. Our rooms are booked on the top floor in a private hallway bracketing Mama’s presidential suite. Before we stepped on the elevator together, I overheard Mama ask Micah if he’d escort her downstairs a few minutes early to discuss a few things with our driver beforehand. Naturally, he agreed.

When I exit my room and step into the hallway at ten minutes to six, Hattie has just done the same. We take in our coordinating outfits and smile at each other. Per Mama’s specific instruction, we’re both wearing variations of a denim skirt on the bottom, a sleeveless blouse on the top, and a pair of cowgirl boots of our liking. Mama had handed us her credit card and given us full rein of that darling little border-town shop, but up until now, I haven’t seen what either of my sisters settled on.

“You need darker lipstick,” Hattie says cheerily. “And you’re in luck because I happen to have your ideal shade on me.”

“What a coincidence,” I say, grinning as she comes toward me in her white snakeskin cowgirl boots.

Her own smile is an exaggerated kind of amused, and for one fleeting moment in time, my chronic worry over Hattie vanishes. All I see is the stylish, party-planning, always-up-for-an-adventure sister she used to be before Peter slowly began to isolate her with definitions ofwifeandmotherthat were contrary to anything good or right or true.

“Here, try this one.” Hattie whips out a tissue from her clutch purse and instructs me to wipe off the clear gloss I’m currently wearing before handing me the berry lipstick and a mirror. “With your olive undertone and layered, chestnut curls, you need something a bit more dramatic. Plus, this one will look fabulous with your fuchsia top.”

I thank her as I apply the lipstick. She’s absolutely right; it’s apretty shade. When I hand it all back, I’m momentarily dazzled by my sister’s beauty. She’s striking.

“You look like a supermodel,” I say. Between her summer-tanned skin, shiny snakeskin sleeveless blouse, and stunning figure, she looks ready to walk a runway.

“Oh, please, I’m thirty-seven. I’m old enough to be themotherof a supermodel.”

I roll my eyes. “You’ll never not be gorgeous.”

Her light denim mini skirt is roughly a foot shorter in length than mine, as I’d opted for a mermaid fit that draws the eye to the small of my waist and hugs the curve of my hips before flaring out at my mid-calf. The slit in the front seam begins a few inches above my right knee so I can move freely. But my favorite piece of the outfit I chose is the distressed cowgirl boots I found at the thrift store at the end of the block. They add some fun character to the whole ensemble.

“I love the outfit you chose, too,” Hattie admires. “That cut is stunning on you.” She takes a step back and waves her hand from my head to my toes. “Why don’t you dress like this more often?”

“Asks the woman who can literally wear anything from any store,” I deadpan while conducting my own comparison between my hippy pear-shape and Hattie’s svelte Barbie-shape.

“Oh, please,” Hattie dismisses me. “Between that hair and those Greek goddess curves of yours, we’ll be batting men off you all night. Your figure is what all the girls want these days—don’t you watch reality TV?”

I roll my eyes even harder at that. “I think being newly single has obstructed your pulse on reality.”

“Mark my words,” she says, pulling her phone out from her pocket. “There will be at least one man giving you a double take the instant he sees you.”

My stomach bottoms out at the flirty insinuation in her tone. “What—who?”

“You’re way too smart to play dumb, Sunny Bear. But you’re alsoway too honest to do anything about it while Tav’s still a question mark in your head.”

“Hattie, Tav’s not a—”

“Nope.” She puts out her palm like a stop sign. “I’m self-aware enough to know I do not have the emotional capacity to counsel you or anyone else on their love life at the moment. I was just making an observation is all.” She winks at me before glancing down at the time on her home screen. Her eyes startle wide. “We’re supposed to meet Mama downstairs in three minutes. Where’s Adele? Do you think she went down without us?”

I scrunch my forehead. “I don’t think so.”

Like a single unit, we move to the door on the opposite side of the presidential suite and knock.

“Adele? You in there?”

Her voice is muffled by the door. “I’m going to skip tonight.”

Hattie and I look at each other before we ask in unison, “Are you sick?”

“No.”

“Then let us in,” Hattie says, pressing her mouth closer to Adele’s peephole.

“You two are going to be late for dinner. Go on without me, I’m fine.”

But thanks to Micah’stherapistingI know the use offinein this situation means she is obviouslynot fineat all.

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