Page 54 of Good Graces

I glance away before either of them can spot me. Before I have to pretend I’m comfortable here too.

It’s been nearly four years, but it still feels strange to watch my mom in spaces like this.

Not because I don’t want it for her. I do. She’s happy now. She doesn’t have to stretch every paycheck or come home from work completely wiped out. She doesn’t flinch when the phone rings, doesn’t have to count dollars at the grocery store. But it’s hard to forget how things used to be.

Hard to forget the nights she came home bone-tired, her scrubs wrinkled, her eyes rimmed red from exhaustion. Hard to reconcile that with the woman standing here now, hair smooth, dress elegant, sipping from a glass of champagne like she’s always belonged in places like this.

It’s not a bad thing. Just a different one.

I take a breath, square my shoulders, and step up beside them.

She notices me first, and her face lights up, the lines around her eyes softening with something gentle. “Warren,” she says, touching my arm. “There you are. I was starting to think you were avoiding us.”

“Would I do that?” I say flatly.

Daniel lets out a quiet laugh and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“Surprised you came to this one,” I say, my eyes flicking to my mom. “Aren’t you a little tired of the club?”

She exhales, half-amused. “Daniel said it would be fun.”

Daniel grins. “And she’s humoring me.”

I laugh. “Lucky you.”

He gives me a knowing look. “How’s work going?”

“Fine as usual,” I say, scanning the room. “Just serving drinks, avoiding assholes, same old, same old.”

“Ah,” Daniel hums, narrowing his eyes slightly. “I assume by ‘assholes,’ you mean my peers?”

I flick my gaze toward him. He’s perceptive—always has been. I don’t know if it’s the years of managing people or just something built into him. The way he watches. The way he notices.

“Among others,” I mutter.

My mom frowns and smooths a crease in her dress. “I thought you didn’t mind working here.”

I shrug. “I don’t. Doesn’t mean I have to like everyone.”

Daniel studies me for a second like he might push the subject, but then he lets it go. Instead, he gestures toward the two girls standing just outside the circle of our conversation.

“Right,” he says. “You’ve seen them at holidays, but I don’t think you’ve actually caught up in a while.”

One of the twins rolls her eyes and steps forward with a smirk that’s too confident for her age. “Oh, please. Like he could forget us.”

Daniel’s daughters from his first marriage—fraternal twins, now fifteen. We all lived in the same house the summer before I started college. They were absolute menaces back then. Always eavesdropping. Always snooping. Always up to something.

I’ve seen them since, of course. Thanksgiving, Christmas, the occasional family dinner. But it was never like that summer. That summer, they were eleven, curious about everything, and I was the older almost-brother they didn’t know what to do with.

The one with the smirk tilts her head, all mischief and energy. “We see you on TV sometimes,” she says. “Well, not TV-TV, but YouTube clips from your swim meets. Your mom puts them on the big screen.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Uh ... cool?”

The other twin, the quieter one, finally speaks, her tone smooth, more deadpan. “You should let us come to a meet sometime. We’d make really embarrassing signs.”

The first one grins. “Yeah, something likeGo, Warren, Go!but with, like, really aggressive glitter.”

I sigh, scrubbing a hand down my face.Jesus Christ.

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