Page 89 of Snowed In
“I wasn’t going to. But Dad’s knee was acting up and Mam didn’t want to come alone, so I… This is his tuxedo, actually,” he adds, looking down at the ill-fitting suit with a rueful smile. “I suppose better too big than too small. You, on the other hand…” He smiles at me. “You look beautiful, Megan.”
“Hannah made it for me. Well, not for me. It’s a school project, but she wanted me to wear it.”
“Hannah?”
“Christian’s sister.”
His smile dims. “Right.”
“It’s good of you to come,” I offer. “For your Mam. I know you used to hate these parties.”
“Was I that obvious?”
No. Not to the others. He’d laugh and talk with the best of them, but as soon as we’d be alone, he’d start complaining, no matter how much I told him I was enjoying it.
“A little,” I say, as a breeze wafts through the pillars. I shiver from the chill of it, and Isaac immediately shrugs off his jacket.
“Megan,” he chastises, and before I can tell him not to, he holds it out to me. That’s all. He doesn’t put it around my shoulders like he might have done a few years ago. Just another reminder of the distance between us.
Still, I take it, slipping my arms through the sleeves. I regret it immediately, overcome with awkwardness.
This is weird. This is very, very weird.
“Cormac said he saw you at O’Donoghue’s,” he continues, and I tense.
“Is that not allowed?”
He frowns. “Of course, it is, I just—”
“Don’t worry. I didn’t stay long.” I swallow, remembering the look on Sophie’s face. “They hate me.”
“They don’t—”
“They do,” I say, watching him carefully. “They think I ruined your life.”
He gives me a look as if to say,Didn’tyou?But masks it instantly. “I never wanted them to think that,” he says after a long second. “Besides, it’s in the past, right?”
“Right,” I say, but I’m not sure I believe him. “Is Natalie here?” I ask, changing the subject. It just makes him look even more uncomfortable.
“No. She’s…she’s not feeling too great. She sends her apologies.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
“A cold or—”
“Something with her stomach, I think.”
“Is she pregnant?” I hear myself say, and Isaac stares at me, taken aback. “Sorry. That was a terrible joke.”
“No, I know,” he says quickly. “She’s not, though.”
“Cool. I mean…” Christ. “So, when’s the wedding?”
A strange, pinched expression crosses his face, and I feel a surge of frustration.
I’m trying to be nice here. I’m trying to be an adult. He’s the one who came out to talk to me and I just—
