The Girl I Used to Be by Heidi Hostetter (that summer book .txt) 📕

Marc’s conversation ended abruptly. Jill nudged the office door open in time to see him throw his cell phone onto his desk and watch it skitter across the surface. He heaved a sigh then motioned for her to come closer.

“You look good,” he said finally, nodding with satisfaction. He seemed not to notice that Jill had sucked in her stomach as his eyes lingered on her neckline. “I knew that red would be a good choice.”

“I’m glad you like it.” She stepped closer and felt his arm circle her waist. She held her breath and dropped her voice, hopeful. “Your guests are waiting.”

But Marc didn’t notice the change.

“Dianne’s a nightmare,” he groaned. “I’m glad I never have to worry about you.”

She leaned against him as they walked toward the party, uneasy at how harshly he’d spoken to Dianne but taking comfort in the stability of their own relationship.

They walked outside together to discover that the yard had been transformed, and Jill’s mood brightened. It wasn’t what she’d chosen, but it was pretty. The bright afternoon sun had given way to the cool blue of dusk. The day’s humidity had lifted, and the air held a whisper of glorious fall weather to come. Lighted hurricane lamps at the tent’s entrance glowed a warm yellow, matching the pinpricks of tealights scattered on tables inside. The pool’s backlit fountain cast the water in shades of soft pink as it splashed over the rocks, adding a gentle wash of color. Inside the tent were tables set for an elegant dinner. Music softly played from inside as the guests made their way across the yard.

“Not bad, right?” Marc glanced at her for approval.

She leaned into him. “Not bad.”

Only the humming video screens near the pool house hinted that Marc’s party might be, in fact, a sales presentation instead of a birthday celebration. Jill ignored them.

Marc had always made a point to greet his guests formally before every event, to note who had come. And who had not. He’d ordered the caterers to set up a receiving line near the rose garden, so that’s where Jill and Marc headed to greet their guests. The line was long, but it moved quickly. After offering birthday wishes, guests were escorted to the hosted bar and served. Jill hoped the sales presentation would start much later, well after dinner.

It was a beautiful setting, but still her annoyance lingered, resurfacing to remind her that her party hadn’t been good enough. The idea stung no matter how much she tried to push it away.

Jill gestured to the pool house, to a sales table staffed with agents from Marc’s company. “That looks new. Is that for the Berkshire development?”

The Berkshires was where Marc and his company were headed next, though it seemed an odd choice to Jill. The land he’d bought was miles away, in rural Massachusetts, far from their home in Summit and even further from the unsold house in Dewberry Beach. Jill wondered about the expense of managing projects two hundred miles apart. But maybe his business was doing well.

But he didn’t answer, so Jill repeated her question, this time nudging him. “Hey? Are you guys looking to sell the Berkshire lots already?”

A flicker of disapproval crossed Marc’s face and Jill knew immediately what she’d done wrong. She’d slipped. Marc had told her many times that the New Jersey slang term “you guys” was crass and he wanted her to drop it.

But he didn’t correct her, probably because there wasn’t time. His attention was on the trio of approaching party guests. Jill watched her husband’s social mask slip back into place as he greeted them. To be honest, Jill envied Marc’s ability to talk to anyone about any subject; he was smooth where she was awkward, urbane where she was clumsy. But she tried and that had to count for something, didn’t it?

Forty minutes later, they were still greeting guests, and Jill wondered how her husband could possibly know this many people. Her own social circle was considerably smaller. She shifted her weight as her stomach growled and felt a trickle of perspiration slide down her back. The reception line seemed endless, but thankfully Marc seemed to bear the brunt of it. After speaking with Marc, most people only managed a quick hello and air kiss for Jill, which was fine by her.

To distract herself, Jill imagined what Ellie would think of a party like this, a tent filled with fancy people she didn’t know talking about things she didn’t understand or care to learn about. If Ellie had planned this party, there would be beer on ice in coolers, cannonballs into the pool, hot dogs on the grill, and probably noise complaints from the neighbors about the stereo speakers they’d dragged outside. It would have been fantastic, and even the thought of it made Jill smile. But her smile faltered, just a bit, when she remembered that she’d left that life behind three years ago when she married Marc.

An hour later, Marc decided they had greeted the guests that mattered and were allowed to leave the receiving line. Official hosting duties over, he made a beeline for his best friend Cush, and Cush’s new wife Nadia, as expected. Cushman Lawrence’s official title in Marc’s company was Lead Staff Attorney, and their friendship went all the way back to college. The story was that Marc and Cush had met as fraternity pledges freshman year, and although they’d parted ways after graduation, they’d kept in touch. Cush went on to law school while Marc joined the family business, but the minute Cush passed the bar exam, Marc offered him a fancy title and fired the man who’d held the position for years.

“Cush!” Marc grabbed his friend’s hand and thwapped him on the shoulder. “How was Freeport?”

Cush groaned as he threw up his hands, as if he couldn’t possibly put such an incredible experience into words. “Construction is booming down there, if you