A waiter places plates of food on the table, for us to eat family style: green beans and poached salmon, along with an assortment of vegetables and freshly made garlic bread.
My mouth starts to water as the senses at the dinner table overwhelm me.
Candles are lit, the conversation is topical, and we laugh and engage in a way that I haven't with people in a long time. Lincoln tells me about his investments and his company and Marguerite shares exciting stories from the ER.
Both Lincoln and Marguerite are incredibly welcoming and I can't remember the last time I had such a good time at a dinner party. They're the kind of couple that are a wonder to have at a party. They put everyone at ease and make you feel immediately comfortable and like you're among friends.
Unlike some of Allison's friends where it feels like competition to impress one another, this is anything but that. They ask me about my work and about my degree, and we talk a little bit about Ivy League universities and our experiences at various campuses. I have been to Yale a few times for a few parties, but they've never been to Dartmouth.
In the heat and the stickiness of the summer, we think about what it's like to go skiing in the chill of a New England winter. We reminisce and dream of it, the way you only do when it's July, when the idea of being snowed in for a few days after a heavy blizzard is something that's incredibly romantic.
After dessert, Marguerite starts to feel tired, even though she has been drinking nothing but non-alcoholic wine the whole evening and they retire to their room.
Dante and I go to the patio instead where we watch the fireflies buzz around and we split a bottle of wine. It's summer days like these that go on forever, that makes me love life the most.
"What if I said yes to Seattle?" I say, swirling my glass of wine, sitting in an Adirondack chair and glancing at the man of my dreams.
"I'd be eternally grateful," he says, "but I don't want to put pressure on you. I can help you with your cover letters and your resumes if you want to try for a news job."
"This a news job," I say, reaching over and squeezing his hand.
22
Jacqueline
I like sitting out here with Dante. A little bit of light dances off the pool and our fingers are intertwined in that casual, quiet way that you touch someone that you'll be with for a long time.
He tugs on my hand a little bit and I glance over. He nods in my general direction to get me to sit up, and when I do, he pulls me over to him and positions me on top of him. He reaches up, putting his hands up my neck and kisses me passionately.
"Hello there," I say, and he laughs.
I kiss him again and his hands go down my back and make their way to the top of my butt, squeezing my cheeks ever so lightly. I push my legs firmly into him and I feel his large cock. I reach down and start to unbutton his pants.
He pulls my dress up to my waist and slides his hand underneath my panties. He kisses my neck and my breasts and I tilt my head back. Then he pulls the top of my dress down and takes my nipple into his mouth.
"Oh, this feels so good," I moan.
"Do you want to go upstairs?" I ask.
"No, let's do it here.”
I hesitate, but when I feel his tongue on the outside of my neck again, playing with my earlobe, I lose all capacity for thought.
"Ahem.” Someone clears their throat.
It takes me a moment to realize whether I've actually heard what I thought I heard.
"Excuse me?"
This time, the voice comes in a lot more clearly. I turn around slightly and peer into the darkness; it takes a little bit for my eyes to adjust, but when they do I see a woman in an exquisite white suit and high heels standing with her arms crossed in front of her and one foot out just a foot away from us.
"Mom, what are you doing here?" Dante sits up straight and I quickly jump out of his lap.
I cover myself up, adjusting my panties and my bra at the same time.
I thought that his mother would turn around but she stands there, unwavering, watching every little bit of our humiliation. Dante buckles his pants but remains seated.
"What are you doing here, Mom?" he asks again, his voice full off insolence.
He doesn't seem to be as shocked by her presence, more like annoyed while I'm petrified.
Her hair falls to about just below her ears. She's slim and statuesque with manicured nails and a Birkin bag draped over one arm.
"Are you going to introduce me to your friend?" she asks.
"Yes, of course."
Dante stands up and tucks in his shirt. It takes him a few minutes, but he doesn't hurry.
He makes us both wait.
"I'm Jacqueline," I say when the tension becomes insurmountable. I extend my hand, but instead of shaking it, she looks me up and down.
"Okay. Jacqueline, it's usually customary to introduce yourself with a first and last name."
She talks to me like I imagine a teacher in a boarding school does with very little interest in making friends or being friendly for that matter.
"I'm Jacqueline Archer," I say, still with my hand extended, suddenly realizing how awkward it is to be in this position.
When I start to pull away, she finally shakes my hand. Her fingers are warm and soft, the palms of her hands are impossibly delicate.
"My bags are in the car," she says to Dante, "please help me with them."
And by help me, she means that Dante has to get them.
Dante and I exchange a brief look where I peer at him spreading my arms out, trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do now.
“Jacqueline, come with me. Let's have a drink," she says, waving me over to the kitchen.
I swallow hard, not wanting to follow her. I feel like I'm about to get a dressing down, but I don't have much of a choice.
Dante nods to me as if to tell me that it's going to be okay, but the situation is dire. There's no way it can be okay.
While he disappears down the steps to retrieve her bags from the trunk, I follow behind the clicking of her heels and I feel like I'm being led to the principal's office after doing something very bad.
In the bright light of the kitchen, I glance at my reflection in the stainless steel refrigerator and adjust my hair, which is all lopsided and infused with absolutely too much volume on the left.
"You look fine," Dante's mother says, and I realize that I don't actually know what I'm supposed to call her.
Adele?
Mrs. Langston?
Something else altogether?
"Can I offer you something to drink?" I say when she turns around at the kitchen island to face me.
And I realize that I'm the one that's supposed to participate in the hosting duties even though technically, she owns the deed to the house.
"Yes, I'd like to have a cocktail."
I swallow hard.
I don't actually know how to make cocktails, but maybe she'd request something simple, like a club soda.
"Elderberry vodka on the rocks."
I nod and make my way over to the bar in the other corner of the dining room.
There's no way they're going to have elderberries here, right? I say to myself.
Do I put in mint? Cocktails are all about different levels of acidity and sweetness and that's what makes them taste so good.