“Love seat” was just the technical term for a piece of furniture that sat two people. Erin had shared it with plenty of people without worrying about what it meant or what anyone would think. There was enough room they didn’t have to touch.
They did touch, a blanket spread over them both, but that wasn’t the point. Parker wouldn’t think anything, was the point. If she even woke up while they were still there. It wasn’t a big deal.
After a while, Cassie slid her hand over onto Erin’s thigh. Erin fought her smile. Cassie’s hand inched toward more interesting places, but Erin shifted away.
“Cassie,” she barely opened her mouth to say it. “My daughter is three feet away.”
She tried not to think about a few days ago, when she had kissed Cassie in the pantry, just around the corner from Parker in the kitchen.
“Yeah, but she’s passed out,” Cassie whispered.
Erin leveled her with a stare, and it was supposed to be stern, but Cassie bit her lip like she was hiding a smile, and it reminded Erin of everything else she could do with that mouth.
“Okay, okay,” Cassie said before Erin could make any more terrible decisions. “I’ll be good.”
She moved her hand back a safe distance, but kept it on Erin’s thigh. By the next commercial break, Erin had tangled her fingers with Cassie’s under the blanket.
Parker wasn’t 100 percent better the next morning, but it was New Year’s Eve, so she spent the day announcing she was not sick and she would still be having people over that night. Erin spent the day trying to dote on her without being obvious about it. Cassie spent the day trying to stay out of the orbit of Parker’s germs.
An hour before people arrived, Cassie sidled up to Erin.
“I know I convinced you things don’t have to be perfect for a party, but do we not have to clean up at all?”
Erin chuckled. “These kids have seen this house in every level of disarray—and caused it in the first place, sometimes. You’ll have to clean up whatever mess you end up making anyway. No sense doing it twice.”
Cassie didn’t argue.
All the guests had been Parker’s friends since they were little. Everyone kicked their shoes off as soon as they arrived, lining them up nicely after many years of getting yelled at for making a mess on the foyer floor. Most of them had come to the Christmas Eve party, too, so they just offered general hellos and handed over their car keys before heading downstairs. Laying eyes on Madison for the first time since the summer, though, made Erin gasp.
“Good God, kid, you’re not allowed to grow up this fast,” she said.
Madison grinned and rubbed at a jaw that was much sharper since Erin had last seen them. “Probably more about starting T than anything.”
“Oh, Madison, I’m so happy for you.” Erin hugged them. “But I’m still going to have to demand you stop growing up.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Erin didn’t mind spending New Year’s Eve alone. Rachel was still in Puerto Vallarta, and Jimmy and Melissa were chaperoning Mae’s party, and Erin didn’t like anyone else enough to want to stay up until midnight with them. Plus, she was over the idea of the New Year meaning anything. When Erin had made New Year’s resolutions, they had never been particularly healthy. Lose fifteen pounds, or worse, do what her mother wanted and lose all the weight she hadn’t gotten rid of since having Parker. There had been resolutions about having more sex with Adam, as though that were the issue in their relationship. She’d announced she wasn’t making New Year’s resolutions anymore when she hit thirty, but she’d still made them in her mind until she’d started therapy. Self-improvement did not exist on a time line. There wasn’t so much “new year, new you” pressure when Erin was trying to get better every day.
She wasn’t truly alone for the night, anyway—they seemed to be having a battle in the basement over who could be loudest with the noisemakers that were supposed to be for midnight. Even once that was over, the occasional peal of laughter filtered up to Erin. There was an indignant shout she was almost certain was her daughter complaining about whatever game they were playing. Parker hated losing.
Alone upstairs, Erin stretched out on the couch and cracked the spine of her mystery novel. The murderer was the victim’s sister. The author wanted her to think it was the husband, but it was the sister. There was still a quarter of the book to go, but Erin was pretty sure. She squinted at the small print of the paperback. Maybe she should make a resolution: to get reading glasses.