Page 4 of The Naughty List

“I’ve never seen a pre-law student with so much talent,” I say, easing onto the barstool and onto the subject of her major. I could tell from the second she came out with it that she was not enthusiastic about being a lawyer.

“It’s just a hobby,” she replies.

“That,” I say, pointing to the wall, “is way more than a hobby.”

“It’s not like I can make a living and build a future by being able to draw.”

“Says who?”

“Says my mother,” she answers with a sigh.

“Aha.” I take a drink, feeling Audrey’s eyes on me.

“Say whatever you’re thinking,” she says, leaning toward me with her arms on the table.

“I was just thinking that...your mother, as lovely as she is, who just married a man she knew for less than three months, shouldn’t be giving out advice on living sensibly.”

Audrey has a tight-lipped smile as her eyes narrow. Finally, she tips her beer in my direction. “Touche.”

We each finish our drinks in comfortable conversation, and I hate to admit how easy things are with her. Why can’t I find women like her my age? Why don’t women my age even act like her?

2

Audrey

When we walk back into the house, each carrying two bags of ice Grant had to sweet talk the bartender into selling him, my mother gives me a disapproving stare. I’m a little bit buzzed, so I can’t seem to wipe the smile off my face.

Grant and I are laughing when we walk in, but everyone just stares at us for a moment.

“Look who I found!” he announces, and I giggle.

“A runaway.”

“I checked her collar. This is definitely her address.”

Roger fakes a laugh and comes to get the ice, but I feel my mother’s icy stare on me. “You’ve been missing all day, Audrey. It’s Christmas. You can’t just disappear like that on us.”

“It’s December 23rd,” I correct her, and Grant laughs but quickly stops when he notices that no one else does. “Sorry,” I mutter. “I didn’t even think you’d notice.”

My grandmother is on the sofa, slowly shaking her head, like I need even more disappointment.

“We’re going to the restaurant for dinner tonight, and you need to go get dressed,” my mother says.

I look down at my outfit with a confused expression on my face. “I am dressed.”

“You’re not wearing that to Le Bisque,” she says in all seriousness.

I have every intention of arguing with her and telling her that I'd rather not go at all, but instead I look up and lock eyes with Grant who is standing by Roger at the wet bar in the front room. They are putting ice in the freezer as Grant makes a serious face, wide-eyed and scared looking. A smile pulls across my lips.

Maybe with him here, this weekend won't be so bad. He seems to be the only tolerable person in the group. Roger is cool, but he and I don’t really know what to say to each other yet. My brothers are both so serious and mature, each of their wives so into rich housewife shit that I can’t find a thing to talk to them about. They are currently sitting at the dining room table sipping back their wine today complaining about something. My niece and nephew are too into their phones to care about much else. My grandparents are just old, and my mother is either fawning over her new man or making sure I know what a disappointment I am.

I figure if I just do what she wants then I don’t have to cause a scene in front of Grant and maybe he’ll even keep me company at dinner. I bet if I ask, he’ll let me ride with him.

“You smell like beer and cigarettes,” my mother says a little too loudly as she comes closer, and my eyes go wide. I don’t want Grant to get in trouble for taking me to a bar, so I quickly smile and say, “Relax! It’s Christmas.” Then with a shrug, I turn and walk back to my room to change.

I take a little more time than I usually would getting ready for dinner. A quick shower washes off the beer and cigarette smell. Then, I actually blow dry my unruly hair, making sure my bangs are perfect. For the first time in weeks, I put on actual makeup and not just lipstick and eyeliner. The dress I pull out is gold and thin but hangs on my body loosely, hugging only my breasts. I skip the shimmery black leggings that I would normally wear under them, not entirely knowing why. Sure, it’ll mean being a little cold, but I want to feel sexy tonight.

The devil on my shoulder is reminding me that I want to feel sexy for Grant. But I think the devil on my shoulder is a bit of a hoe.