My particular feelings for him had always been contained in one of those secret compartments in my heart. I always knew where they were. But with everything going on with Daddy and the house, it felt like they were seeping out everywhere.

“Try to make it like you don’t own the joint and buy the liquor,” I said and laughed.

The dinner crowd trickled in. People were peppered at the tables and comfortable booths. It was a subdued atmosphere. A very tame crowd. Griffin motioned for me to take a table, but I was fine at the bar. It allowed me to oversee everything going on. I loved this vantage point. What VERT lacked in buzz or crowds, it certainly made up for in food. The quality had not diminished one bit.

Around nine o’clock, Griffin came up to me and suggested we go home. He did not say “for the last time.” But I noticed he grabbed a bottle of Perrier-Jouët Belle Epoque, one of their finest and my favorite champagne. I knew it was to toast our house.

While he washed the glasses, I went upstairs. I sat on the edge of my bed looking at it. It had taunted and teased me these last two weeks. I had not given in to it. I kept telling myself, “You are with Elliott now. This part of your life is over. Like the house.” I blamed it on the house. But leaving this messy and easy, so very easy, thing I had with Griffin brought a sadness I had not expected. It brought with it a longing not so far removed from an ache. It was like a period at the end of a sentence. Or a paragraph. Or a chapter titled: Bailey, The Early Years. It was as simple as a recognition that my childhood was over. Maybe I needed one last grand gesture so the chapter would have a fitting ending. Proper punctuation. And then I could cleanly and clearly move on with giving my heart to Elliott.

I was completely settled in my feelings for Elliott. The emptiness of Daddy’s bustling house, the end of my childhood, and my new nightgown all seemed to turn on me, wagging a wicked finger and teasing, “Why did you pack me in the first place?” I heard the carefree busyness of Griffin washing glasses and uncorking champagne. Maybe I was being presumptuous. Maybe he didn’t even think about being with me like that anymore. He had certainly never expressed his feelings like Elliott. Or just maybe I wanted to put Elle’s theory to the test and nothing more. I removed the nightgown from my suitcase. The price tags were still attached, reminding me of what some of our favorite things cost us.

“Hey, Bae, are you all right up there? You didn’t get swallowed up by an empty box, did you?” Griffin’s voice echoed in the now cavernous house.

“Be down in a minute. I’m just washing my face.” And any sin I may or may not commit tonight, I thought. Part of the answer was that my heart wanted both things. I wanted to be faithful to Elliott. I needed to be with Griffin one last time. I’m sure no one else thinks about punctuation marks at times like this. No, a real girl would be putting on lipstick. A real girl would be shaving her legs. A real girl would be brushing her teeth. A real girl would be putting perfume in naughty places. Real girls would not be thinking about punctuation marks. They would be thinking about birthmarks or cellulite or loose skin.