“I can only ever be myself.” He shrugs, then says, “I’m going to go get a drink. Do you want another one of those?”

“Please.” I pass him my empty glass, and he looks at Molly.

“What about you?”

“Vodka tonic.” She holds up her glass that’s still half full.

“Cool.” He walks away, and I turn to Molly, then frown when I realize she’s checking him out.

“Don’t do that,” I hiss.

“Franny, you know he’s hot, right? And if he weren’t so young, immature, and an obvious idiot, I would totally date him.”

“Don’t make me puke.” My lip curls in disgust, and she laughs.

“Just saying.”

“You’re gross.” I shake my head in hopes of getting the image of one of my best friends with my brother out of my brain. Honestly, I can’t imagine Jacob with anyone—not just because he’s my brother, but because, like Molly said, he’s immature. I’m sure he’ll grow up one day, but that day isn’t going to be anytime soon, especially since our mother still treats him like he’s a kid. “While Jacob is at the bar, I’m going to run to the restroom.”

“I’ll be here waiting… for Jaaacooob,” she singsongs.

“Can you not be disgusting?”

“I can only ever be myself.” She winks, and I shake my head.

Hurrying out of the ballroom, I smile at a few people I pass in the hall and walk into the bathroom. As the door is closing behind me, I hear the telltale signs of someone puking, and just the sound of someone else getting sick makes my stomach churn.

Going into the only other stall, I quickly use the restroom, then step out to wash my hands. As I’m lathering up with soap, the stall behind me opens, and Billy’s mistress steps out and meets my gaze in the mirror.

“Are you okay?” I ask her, and her face crumples like I just told her that her dog got hit by a car. So caught off guard by the outburst of emotions, I stare at her for a long moment before I grab a few of the paper towels on the counter and take them over to her. “Hey, it’s all right.”

“It’s not.” She shakes her head. “Nothing is okay.” She sobs, taking the paper towels and covering her face with them.

“Come on.” Leading her over to the small couch that is at the entrance of the restroom, I help her sit and then rub her back as she cries. I don’t know her, but I do know her situation, so I feel strange trying to comfort her, even if it’s obvious that she needs to be comforted. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”