My dress was all wrong, I thought as we exchanged air kisses. I resisted the urge to tug at the nylon creeping into my butt crack.

“Hey, Hot Mama.” Sallie’s husband, Ned, appeared, drink in hand, and moved in for a hug. “You’re on fire tonight.”

I smiled and hugged him back, flattered and reassured. For a very, very short time our junior year, Ned and I had been a couple. “Thanks. John, you remember Ned.”

They shook. “Let me get you a drink. What’s your handicap now? Sallie’s around somewhere,” Ned said to me, waving toward the guests circulating downstairs. “You should let her know you’re here.”

“Where should I put this?” I raised my decorated bag of marinated feta.

“Oh, you brought a gift. This way.” Belle navigated the crowd, confident as the queen bee she’d always been. I followed her, part of her court.

The guests ranged from our age to our parents’, the women all shiny, the men in khakis and button-down shirts. Except for the waiters, John was the only man in a tie. A server offered me champagne on a tray. Other servers passed plates of giant shrimp, tiny sandwiches, little bites on skewers. Like at a wedding reception. I looked over my shoulder for John.

“Meg! Oh, I’m so glad to see you!” Sallie embraced me, careful not to spill my wine. “Is this for me? You are so sweet. Everybody, you know Meg.”

I did know them, most of them, Sallie’s posse, high school pals. Susie Perkins, May Chester, Rose Campbell and her adopted sister, Phebe. Members of Sallie’s wedding party, friends from her neighborhood, all with white, white smiles and expert manicures.

“How was the beach?” I asked Sallie.

She shrugged, flipping her perfect highlights over one shoulder. “Oh, you know. Sterling got stung by a jellyfish, and the boys were off playing golf all day, and Mother got mad because Belle complained about missing all the Black Friday sales when everybody knows she does all her shopping online. She won’t set foot in the mall. So Daddy . . .”

I sipped champagne as the conversation shifted to ski trips to Park City and Banff, cruises and Caribbean vacations. Sallie and Ned were going to Hawaii in January. Belle was talking about Mexico. I liked listening to them, the gurgle and flow of feminine voices as familiar and comfortable as waves rippling on shore. I helped myself to a slider filled with some kind of spicy meat—Jo would know—washed down with more champagne.

“I haven’t done Cancún since spring break days,” Susie said.

“We go to Sanara in Tulum,” Belle said. “The yoga studio is right on the beach.”

Across the room, John stood, hands in pockets, head to one side, part and yet apart from the group discussing golf or whatever it was men talked about at parties. Cars? He had probably sold, serviced, or financed most of those fancy vehicles outside. The sight of him—blond and broad-shouldered—kicked my memory.