An Anonymous Girl by Greer Hendricks and Sarah Pekkanen Read Free Book Online Page A

has served the pumpkin and pecan pies, the guys head to theliving room to watch the game, and the women decamp to the kitchen for cleanup. It’s another ritual.
    “Ugh, I’m so full I’m going to barf,” my cousin Shelly moans as she untucks her blouse.
    “Shelly!” Aunt Helen admonishes.
    “It’s your fault, Mom. The food was great.” Shelly winks at me.
    I reach for a dish towel as Becky brings in the plates, carefully setting them down in a row onthe counter. Aunt Helen redid her kitchen a few years ago, replacing the Formica with granite.
    My mom starts to scrub the platters that Aunt Helen carries in from the dining room. My cousin Gail, Shelly’s sister, is eight months pregnant. She plops down on a chair at the kitchen table with a theatrical sigh, then drags over another chair so she can put her feet up. Somehow Gail always managesto avoid cleanup, but for once she has a reasonable excuse.
    “Sooo . . . tomorrow night everyone’s getting together at the Brewster,” Shelly says as she scoops leftover stuffing into a Tupperware container. By
everyone
, she means our high school classmates who are having an informal reunion.
    “Guess who’s going to be there?” She pauses.
    Does she really want me to start guessing?
    “Who?” I finally ask.
    “Keith. He’s separated.”
    I can barely remember which football player he was.
    Shelly isn’t interested in him for herself; she got married a year and a half ago. I’d bet twenty bucks that by next year, she’ll be the one with her feet up.
    Shelly and Gail look at me expectantly. Gail is rubbing slow circles on her stomach.
    My phone vibrates in the pocket ofmy skirt.
    “Sounds fun,” I say. “You’re going to be our designated driver, right, Gail?”
    “Like hell,” Gail says. “I’m going to be in a tub reading
Us Weekly.”
    “Are you dating anyone in New York?” Shelly asks.
    My phone vibrates a second time, which it always does when I don’t immediately open a text.
    “No one serious,” I say.
    Her tone is sugary: “It must be tough to competewith all those beauti­ful models.”
    Gail inherited her blond hair and passive-aggressiveness from Aunt Helen, who chimes in quickly.
    “Don’t put off having kids for too long,” she says. “I bet someone is eager for grandchildren!”
    Usually my mother lets Aunt Helen’s digs slide, but now I can almost feel her bristle. Maybe it’s because she was drinking again at dinner.
    “Jess is sobusy with all those Broadway shows,” my mom says. “She’s enjoying having a career before she settles down.”
    Whether my mom is defending me or herself with the exaggeration i sn’t clear.
    Our conversation is interrupted when Gail’s husband, Phil, wanders in. “Just going to grab a few beers,” he says, opening the refrigerator.
    “Nice,” Shelly says. “Aren’t you lucky, getting to sit aroundand watch the game and drink while we women clean up.”
    “You really want to be watching the football game, Shel?” he says.
    She bats her hand at him. “Get out of here, you.”
    I’m trying to feign interest in the discussion of whether yellow is the right color palette for Gail’s nursery when I give up and excuse myself. I go to the bathroom and slip my phone out of my pocket.
    The overlysweet aroma of the gingerbread-scented candle burning on the sink counter almost makes me gag.
    Across the screen is a new text from an unfamiliar number:
    Excuse me if I am intruding on your holiday. This is Dr. Shields. Are you in town this weekend? If so, I would like to schedule another session with you. Let me know your availability
    I read the text twice.
    I can’t believe Dr.Shields has reached out to me directly.
    I thought the study was only a two-part thing, but maybe I misun­derstood. If Dr. Shields wants me for more sessions, it could mean a lot more money.
    I wonder if Dr. Shields texted because Ben has the day off. It is Thanksgiving after all. Maybe Dr. Shields is in his home office,