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“So?” It takes everything inside me to keep my emotions in check.

Her brows furrow and she dabs her eyes with a tissue. “I’ve made such a mess of this whole divorced parent thing, haven’t I?”

“You didn’t do anything. He made his choices. He can live with them.”

“You can’t stay mad at him forever.”

“I beg to differ.” I can certainly try, at least.

Nicole’s shriek from downstairs lets me know it’s time to go.

“I gotta go, Mom.”

“We’ll discuss this later.” Mom dials up her smile. “Have a wonderful time, sweetheart.”

“I’ll try,” I say as I disconnect the call.

I check my makeup one last time, then shove my phone and my keys into the silver clutch Mom lent me for the evening. As I descend the stairs, “I Know It’s Over” by The Smiths plays in my brain.

Elijah meets me at the bottom of the steps in a black tux and matching black bow tie, reminding me of a young James Bond. And Grant’s dialed his hipster vibe to an eleven in his black pants and white jacket combo. His thick black glasses complete the look perfectly.

I crank up my fake smile and greet them. “Hi, guys.”

Elijah’s intense eye contact is almost a caress. He thinks he’s already won. The thought nearly knocks me off my feet, and the resulting guilt makes me sick inside.

He holds out his hand. “You ready, Kennedy?”

Talk about a loaded question.

After an awkward few seconds deciding who should sit where, I climb into the back seat of Elijah’s Honda—alone. I’m a coiled spring—no, a caged tiger—trapped in the tight space with both of them, ready to snap without warning. All the time and energy spent building up to this moment, and it’s nothing but a colossal lie.

Grant fiddles with the radio, connecting his phone to the sound system. Then he opens the sunroof, revealing the starry night sky as a familiar ’80s song blasts through the speakers.

Several songs later, Elijah pulls into the circular drive at the art museum and lines up for the valet. Under any other circumstances, I’d be thrilled to party among the classics, but tonight, I can’t seem to drum up an ounce of excitement.

Elijah leaves the car idling and jumps out, beating Grant to the punch as he opens my door for me and reaches for my hand. My fingers barely brush his when the song changes, and the synthesizer intro to “In Your Eyes” rivets me in place.

A hot tingle starts in my scalp and works its way to my toes as the memory of Jordan’s lips on mine as we watched Say Anything in the back of my Corolla overtakes me. Our song. Unofficially anyway. The idea of destiny and fate doesn’t sound so far-fetched anymore.

“Kennedy? Are you okay?” Elijah’s fingers close around my hand.

My phony smile falters as cameras flash all around us. “This damn song . . .”

Todd has company. At least two other photographers click away, catching our every move as I exit the car.

“Kennedy!” Nicole runs up to me, her red dress clinging to every curve and her heels clacking against the stone walkway. “Why do you look like you’re being dragged off to the gallows?”

My heart pounds so hard, I can taste it. “They didn’t spare any expense with the photographers, did they?”

“It’s the event of the year!” Nicole revels in the spectacle, and part of me is jealous of her carefree attitude.

“Shall we?” Grant silences his music and pockets his phone before taking my free hand.

David Bowie’s “Fame” plays in my head as I scan the crowd staring back at me as if I’m some sort of celebrity.

What the hell am I doing here?

Nicole tilts her head. “What’s up with you? Snap out of it, already. Did you guys get drunk on the way here?”