Die Once More by Amy Plum Page A

respond. “And stop stealing my lines.”
    She gives me a sassy curtsy. I roll my eyes, and then, lunging, grab her around the waist and whisk her out onto the dance floor, making her laugh in delight.
    â€œI’ve seen that dress before,” I say of her Asian-print silk gown.
    â€œIt’s my birthday dress,” she replies.
    â€œAh, yes. The one Vincent had custom-made as a surprise for your sweet seventeenth.”
    â€œThe very one,” she says.
    â€œThat was a truly brilliant boyfriend move,” I comment.
    â€œYeah,” she says. “He’s pretty good at those things.”
    We dance in silence for a moment, and then I say softly, “I hope you know how lucky you are. How lucky you both are.”
    She leans back to look at me, her face open with compassion. She doesn’t need to say anything—we both know what the other is thinking. I measure the pain in my heart, and it is still there, but it is less. “I’m going to be okay,” I say.
    â€œI know,” she replies, and lays her head on my shoulder. Other couples move around us, but for a few moments time stops and it’s just the two of us, and my heart is calm and things are good.
    And then Kate speaks and the magic is broken. “I’ve been spending a lot of time with Ava. She’s pretty amazing, you know.”
    I stop and stare at her. “You’re not going to try that old pass-the-guy-whose-heart-you-broke-onto-someone-else-so-you-won’t-feel-guilty routine, are you? Because that is so beneath you.”
    â€œI wouldn’t dream of it,” Kate quips. She places her hands back on my shoulders and forces me to dance. “You’re too smart for that.”
    â€œI accept that compliment and beg you to stop talking before you say anything else that could come across as pitying or demeaning.”
    â€œDeal,” says Kate, and throws her arms around my neck. The song is ending, and she gives me a hug. “We’re going to miss you,” she says, and leaves me standing face-to-face with Ava, having craftily deposited me inches away.
    I have no time to think. “Um, dance?” I ask.
    â€œLose your suave somewhere on the dance floor?” Ava asks, cracking a smile.
    â€œUh, yeah. I think Faust trampled it under those size twenties of his.”
    She laughs. “Let’s go.” She gives me her hand, and I lead her to a far corner of the room, away from the direction Kate wandered.
    â€œYou okay after that dance?” she asks, as I place one hand on her waist and grasp her hand in the other.
    â€œFighting form,” I respond. She doesn’t push the point, and I’m grateful that she doesn’t want to Talk, with a capital T .
    We dance for a moment, and I’m just beginning to realize that I’ve actually got Ava in my arms for the very first time. I’m starting to enjoy it . . . immensely, when she says something. I try to focus. “What?” I ask, and point at the speakers. “I can’t hear you. The music . . .”
    She moves her lips closer to my ear—I couldn’t have planned it better if I’d tried. “I’ve seen the way you are with your kindred. They all love you. Respect you. You seem so at home here—you are at home here. Are you sure you want to come back to New York?”
    Oh God. She does want to Talk. Please, not here. Not now. I hold her to me for one more moment and then pull back and tap my ear. “It really is too loud. Do you want to go somewhere else?” I say, hoping she’ll just drop the whole subject.
    â€œYes.”
    I sigh. “Okay, follow me.” I take her hand and weave through the crowd. We head toward the front door and step outside to see the garden crowded with guests. Georgia and Arthur are sitting on the edge of the fountain, bodies entwined and lips locked.God, do they ever give it a break?
    â€œBack in,” I say,