Things I Want My Daughters to Know by Elizabeth Noble Page B

she was in the shower and borrowed her boom box, which was, indeed, the only piece of compatible technology in the house, and she listened to it while she got dressed. She had laughed delightedly and danced and sung along. The last song was Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” which she belted out from atop her bed, her hairbrush in hand, missing the falsettos by a mile.
    It was quite possibly the best present ever.
    When he’d called, he hadn’t said who he was, which normally drove her mad. She knew, of course. The caller ID on her phone announced that Tintin was calling.
    “So? What do you think?”
    “What—no Paul Young?”
    “Nope. ‘Wherever I Lay My Hat That’s My Home’ is about the in-evitability of leaving someone. Not a happy tune at all.”
    “What—nothing recorded post-1990?”

    76 e l i z a b e t h
    n
    o b l e
    “Listen—I have all that stuff. I could have done a Damien Rice, Green Day mix tape. But where’s the fun in that? All that angst . . .”
    “It was perfect.”
    “It was, wasn’t it? I loaded it onto my Nano—listened to it when I woke up, as promised.”
    “You’re crazy.”
    “Crazy about you.”
    “Aha—chat-up lines to match the music. Nice touch.”
    “Just didn’t want you to be in any doubt.”
    “About what?”
    “I’ve got it pretty bad.”
    “You’ve got something pretty bad. That’s true. But I’m sure you can get a lotion to clear it right up.”
    “See you New Year’s Eve?”
    “Will there be music?”
    “There’s always music.”
    “Then I’ll have to think about it.”
    “You think about it. I’ll dream about it.”
    “I’m hanging up, Monsieur Fromage.”
    “Merry Christmas.”
    “Tin?”
    “Call me Ed.”
    “Ed?”
    “What?”
    “Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome, Amanda.”
    So that explained the grin.
    “It must have been good. You’re going to crack your face open.” Jennifer was watching her intently.
    “It was nice. Now bugger off, you lot, and mind your own busi-T h i n g s I W a n t M y D a u g h t e r s t o K n o w 77
    ness.”
    “I’ll save you.” Lisa put her arm around Amanda. “Allow me to deflect the attention. . . .”
    “What with?”
    “Andy asked me to marry him.”
    Amanda’s jaw dropped. “He did!”
    “He did. At a party last week.”
    “And . . .”
    “And I said yes.”
    Amanda threw her other arm around her sister. “Yeah.”
    Lisa backed away, her arms raised in protest.
    “Not so fast. I shouldn’t have said yes.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “I mean I didn’t mean yes. I was a bit pissed, and a bit carried away. . . .”
    “You don’t accidentally agree to marry someone, Lisa.”
    “It wasn’t an accident. It was just . . .”
    “So that’s why no announcement, no ring . . . you’ve told him, right?
    God, poor Andy . . .”
    “No, I haven’t told him.”
    Hannah took a large fingerful of brandy butter. “Even I know that’s a really bad idea.”
    Amanda shot her a filthy look. “Shut up, Hannah.”

    �
    New Year’s Eve

    Hannah
    She’d said no to the party invitation. Someone’s parents had a barn, and they’d said their kids each could have twenty friends over for New Year’s. They were having a black-tie dinner in the house, so it would be supervised, but only sort of. There were four kids—and Hannah’s friend Beth was the second youngest. So that would mean about eighty kids, half of whom would be older, and presumably, since Beth’s older siblings were brothers, male. Which made it pretty much the most exciting party invitation she’d ever had.
    She knew if she told Dad about it he’d make her go. He’d lecture her about drink and drugs and abstinence and stuff, but he’d make her go. But that would mean leaving him alone on New Year’s Eve, and she didn’t want to do that.
    She’d been out with her friends on the twenty-seventh. All day.
    They’d been to the sales, armed with the vouchers and wads of cash that Christmas had yielded, in