Chapter 2
Tugging at it after exiting the Lyft to ensure its snug hem met the waist of my jeans, I second-guessed my snowman sweater. Was this the kind of gathering that required a suit or a sheath of holiday sequins? I didn’t even have a suit that fit, and it would never have occurred to me to nod yesto a ricochet invite to a party that expected me to wear one if I did. People wore suits to parties all the time, I supposed—certainly if the television were to be believed; Frasier Crane never left home without one—but if I even thought I might have to tuck my shirt into a pair of dress pants I usually cooked up an excuse to stay home. This was a mistake.
I had already turned to assess whether I could catch my Lyft driver without having to break into a run when the unlikeliest sound stopped me mid-pirouette.
“Chad!”