Always a but.” Something hard slips into her voice. “But if she were here, I don’t think she’d want you to… to…” “To what?” “To become some other person.” I kick at a pebble. “I need to be alone for a minute. Enjoy the party. I’ll be there soon.” She eyes me as if gauging my mood. “ ‘I hate tiny parties—they force one into constant exertion.’ ” I squint, searching my memories for the familiar words. “Did you—did you just Jane Austen me?”
