Julia rushed back into the kitchen and dropped her big black purse on the table. She gave Francis a kiss on the nose and squeezed his chest through his gym shirt. “It’s cheap and probably not very good, but it’ll have to do.” She pulled a bottle of white bubbly wine out of her purse and handed it to Billy. “You open it,” she said, squeezing his arm. “It’s your party, right?”
Still buzzing with the good news he’d received at work this afternoon, Billy uncorked the bottle. The popping sound reminded him of all those sad New Year’s Eves he’d spent hoping someone would show up at their lonely farm to party with his mother and him. But his mother had pushed everyone away, with her constant swearing at anyone and everyone, including the postman, and those long angry monologues she’d recite ever
