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“Hello.”
“Hi,” I say timidly. “Feeling better?”
He grimaces and rubs the back of his hairline. “Like walking death, actually.”
“But you went into work?”
He shrugs as if partly embarrassed. “I don’t really get sick days.”
“Can I get you anything? I could heat up that soup from last night? There’s some leftover.”
“It’s all right.”
I step toward him and reach out with my hand, realizing a moment too late that my intention was to give comfort. Since that’s not something we do, I wrap my hand around my stomach instead.
“I’m sorry,” I say, carefully lowering my voice. “I didn’t realize they were coming into town today. Had I known, I would have come up with a better plan. It wasn’t my intention to have them encroach on your space.”
“I don’t mind.”
“They won’t stay long.”
He shakes his head. “Honestly, I don’t mind.”
“Elizabeth?” my sister calls. “Do you need help?”
“No!” I call back. “It’ll only be a minute.”
“All right then.” She dips her head into the kitchen and smiles sweetly. “Walt, I’d love a tour of your apartment.”
Twenty
A few hours later, I find myself at Walt’s dining table sitting through the world’s most awkward dinner. There’s a layer of tension surrounding us that everyone seems all too eager to ignore. In my defense, it wasn’t my idea to have my mom and sister stay this long. Walt insisted on ordering in dinner from an Italian restaurant down the street, so here I sit, with a plate loaded up with salad, mushroom risotto, and fresh focaccia bread—all of which is untouched.
My mom sits beside me, twisting her napkin in her lap. I know this must be incredibly difficult for her. I doubt she’s happy to be sitting in Walt’s apartment, eating a meal with him. The fact that Walt is the conservator of our families’ joint trust means he effectively holds her purse strings, and only a few weeks ago she was begging me to get him to increase her monthly disbursement. Now, here she is with a tight smile, listening to whatever story Charlotte is telling.
That’s the other source of awkwardness about this whole evening. Charlotte has latched onto Walt the same way she latched onto those Gucci wedges at Saks. She hasn’t stopped talking his ear off since he got home. Earlier, I skipped the apartment tour in favor of finishing up with the snacks in the kitchen. Little good that did. Even in there I was privy to my sister oohing and aahing from various rooms, gushing over Walt’s place.
I wanted to gag on her enthusiasm. Now, it’s even worse.
When dinner arrived and we’d loaded our plates, she clung to Walt, insisting he take the seat beside her so she could continue picking his brain about his favorite restaurants in New York.
“This food is amazing. How did you discover this place?” she asks.
“It’s just around the corner. I pass by it all the time.”
She laps up every bite as if she’s never had a goddamn breadstick in her life.
“This lasagna is to die for,” she says, practically orgasming on the spot.
To be fair, that’s probably exactly what’s happening since she forgoes carbs most of the time.
She takes another bite then reaches out to touch Walt’s forearm, underscoring her enthusiasm. My eyes lock onto her hand like I’m trying to harness some previously untapped laser vision. When I realize how harsh my expression is, I blink and look away, trying to ignore her.
It gets harder and harder as dinner goes on.
I’ve never really seen Charlotte like this, so unashamed to make her intentions clear. Normally, she’s so eager to have men chase her that she likes to sit back and make them sweat. Now, though, she’s all over Walt, dominating the conversation, tilting her body toward him as if my mom and I aren’t even present.
Walt sits across from me, quiet but attentive.
Somehow his politeness only infuriates me more. I want him to rebuff her advances. Push her hand away. Make it clear he’s not interested.
Finally, there’s a lull in conversation because Charlotte is chewing her food, and Walt glances over at my mom.
“What brought the two of you into town today? Did you say?”
Charlotte rushes to finish chewing. “We couldn’t pass up the sale—”
“The opportunity to see Elizabeth,” my mom interrupts, with a smile that’s as sweet as honey.
I nearly snort but suppress the urge at the last moment. Walt shoots me a curious look, but I glance down at my food, worried that if he gets a good look at me, he’ll know something’s wrong.
“And were you able to explore the city at all?” he asks.
Yes, we explored all three levels of Saks Fifth Avenue.
Of course, I don’t say that. It’s not my place to rat out my mom and Charlotte. I might not agree with their choices, but I also don’t think it’s necessary for me to run to Walt and tattle on them.
