He moves closer, and I have a sudden sense of claustrophobia. I wish the hallway would split open to allow more air in. The ceilings are low with dark wooden beams visible. It has the effect of making me feel like I’m in the bow of a ship.
“Rose,” James says, trying to get me to look at him. “I split up with Maren.”
“Oh God,” I groan into my hands. “What happened?”
James grabs my arms apart and puts them at my sides, staring intently at my face.
I can’t help but laugh. “What is this? Please don’t tell me you’re here to try to win me back or something pathetic.”
I think about Thomas and William’s almost showdown at the wedding two weeks ago and imagine throwing the absolute disaster that is James Gardner into the mix. There’s been enough chaos this summer.
James scoffs, but somehow, it’s not a cruel sound. “Jesus, no. We’ve been there before and it didn’t work out. Listen, you’re still smoking hot and all, so I’m not saying it’s completely off the table but—”
“Now might be a good time to remind you that it didn’t work out the first time because you cheated on me.”
“Ancient history,” he scoffs again. “Plus, we both know we were never a good match.”
“So then why are you here?”
“I just wanted to see Lily,” says James. “Look at me. I’m a twice-divorced fifty-year-old man with nothing to show for my life except for some money in the bank and a terrible relationship with my only daughter. Is it so wrong to want to remedy that?”
“You didn’t exactly catch her at the best time,” I warn. “She’s extra sensitive right now.”
The sound of a toilet flushing makes us move apart again, and out of the stall walks a woman in a ridiculous head-to-toe pink outfit, like an advertisement for Pepto-Bismol. It’s fitting since James’s surprise visits always give me a stomachache.
“Ladies first,” James says, gesturing.
I flip him the bird and open the door. “This conversation isn’t over.”
Back at the table, a waitress brings around lobster rolls and crispy fries. My dad sits at the head of the table with a plastic bib tucked into his collar. Mrs. Clay, the cat, perches in a kid’s booster seat to his right.
“Lily, how’s work? Are you still fetching coffees?” asks Dad.
“I am not,” says Lily, with some degree of irony.
“Good for you! You were always too good to be someone’s lackey,” says my dad. “What’re you doing for work now?”
“I’m a receptionist at the yacht club here,” she says with forced neutrality, clearly anticipating his reaction. “I answer phones. It’s all very glamorous.”
“Well,” says my dad, adjusting his bib. His white hair looks electric in the single ray of bright light coming in through the sunken window behind his back. “That’s probably better. Less risk of spilling, anyhow.” He turns toward me. “I do wish you had confided in me before turning Lottie’s cottage into some sort of lodge,” he sniffs. “Now I have to get a rental like a tourist.”
“There’s not enough space for all of us to stay there at the same time anyway.”
“Still,” my dad chides. “A stranger staying in your house? Using your sheets? It’s a little disturbing, isn’t it?”
“It’s economical and I swap out the sheets.” I pause, debating the next part. “Besides, I know the tenant.”
“You do?”
“I’m fine with not staying there,” Elizabeth interrupts. “I never liked that cottage anyway. It’s too… old and moist. I’m convinced I got sick from mold last time we stayed.”
I avoid rolling my eyes by digging the nails of my left hand into my thigh. “There is no mold, Elizabeth.”
“Tell that to the pneumonia I developed three summers ago. Besides, Lottie got sick. What if it was something in the house?”
“It wasn’t anything in the house.” My heart aches at the thought; it feels accusatory, like I could have done something more to help my aunt, when in reality, I tried everything I possibly could. Right?
“Who’s the tenant?” my dad asks again. “Is it another friend of yours like Josie? I always liked her, and she was so helpful with finding us a place to stay—thank God someone was or else we’d be vagrants, wandering the streets. My own daughter casting us aside.”
