“I’m still iffy when it comes to steak, but one of the perks of dating a chef is that she’s always encouraging me to try new foods,” he says. “Everything she’s introduced me to has been absolutely delicious.”
“What do you do for work?” Preston asks him.
He dabs at his beard with a napkin. “I’m a doctor.”
My chest hitches slightly, and I sit up straighter. “Which hospital?”
“Northwell.”
“Really?” Constance’s face brightens. “That’s where I go for my appointments. What are the odds? I wonder if we’ve crossed paths.”
I’ve attended multiple appointments with Constance, as have Marlowe and Ava. Perhaps that’s the reason he looks so familiar.
“You must make a pretty good living,” Preston says, suddenly more interested in the conversation.
“Nothing compared to the Yankees, my friend,” Damien says, reaching for his drink. Preston takes another stab at the meat on his plate.
Constance leans closer to Marlowe, touches her hand. “You should have told us you were dating a doctor.”
Marlowe, uncomfortable as the center of attention, stands. “It’s almost time for dessert.”
“I’ll help you,” I say.
Really, I want to find Ava. I should have checked on her sooner. She’s good at keeping composure in a crowd, but I see beyond the mask she wears for the rest of the world, and it’s clear to me that she’s cracking, has been ever since Preston insinuated he helped start her business.
As we turn the corner, Marlowe says, “I’ve heard Preston tell that story a half dozen times. He never seems to notice how much it bothers her.”
I nod in agreement. “Normally, Ava just laughs it off. She doesn’t react like that.”
“Maybe she’s finally sick of putting up with his bullshit.”
Marlowe is fiercely loyal to her friends, only wants the best for us, which can make her come off as overly critical of the men in our lives. She especially dislikes men like Preston, who skate by on looks and luck their entire lives. Her ex-husband, Michael, was the opposite of him in many ways, more emotional, in tune with the thoughts and needs of those around him. Once again, I’m overcome with a sense of doom that if Marlowe and Michael couldn’t work it out, none of us can.
In the kitchen, we find Ava standing by the latticed window beside the sink. She’s staring outside at the newly emerged full moon, holding a goblet of wine. When she catches our reflection in the glass, she turns quickly, slapping a hand against her chest.
“You startled me,” she says.
“Just getting the dessert,” Marlowe says, opening the fridge.
“Things seemed a little tense in there,” I say.
Ava faces the window again, her own reflection becoming more defined. She smiles at her own image. “I’m fine. Too much wine too fast. You know how stuffy that dining room can get.”
Marlowe and I share a look. I envy Ava’s ability to deflect. She’s an expert at putting up a front, but we know her well enough to tell when she’s bothered.
“Preston was a dick for saying that,” Marlowe says, ripping off the Band-Aid. “We all know you built your business on your own.”
“Don’t call him a dick.” Ava’s tone is sharp. She takes another sip of wine and recovers. “Things have been tough on him the last couple of years. You know that. It’s difficult transitioning out of sports.”
“He shouldn’t insert himself into your success. I mean, you’re the breadwinner,” Marlowe says. “You’re far from a trophy wife.”
“Just chill, Marlowe,” Ava says, her harsh tone back. She clangs her wineglass against the countertop.
Ava will never forget the way people treated her when she started dating Preston, cracking comments aboutmeal ticketsandhitting the jackpot.Marlowe was one of the worst about it, her brutal jokes failing to stick their landing. It’s a stereotype that’s stayed with Ava all these years. Sometimes I think she only started her own business to combatit.
Marlowe raises her hands, a gesture to show she’s backing off. She walks across the kitchen to retrieve the dessert. A double-layer lemon cake adorned with creamy whipped frosting and macerated blueberries. My mouth waters just looking at it.
“I’ll start clearing the dinner plates, if everyone’s finished,” Ava says. She reaches out a hand to squeeze my crow-free shoulder. “I hope you’re having fun.”
