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“Okay, sure thing. I promise,” I say.
“You’re lying, but I love you for humoring me,” she says airily.
“It’s what I live for,” I return dryly.
“Don’t be smart. I’m helping the movers sort boxes and they can’t find the box with your crockery.” She sounds distressed.
“What’s crockery?” I ask and lean against the door of my room and gaze out the window at the copse of pine trees that provide a natural border for the property and perfume the air all year round.
“Your plates, glasses, bowls,” she explains.
“Oh, that’s because there are none. I never eat at home. I didn’t see the need for them,” I answer honestly.
“Oh, Lord, Hayes. People will think you were raised in a barn,” she cries.
“No one will think I was raised in a barn,” I say dryly.
“I’m going to the Crate Barrel in Highland Village to place an order. I don’t know if they deliver, so you’ll need to pick it up when you get back. I’m just going to go over the list of things I’m getting,” she says.
“Thanks for doing this for me, Gigi,” I say.
“Well, it’s the least I can do since I won’t be here when you actually move in. And I should be thanking you for going to the wedding for me, honey. I know he’s a pretentious little shit, but his mother was my dearest friend in Positano. I would have hated to not have anyone there. And maybe,” she drawls conspiratorially, “you’ll meet the girl of your dreams,” she ends hopefully.
“Have you seen Thomas?” I ask, changing the subject.
“No.” She sniffs like she smells something bad. “He and I haven’t been in touch at all. I just shudder to think what the foundation would look like if he had even one more year with it. I’m so glad you’re moving back here,” she says.
“Nice to know you’ll miss me,” I say dryly.
“Of course, I will, baby. But I’m glad you’re getting on with your life,” she says. But I can tell there’s something on the tip of her tongue by the way she catches her breath at the end of that last sentence.
“What’s going on?” I ask and brace myself. My aunt is the most direct human being on the planet. The only thing she’s ever been hesitant to talk about is Renee. “What did she do this time?”
“She accepted your offer,” she says.
“How do you know that?” I ask. I put her on speaker and open my email application.
“Well, I was at that lovely restaurant in your new neighborhood … oh, Hayes, I love it here,” she says dreamily.
“You were about to tell me how you know about Renee,” I say impatiently.
“Oh, sorry, I just get so carried away talking about this place. The Wildes have done such a good job—”
“Gigi …”
“Okay, sorry,” she says like she’s being put upon.
“Just tell me about Renee,” I say with feigned patience. She doesn’t like to be rushed. And slows down purposely sometimes when she is.
She clears her throat, and I can just see her, tucking her feet underneath her and sweeping her dark, salt-and-pepper hair off her shoulders before she speaks. “Well, like I said, I was at a restaurant. Her lawyer was sitting at the table right behind me!” she says triumphantly.
“How did you know he was her lawyer? I don’t think I’d know him on sight, and I’ve sat across the table from him at least a dozen times in the last two months,” I say.
“Hayes, you know I never forget a face. Also, I heard him say her name. It’s why my interest was piqued in the first place and then I realized who he was and what he was talking about,” she explains. “Stop interrupting and listen,” she says impatiently.
“Excuse me, go on,” I say sarcastically.
“Of course, he had no clue who I was. He was celebrating. His thirty percent is more than you should have given that disloyal little bitch all together,” my aunt says in her most severe voice.
