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Other than customers and the vile Sebastian Andrews, I can’t even remember the last meaningful conversation I’ve had with a man.
I’m saved from my own thoughts by the old-fashioned buzzer connected to the doorman downstairs.
“Let your sister and brother up,” May orders as she begins mixing the second batch of martinis for the latecomers.
I do as she says, and a couple of minutes after I tell John downstairs to let them up, I’m opening May’s front door to Lily and Alec. Lily’s dressed as impeccably as ever in skinny black jeans and a cute twisty top with bows at the shoulder. Though she smiles, there are circles under her eyes. I squeeze her extra tight before turning toward Alec.
My brother-in-law’s a good-looking guy. Not particularly tall, but he’s religious about his daily workouts, and his lack of height is made up for with broad shoulders, a quietly commanding presence, and kind brown eyes.
I extend a hand. “Hi, I’m Gracie. You look sort of familiar, but I can’t put my finger on how I know you…”
He rolls his eyes and hauls me in for a hug. “I know I’ve been a little absent lately, message received loud and clear.”
I hug him extra tight too, because I sense he needs it as much as Lily does. When I pull back and look at the two of them, my heart sinks as I realize there really is a stiffness between them.
May bustles into the room with her tray of martinis, bacon appetizers, and mixed nuts and orders everyone to sit. We’ve been to May’s dozens of time over the years, and we each have our spots. Caleb and I on the long floral couch next to my dad, Lily and Alec on the matching love seat, and May in what she calls her throne, an ugly brown wing chair.
Tonight, Lily sits beside me on the couch.
I want to believe it’s because she doesn’t want to remind me that Dad’s gone and Caleb’s in another state, and I’m sure that’s partially it. But the way she carefully avoids looking at Alec when he sits on the love seat—alone—makes me think there’s more to it.
May’s eyes narrow, telling me she sees it too, but for once, she seems to decide to bite her tongue.
“So, Gracie,” Alec says, leaning forward and grabbing a handful of nuts. “I hear you guys have some new ideas for the store?”
“Yes!” I gush in my best cheerful, middle-child, smooth-the-waters tone. “We’re starting off with a champagne tasting next Thursday. Robyn’s convinced one of her sommelier friends who has a New York food blog to cover it. We’ve got reps from two different wineries hosting tables, and one of my friends just started dating a jazz pianist who’s going to bring his trio for some live music.”
Alec smiles. “Sounds amazing.”
“It will be,” I say confidently. “You should come.”
“He can’t,” Lily interjects, not looking up from the bacon-wrapped ricotta she’s studying intently. “He’s traveling. Again.”
Nervously, I glance back at Alec, expecting to see irritation or anger at his wife’s thinly veiled feelings about his schedule. Instead, he’s staring at Lily with a look of longing and dismay that is so raw I feel a lump in my throat.
Lily, still studying her appetizer, sees none of this.
When her blue eyes do finally sneak over to him, he’s reaching for his martini, his expression shut down.
On second thought, maybe I’ll cling to my online fantasy just a little bit longer. It looks a lot less painful than this.
Ten
“I love so much that you’re here,” I wrap my arm around Lily’s shoulders and kiss her cheek.
She smiles. “I should have been here long before this. It was unfair of Caleb and me to let this all rest on your shoulders. I’m sorry.”
“Forgiven,” I say, in too good a mood to even think about holding a grudge.
Lily has been setting out the rented champagne flutes, and wordlessly we begin working together, her taking them out of the plastic crate, me setting them on the table.
The theme for the tasting party tonight is la reentrée, a French term for the return to “real life” after the summer holiday. Considering it’s early October, we’re a little late for the theme, but since the summer humidity’s just now relented, everyone seems to be in a cheerful welcome fall! mood this week.
Everyone except my sister, who despite dutifully helping with whatever I’ve asked, hasn’t made a single comment on the pretty glass-blown pumpkins or the glittery fall leaves on the table, and she normally loves all things autumn.
“Plus,” she says distractedly, “it’s nice to have something to keep me busy.”
I reach out and begin lining the glasses into tidy rows. “Where’s Alec again?”
“Chicago. Oh wait, no. Boston? I can’t remember.” Her voice is completely checked out, as though she really doesn’t know when he gets back and doesn’t care one way or the other.
