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“Oh, I would.”
“Clever girl. I think I’ll have to call your brother for a ride home. Nana knows how to keep the drinks flowing.”
“Ha. That’s the truth. Did you know she has her own vintage? Our grandfather made one for her before he died. Took him decades to perfect. Of course, Simon is the majority shareholder and has God knows how many cases in his wine cellar.”
“Why does that not surprise me? Does he keep it next to the tobacco?”
“As if he would let his precious blend out of its temperature-controlled humidifier unless he was rolling his cigarettes,” she scoffed around a melon ball. “And I think Nana already called Will and Simon to pick us up. I’m ready for a nap.”
“Do the doctors have a handle on everything?”
I hated to use the word infection or think Simon overshared something she wasn’t comfortable with me knowing.
“Yes and no. They want to keep the port in until surgery, so they’re monitoring things closely. So far, everything is as good as it can be. They want my white blood cell count to be higher before operating. I’m ready for it to be over with.”
“You’re a fucking rockstar.”
“Yeah, I am,” she said, bumping my shoulder. “I wish I knew more people who’d gone through this, you know? I suck at meeting new people and can’t bring myself to go to those survivor groups.”
“I get it. It’s a shitty situation and hard all around.”
Beth’s eyes clouded over and she hunched her shoulders, then shook her head and popped another melon ball in her mouth.
“Yeah, but I’m doing my best to stay positive. Now, can I send you home with a take-away plate?” she asked, pulling me in for a one-armed hug that I returned gratefully, patting her on the back.
“Tit gummies and cake? I wouldn’t say no to that.”
My phone buzzed and I excused myself, stepping to the far end of the kitchen and setting my glass on the marble countertop. A notification waited for me on my home screen, making me crinkle my nose. Rolling my eyes, I navigated to my DMs, almost wishing it would be a message for some anonymous creeper.
ProfBradD: When are we getting that drink?
AddieFiles: This weekend?
ProfBradD: Possibly. Are you going to the Fall thing at The Arabella?
AddieFiles: I might be.
ProfBradD: You should go.
AddieFiles: Then I’ll go.
I rubbed the middle of my forehead, turning to rest my back on the edge of the counter and closing my eyes. A tightness filled my chest, and I made a fist, rubbing the knuckles against my breastbone hoping to make it disappear.
“Addison,” a voice said as a warm hand touched mine, stilling my movements. I opened my eyes to see Nana with a pinched expression on her face, and the wrinkles around her eyes creased deeply with worry.
“Sorry, Nana Kelly. You caught me off guard.”
“That was him, right? The douche-kneazle?”
“Douche-nozzle.”
“What did he do, dear?”
I shook my head as she pressed a sherry glass filled with a light purple liquid into my hand.
“This is imported Parma Violet Gin Liqueur from Manchester. Taste it.” She gestured to the glass I held and then wafted the other in front of her nose, letting the aromatic bouquet fill the air.
“Oh, you Kellys and your indulgences,” I said, rolling my eyes and taking the offered beverage. My head was fuzzy from the champagne and lack of sufficient sustenance. But Simon should be here soon, and perhaps I could convince him to stop for a greasy cheeseburger on the way home.
