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“Magnolia, darling.” Her mum leans over to her. “Smashing dress, darling. I love it, really.”
“Oh!” Magnolia lights up how she does, glancing in case anyone wants to pile on with the compliments. Bridget catches my eye, gives me an unimpressed look and I squash a smile. “Thank you! Isn’t it so interesting?”
“It’s a dress.” Bridget rolls her eyes.
“Bridget.” Parks frowns. “It’s the leather scalloped cutout dress from Chloé from their 2021 Fall Runway. It’s completely gorgeous.” Magnolia gives Bridget a look like she’s an idiot. “Gabriela Hearst is a visionary. It’s so simple but has such whimsical nods to broderie anglaise—”
“Those are made up words,” Bridget tells her with a brat look on her face. Parks meets it.
“Bridget, you’re smarter than this. You know fashion is incredibly important and dictating. It’s high time that you just embrace it for the important role it plays in our society.”
Bridget rolls her eyes as she pours herself more wine. “Why are you like this? Like, why do you like clothes so much?”
Magnolia’s face pinches to a little frown and she breathes out her nose. Definitely cross, she says nothing though. Then Harley leans back in his chair.
“I used to bring her back issues of Vogue from whatever country I was in,” he says, watching her.
She stares over at him — glares over, maybe — looks like she’s fifteen again and my heart goes like a spinning top in my chest because I love her and she looks sad and this is news to me. Do you know how rare it is to learn something new about someone you’ve known for twenty years? Had no idea.
She stares over at her dad how she never does, like she cares about him, like she gives a shit that he never did, and it occurs to me somewhere in the background of my thinking — like the way snow falls, quiet without you knowing, and then you look behind you and your entire backyard, everything you thought you knew, is blanketed all white. She just wanted his approval.
It’s not a technically friendly thing to do, but I reach over and squeeze her knee. She stares at my hand for a second before she holds my thumb and gives her sister a look that’s a heavy mash of sadness, defiance and scorn.
“So, Nathan,” I say loudly, keeping things moving because I know she’d want me to. “How did you and Arrie meet?”
“We met in Ibiza.” He smiles at the room. “And it was love at first sight. How could it not be?” He stares over at her. “Look at that mouth.”
Nathan seems unaware that that was a weird thing to say in front of Arrie’s ex-husband and daughters. To his credit, he seems completely unfazed that he’s dating the ex-wife of Harley Parks, who’s sitting there, looking annoyed at his presence and mildly irked by Nathan’s appreciation for his ex’s lips.
Can’t tell whether it’s big balls or a lack of awareness, but it makes me like him a bit either way.
“Locked eyes, locked lips—” Arrie grins over at him. (Magnolia makes a gag sound next to me and I elbow her quiet.)
“Spent the rest of the evening dancing under the stars and between the sheets.” She giggles.
“Mother.” Bridget scowls.
Arrie sort of just stares at him fondly, and I wonder if she likes him for real a bit?
I nod at Nathan. “How old are you, man?”
“Twenty-three,” he tells me and then takes a sip of his water.
Harley about falls out of his chair and Magnolia’s head pulls back.
“My god, Arrie—” Harley looks at her. “Twenty-three?”
“What?” She blinks.
“Our daughters are twenty-three—”
(“I’m actually twenty-four, but that’s fine.” Magnolia shrugs as Bridget nods. “Twenty-two but yeah, let’s average it out.”)
“So what?” Arrie says, looking increasingly annoyed.
“So what do you have in common with a twenty-three year old?”
“Lots.” Nathan shrugs.
