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“We aren’t talking crap about her. We’re just talking about her,” Lizzie said. “You don’t come to Sunday dinner, you get gossiped about—them’s the rules, and she knows it.” The sisters clinked glasses in agreement.
“You’re all wrong,” Emma said. “She’s living in a hostel in France and working at a café.”
“Oh, that actually sounds fun,” Kate said. “Let’s go to France and find her. I could use a vacation right about now. And a croissant.”
“You can’t run from your problems, Katie,” their mother said.
Sophie Parker had been born to be a mother and a homemaker. She prided herself on her kids, her home, and her cooking. She’d eked out an English literature diploma from the University of North Carolina, but if there had been a home ec major, she’d have graduated sum cum laude. Kate and her sisters joked that she’d only gone to school to get her MRS degree.
“Mom, please don’t start singing aSound of Musicsong,” Kate pleaded. “Pass the wine, Lucy.”
“Atta girl,” Lizzie said. “Drink away your problems like a—”
“Oh, we should watch that soon,” their mother interrupted. She was wonderful but easily distracted.
“Hey, everyone remembers that my big campaign fundraiser is coming up soon, right?” Edward had been the mayor of New Bern for almost twenty years, and this was the first year in a long time he’d had an opponent. “I’ll need you all there with bells on.”
Everyone groaned but confirmed they would be there.
“What’s for dessert, Mom?” Lizzie asked.
“Brownies.”
“Brownies?” Kate said. “Mom, your brownies are the reason my skirt split.”
“Nooo,” Lizzie said. “You putting too many brownies in your face is what made your skirt split.”
“Shut up,” Kate said to Lizzie.
“Katherine Jane Parker.”
“Yes, Mother?” Kate flashed her mom an innocent smile while batting her eyelashes.
“Don’t talk to your sister like that.” Her mother had a hand on one hip and tried to sound stern but was biting back a smile.
Lizzie stuck her tongue out at Kate, who glared back.
“Sorry, Mom. No brownies for me,” Kate said.
“Oh, honey. A brownie won’t kill you. That skirt was probably faulty,” her mom said with such sincerity that even Kate had to laugh.
“Hey, Kate. Any news on whether old Mrs. Turnpike is ready to sell me her bank?” Lucy asked. The bank was next door to Lucy’s coffee shop, and Lucy had her eye on it to expand.
“I haven’t heard anything and couldn’t tell you until it was officially on the market anyway,” Kate said. “Besides, if she lists it with me, then I can’t represent you as the buyer.”
“Oh, good point. Well, keep your ears open. Supposedly it’s imminent.”
“What are you going to do with Mrs. Turnpike’s bank?” their mom asked.
“I’m going to expand the coffee shop into it. All that parking. And the drive-thru? It would be amazing. Emma, I can afford it, right?” Lucy turned to Emma, who was an accountant.
“Well, there are a lot of variables to consider. We’ll have to know the price and what your projected expenditures would be. Estimates for remodeling costs, loan costs, etcetera.”
“Ah. All I hear is blah, blah, blah,” Lucy said. “I’ll leave it all up to you once it’s time.”
“For being a business owner, you sure don’t like numbers very much,” Emma said.
“I like making coffee. I have you to worry about the numbers,” Lucy said, giving Emma a side hug.
