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I can’t talk. It’s fucking hard to be positive when your siblings have dark thoughts. I can’t even crack a joke. Still, I make an effort. “Look at her, blowing out all the candles you put on her cake.”
“There’re twenty-two,” Ainsley prompts. “The age she was when she married Grandpa. He told her the other day that to him, she looked just the same as the day when she accepted his proposal. They are so cute and adorable.” Her eyes glisten with the tears she can barely hold, and we have a code red. Ainsley is about to let the waterworks start.
“Like bunnies or maybe teddy bears?” I try to tease her, to lighten up the mood. “Our grandparents aren’t toys, you know.”
“Oh God, do you have to be an insensitive jerk, Matthew?”
“PMS, Matthew. We picked the wrong day to visit.” Jacob pushes her slightly toward me.
I push her back at him. “We should dump her in the pool. That’ll cool her down.”
“You two are a couple of idiots,” she spits.
Jacob and I high-five. She growls, and our parents give us a warning glare. They clearly don’t understand that we defused a bomb, saving the night.
Nope, as usual, we let them think we’re just immature.
“But you love us.” I kiss her cheek. “She’s going to be fine, Ainsley. Next year we’ll be here watching her get another henna tattoo. Or maybe at the shop, while she gets a tramp stamp with Grandpa’s name.”
She bursts into laughter along with Jacob and me. The image of my adorable grandma in a tattoo parlor getting a tramp stamp is playing in my head. Another glance from our parents. Shaking their head says one typical phrase: they’ll never change.
“No,” Jacob says. “Her tattoo should say something daring.”
“Forever twenty-two.” Ainsley points at the pile of candles she used for the cake.
“That’s not daring, but fitting.” Jacob’s eyes find mine, and he tilts toward Grandma, where Thea and Pria are fussing around her. “She likes them. Not that they can compete with Bradley.”
“It’s different.” Ainsley’s glowing grin makes me want to pull her braid for showing off, but I remember that we’re not eight anymore. “Though they had a rough beginning. Once they clicked, she learned to adore Mason—and vice versa. But she’s warming up to your girls. Grandpa’s favorite is Tristan—smart move, going for the quiet and adorable one.”
I don’t think Tristan did it to fit with the family, but to fit with Grandpa. They’re both from New England and they can talk about The Patriots, clam chowder, and historical places. I’m starting to figure out that there’s a lot more to Coop than I thought, and after today, I’ll make it my mission to be more understanding.
“I’m glad you three are settling,” Ainsley says.
I nod because she’s right. The three of us are finding a rhythm. We still have to smooth a lot of wrinkles—a lot—but I’m hopeful. I look up and find Thea’s bright face attentive to what Grandma has to tell her, but I worry as I catch Tristan frowning as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and heads to the next room. Damn, he has to take a break and let those calls go to voicemail.
ChapterTwenty-One
Tristan
The Cooperson familycan smell my happiness all the way from Greenwich. That’s all I can think of. There’s no other logical explanation as to why my parents and my sister continue pestering me. I strut toward the living room to check my voicemails.
“Tristan, it’s Fey. As I told you on my last voicemail, Victoria and I are heading to California, and we need access to your home.” There’s a long pause. I check the phone and the recordingisstill going. “She wants to explore the surrounding area, in case you end up moving the company to the West Coast after you two marry. Stop ignoring me. You know the only way to get rid of me is by making a fat deposit in my checking account. Mwah.”
Bitch.
Fuck, I mutter, and before I can erase the message, I receive a call from my father.
“Yes, Father.”
“Good, finally we get in touch. You’re a hard man to find, Tristan,” he says with a neutral voice. “As I said in my previous messages, we need you in Greenwich tomorrow morning. Are you at the airport?”
“I’ve been busy all day with work. This is the first I’m hearing about the meeting, and as I told you last time, I can’t go anymore.”
“Thanksgiving is next week, Tristan. Why the hell aren’t you packing and coming home?” His voice increases several decibels. “Your mother wants me to remind you that the stripper can’t come with you. Not even to become your mistress. Mine at least has class, Tristan.”
What the fuck?
The last unexpected sentence hits me in the gut.Hehas a mistress—but with class. Does my mother know about my father’s extramarital activities? Maybe she does.Does she care?
