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“Please! I know a St. La Vie skirt when I see one!” I drooled over the gorgeous cowl cut of its design.
“A steal from a little shop near Washington Square Park,” her hand cupped the side of her mouth, protecting some egregious secret, “Thirty-two bucks.”
“Lies!”
“Dead serious! But forget about the bargain, I love your color more. Tahitian gold?” She pointed toward my skirt.
“Gazpacho,” I batted my eyes, enacting a caricature of snobbishness that we often assumed. None of it was serious, and all of it was for fun, but I wasn’t sure if Camilla could tell. We emitted a fake haughty laugh, clutching the nonexistent pearls on our necks.
“Isn’t it just divine?” she asked Camilla loudly, attempting to pull her into our playful banter.
“I prefer red,” Camilla replied timidly as we smiled. Mama Meg was fast to respond, not letting the moment grow awkward.
“Well, if red is what you prefer, dear, then I have just the thing for you.” She palmed my hand ushering me towards the marbled island. “Now, I already had three glasses, but only to ensure the batch tasted perfect.” She gestured towards Camilla, beaconing her to get closer as she pulled out a pitcher of sangria. “But testing doesn’t count for drinks.”
“Or for cookies,” I interjected, opening a grey cabinet for three fresh glasses.
Parker made his way to a decanter of small batch bourbon in the corner, pouring himself a drink. “Try not to burn the kitchen down. God knows you ladies would go up in flames from how strong Mom makes those things.”
“There’s fruit in them,” she retorted. “It’s practically doctor-approved.” She stirred the pitcher with a wooden spoon, staring daggers as the assorted berries and sliced oranges swirled.
Parker waved her off, exiting the massive archway towards the backyard, passing by the windowed walls that faced a quiet beach and manicured hedges.
Outside by the grill stood Albert Jones, Parker’s father and now retired Chief of Justice from New York’s federal court. His rather stoic demeanor was only softened while at home, in the presence of family or charbroiled burgers. I could see the creases in his face, the smile lines raised as Parker joined him, mouthing inaudible words as they clinked glasses. His white polo matched the silver tone of his hair, though his body defied age with its rather sleek and toned build. He was Parker, but in the future, still anchored in youth with cunning wit and devilish good looks.
“Now, don’t be shy,” Mama Meg poured hardy portions of sangria into our glasses. “This potato salad won’t put itself together.” The table was spattered with clean white bowls and ramekins of spice.
“Chives?” I questioned, assuming my role in the process we built throughout all these years.
“Saved them for you, dear,” she smiled, combing the short brown hair behind her ear. “I know you love the crunch they make.” It was true, they gave me some audible satisfaction as I chopped. I began my task, peeking up as Mama Meg turned to Camilla, her thick, black glasses as chic as her red, sangria-induced cheeks, magnifying the same green eyes Parker inherited. “You girls must get along so nicely, seeing how close Gemma and Parker are.” She inquired innocently, as Camilla took a long, noisy sip. My chopping felt impossibly loud, pounding against the wooden cutting board as Camilla cleared her throat.
“Of course…” she straightened her posture. “We’re like a little family.”
We certainly were like a family, one for a Lifetime reality show.
“She puts up with me. I know it’s not easy being in a relationship with a third wheel.” I laughed to myself, tossing the chives into the large bowl.
“It’s manageable,” Camilla replied hesitantly. “Actually, Parker and I are talking about getting a place together, starting fresh when Gemma moves out.”
Mama Meg and I shot an instant look at each other, puzzled, her crooked smile discreetly asking,Did you know about this?While my wide and unblinking eyes responded,Absolutely not!
“Well,” Mama Meg shot back the rest of her drink, letting out a breathy cough, as if she swallowed down the wrong pipe. “You know, you’re the only girlfriend that Parker has ever brought to the Hamptons. Not including our Gemma, of course. This is just as much her home as it is Parker’s.”
“Not a girlfriend though,” I smiled, defusing Camilla’s angsty glare.
Mama Meg winked half-convincingly, assuring me as if I were too stubborn to admit something. She was right, though; Parker had never brought anyone here. In the past, he had countless girlfriends, none of which lasted longer than a week. Usually the women he found ended up being far too clingy for his taste and before I knew it we’d be back to our normal traditions as if we didn’t skip a beat.
“Let’s not get caught up on semantics,” Mama Meg laughed. “Important thing is, you’re all happy and coexisting.”
“Well, it hasn’t been too bad, actually, considering Gemma spends all her time with—” Camilla was about to mention the one name that would open up a slew of questions I wasn’t ready to answer: Alejandro.
“Work! I spend all my time atwork!” I shouted, cutting her off in the most obvious way. Camilla squinted, parting her lips as Mama Meg mistook her stirrer for a straw, completely oblivious.
“I got burgers for my buttercup!” Al shouted, appearing with a tray in hand. Parker followed, scanning the kitchen suspiciously, possibly feeling the thick tension I just caused. Al leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. “Camilla, Parker mentioned you don’t eat red meat, is that true?” he barked louder than maybe he intended. Years of being an authoritative figure saturated his voice to be more intimidating than it really was.
“Well—” Camilla’s crooked smile broke as she tried to recover from the question itself.
Al interrupted, “You’re not on the witness stand, hun, I’m only asking to make sure. I made you a turkey patty. I hope that’s ok.”
