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“Hold still.” She shakes her head, and then dabs gently at the spot on my cheek where her knee collided with my face last night. I can tell she sees when it crosses my mind, because her lips turn up at the corner. “Stop making that face, or you’re never going to make it to dinner with your family.”
“I’m fine with that.” She rolls her eyes back at me. Was I looking forward to dinner with my family? No. Did I feel eons better knowing that Piper was covering up the bruise I knew would lead to an endless amount of questions and taunts from my family, namely Fred? Yes. Besides, it’s Paula’s birthday, and canceling would make me an asshole. An even bigger one, rather. Our relationship wasn’t tight - but it was a lot better now that I was an adult and could see where she was coming from, trying to preserve both the unity of our family and her relationship with my dad, growing up. Doesn’t mean I understand what she sees in him.
“There.” She snaps the lid on a little bottle in her hands, and then holds it up. “This shouldn’t budge for at least twelve hours. Just don’t wipe at it.”
“Come here,” I breathe, wrapping a hand around her waist and pulling her across the center console. She chuckles against my mouth as I give her a deep kiss, her hand coming to touch my uninjured cheek. “Sure I can’t convince you to come with me?” She shakes her head as she sits back, smoothing out her hair. She must have ditched the rest of her stuff in the house, because the only thing she has with her is the makeup. When she sits back, observing the parking lot around us, she looks like she’s distracted.
“As much as I’d love to meet the parents less than 24 hours after the first date, I have some stuff I need to get done around here.” She looks at the watch on her wrist.
“You’ve met my parents,” I say softly, and she glances at me. “Well, not really. But they’ve been at several things we’ve been at together. I’m sure they’d remember you.” Her laugh is a little sad when she responds.
“Not sure if I want them to remember red-haired, brace-face Piper.” Before I can shoot back that I liked red-haired, brace-faced Piper, her eyes narrow at a car in front of us. I follow her gaze - it’s a lime green Mustang. Yikes. “That’s Dylan’s car,” she says slowly, and then glances back at the apartment entrance near us. “Mi stai prendendo in giro.” I’m half-tempted to ask what she just said, but it sounded like something angry and I don’t know if I want to know the answer. Especially because I’ve heard her say something similar around me.
“Are you sure?” She fits me with a look that tells me I’m an idiot. Probably right. The car is pretty distinct.
“I’m sure. The sticker on the back window is for his work parking lot.” I ignore the twinge of predatory rage in my chest - she had a life before this, after all. But then it hits me, what she’s saying. His car is here. And he’s not here with her. Which means - oh shit. I guess I was right on that theory. I’m about to ask her what she’s thinking, but she plasters a smile on her face - a little too quickly - and then turns back to me, where it becomes more genuine.
“Do you want me to come in with you?” I ask, squeezing her hand on the armrest. She turns and laces our fingers together, giving me a squeeze back, but shaking her head.
“Thank you, though. Have fun with your family.” I wince, and her genuine laugh makes whatever thoughts were going through her head float away. “I’ll text you later, ok?” I nod, giving her a final kiss before she turns to open the door.
“Piper?” She swivels back around to face me. “I’m glad we got dragged into doing this reunion together.” Piper smiles, probably the shyest smile I’ve ever seen her give, before she nods, exiting the car. I watch her walk back toward her building, but she looks at me over her shoulder one last time, shaking her head and grinning before she disappears. I resume my position leaning against my headrest and try to figure out how I’m going to function for the rest of the day (Week? Month? Life?) with the images of last night and this morning running through my head.
I manage to make it through most of dinner without giving anything away. Frannie tries to corner me the second I step into the kitchen, handing Paula the gift card I picked up from her favorite spa downtown with a kiss on her cheek, but I steadily avoided the questions by picking up Greta from her high chair and twirling her around the kitchen until she’s giggling.
“Someone’s in a good mood,” Dad says from the couch, and I ignore him, letting her little fingers wrap around my thumb. She’s got the signature Westfall hair, but those eyes are her dad’s - dark and deep. She’s gonna be a stunner one day. And then I’ll murder anyone who tries to come near her.
This house is smaller than the one we grew up in. They downsized a year or so ago, when Freddy moved into the house they bought near LSSU’s campus so he and his friends could have somewhere nearby, but not terrifying, to live. Arden could be beautiful and fun, but that didn’t mean that living in college apartments where shit got stolen all the time was appealing to Fred or Paula and Dad. So once he was situated, they put their house on the market while it was hot and found this townhome a few miles from downtown. Close enough to all of their friends to still be involved with the activities they’ve been doing for the last twenty-something years. Their dining room is smaller than mine, but the six of us still fit around the table easily, with Greta’s high chair between me and Frannie, and I help keep her occupied while Fran cuts up bits of pasta in front of her.
“They’re talking about a big merger,” Dad says to Frannie, who’s stirring some applesauce up and giving a spoonful to Greta at a time. “The other firm is in London, but it could lead to a lot of layoffs for some of the roles that can be condensed.”
“What a horrible time to lay people off,” Paula adds, sipping at the glass of red in her hand. I’d stuck the bottle on the counter when I came in, after Frannie mentioned when she called earlier that we were having veal. I toast to her comment with my own glass. There’s never really a great time to lay people off, but I don’t say that out loud. “But enough about sad things. It’s my birthday.” She takes another sip, and when she looks at me over her glass, her eyes are sparkling. “Frannie mentioned you had a date last night.”
When my head whips to face my sister, she’s vigorously cutting at the veal in front of her, though she’s got a smirk on her face. Traitor.
And that’s when a big glob of applesauce hits the side of my face, running down my cheek and onto the dress shirt.
“Oopsie,” Freddy deadpans, and I kick him under the table.
“Oopsie,” Greta echoes, tiny hands shaking and a bubble forming at her lips. I can’t be mad at that. Clearing my throat, I wipe at my face with my napkin, and am about to tell Paula the absolute bare minimum, but I see the horrified look on Frannie’s face.
Fuck.
“Delmonico knock you around?” Freddy asks, again in a flat voice, and it takes everything in me not to hurl my plate at him for both the implication, and dropping her name at the table. Because as fairly certain as I am that neither Paula nor my father will remember Piper or her family, the idea of having to sit through an inquisition is enough to make my stomach roll.
“No,” I say clearly, downing the last of my glass in one gulp, “it was an accident.”
“Delmonico?” Paula says from her spot across from Freddy. “You went out with one of the Delmonico girls?”
“Do you know who she is?” Dad asks, putting his whiskey glass down on the table. Paula nods, and I can’t quite read the look on her face.
“Her mother is in the Female Litigators Association with me,” she explains, and then looks to my Dad. Ah. I forgot that Piper’s mom is also a lawyer. “Will you grab me another glass?” Dad nods, setting his glass down and pushing back from the table. She waits until he’s out of the room to continue, and I’m a little apprehensive when she turns to me. “It’s Piper, right? The younger one?”
“Well Penny is married,” Frannie adds quietly.
“So was Piper,” Paula says, and that shuts Fran up.
“Are you and her mom…friends?” I ask slowly, and the implications of that run through my head a million miles a minute. Jesus Christ.
