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“Hey, Ari. How are you?”
The hostess, who was twenty years old, curvy, and gorgeous, came around the host stand to hug me. “I’m good. We miss you.”
“I miss you too.” I did miss the people but not so much the job itself. It had never been a good fit for me, the queen of clumsy. I’d been planning to hold on to the server job for school breaks and summertime, but the longer I was away, the harder it was to think about coming back. I’d much rather help Knox with Juniper, but he’d have a new nanny by then and wouldn’t need me.
That thought caused a sharp pang in my chest that stole my breath.
“Are you here for brunch?” Ari’s question distracted me from those unpleasant thoughts.
“I am. There’ll be two of us. Is table ten available?”
“Of course,” Ari said over her shoulder as she led me through the bar and to the left.
When we turned into the middle dining area, the fire was already glowing, emanating warmth throughout the room. The fireplace was on the back side, opposite the wall of windows that looked out over the lake. Ari took me to the table in the corner, the most out of the way.
Strategizing wasn’t my strong point, but Knox had helped me plot out the details of this meeting with my stepmom to help me be as comfortable and confident as possible. We’d chosen Henry’s because it was as close to my territory as you could get. The out-of-the-way table would afford us more privacy than others. I’d been banking on the fireplace being on, hoping the cozy atmosphere would put both of us at ease.
Ari let me know Jack would be our server, then returned to the host stand. I’d been hoping for Jack. He could charm anyone and might help put Cynthia at ease. While I waited for her to arrive, I sipped on a mimosa and joked with Jack that I hoped he’d convince my stepmom to have one too.
When Cynthia appeared, my insides tensed, but I inhaled deeply as she approached, doing my best to put a genuine smile on my face. The mimosa helped.
“Quincy,” she said as she sat across from me. Her smile was thin, but it was better than a scowl.
Jack assured himself of a large tip when he did, in fact, convince her to join me in Mimosaville. While we waited for her beverage, she told me about Brayden’s basketball tournament and reminded me of Molly’s upcoming dance recital.
When Jack set her mimosa down, she practically leaped on it, which told me she too was on edge. She took several sips, then set the glass down, fidgeted with the silverware roll, and said, “What’s on your mind, Quincy?”
Here goes nothing, I thought.
“I…” My voice wavered. I remedied it with a drink, then blew out a breath. “I hate that there’s so much friction between us.”
Her forehead furrowed, and she cradled her glass with both hands. Maybe fragile champagne flutes were a bad idea. We should’ve gone with straight whiskey in an old-fashioned glass. If we got through this without me dropping any glasses or her crushing one with her tight grip, it’d be a feat.
“It’s always been that way,” I continued, “and I think… Iknowa lot of that’s my fault. So I wanted to start by saying I’m sorry I was so…against you when you married my dad.”
Cynthia let out a shaky “Ohh, Quincy.” She turned her lips upward in a flash of a sympathetic smile, and then it disappeared, giving way to a nervous fluttering of her features. “We did get off to a bad start all those years ago, didn’t we?”
“I was closed off and took my feelings out on you.”
Cynthia stared at her glass, nodding. Eventually she met my gaze. “Thank you. For apologizing.” She opened her mouth to say more. Closed it. I waited. “I imagine it was really hard for you to see your dad remarry.”
I nodded. “Yeah. It didn’t matter who it was. He could’ve married Beyoncé and I would’ve hated it.”
We shared a big grin imagining my dad with Beyoncé.
“I understand that now. Back then it was harder for me to grasp.” Cynthia studied her drink again. “As much as I loved your dad, it wasn’t an easy time for me either. There were all these…expectations.” With a frown, she continued, “I was as much to blame as you were, I’m afraid. I don’t care what anyone says; it’s tough to step into the role of a stepmother. Add to that a grieving girl who I didn’t know how to help, and the pressure I put on myself to be what your dad needed…”
“You were what he needed. I wish I’d been mature enough to see that.”
“You were eleven, Quincy. You’d just lost your mom, and it wasn’t just any mom but the incomparable Reba Yates.”
Shewasincomparable, but I’d never expected that compliment to come from Cynthia. I peered more closely at her, trying for once to seeCynthia. Not my “evil” stepmom.
“Did you know her?”
With an uneasy laugh, she said, “Everyone knew Reba. Everyone loved her,” Cynthia said, not noticing how closely I was watching her, probably with a weird look on my face, as understanding struck me.
“She’s a lot to try to live up to, huh?”
