Chapter Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Seven
Hunter heard about the literary critics’ Fourth of July party from two other students in Anders’s class. They gossiped about it, whispering about who would be there—mentioning half a dozen writers Hunter would love to meet. She decided she’d go. In her experience, Ptown had a fairly open-door policy when it came to most holiday parties. She was willing to bet that was the case for this one.
Hunter stood in front of her mother’s walk-in closet. She felt like she’d exhausted her own wardrobe already. Surrounded by racks of her mother’s clothes, Hunter missed her parents for the first time in a while. She spoke to them once a week or so, but only in a superficial way. They didn’t ask about her job or her life because they assumed she was fine. As long as there was money in the bank, what could be wrong? It seemed to be true for them. But Hunter always felt something nagging at her. Something missing.
She found a Dolce a three-decade wedding anniversary was a small miracle. How did two people ever make it work for so long?
The music piped outside was what his parents referred to as “yacht rock.” Sappy songs from when they’d been kids from bands with names like Air Supply and Chicago. Votives flickered on the tabletops around them, and Mia had strung paper lanterns, along with a banner reading Happy Anniversary!
“Where is Mia?” one of his aunts asked his mother.
“Working at the bookshop,” Carmen said proudly. Justin knew that even though his parents had given Mia a hard time about the restaurant, he suspected his mother secretly saw Mia’s interest in the bookstore as a good sign. It took the sting out of all her complaints about college. How could someone who loved books that much not want to continue their education?
After dinner, his mother brought out a triple-layer chocolate cake topped with chocolate ganache. She’d been baking the cake every Fourth of July since her wedding day.
“Remember you and your sister used to fight over who got to eat the icing flowers?” His mother leaned over with the cake knife and sliced a piece with a fat, fluffy bloom of icing on top. “Speaking of your sister—I’m bringing her a piece.”
“Bringing it to her...where?”
“The bookstore,” she said. “It’s bad luck if she doesn’t have a bite.”
His mother always laughed at his grandmother—her own mother—for such superstitions. Carmen didn’t see that the older she got, the more often she said the same sort of irrational things as if they were scientific fact.
“Mom, it’s not bad luck. And there’s a reading there tonight—a party. That’s why Mia’s not here in the first place. You can’t just bring over a random piece of cake.”
He wondered how many glasses of wine she’d had. His father had kept them coming, all the best reds. Justin might have had one too many himself.
“It’s not a random piece of cake,” Carmen said. “It’s our anniversary cake. Besides, I want to see Annie and Pam. You should come say hello, too.”
Justin started to say no, but then he realized he had another hour or two before Kate closed the shop and was able to meet up with him. He looked at the photo Shelby sent him again.
Why not?