Chapter 35 Nora
Nora
“Maybe I should drive,” Miranda says from the passenger seat, her eyes darting over the top of her sunglasses to study my hands on the wheel.
“I’m fine,” I tell her, maybe too fast.
“Uh-huh. And I’m the Dalai Lama. You want to tell me why you’re nervous about brunch with your not-so-secret boyfriend’s friends?”
“Don’t be obtuse, Miranda.”
“How can I not be obtuse? I’ve never met these women—or your boyfriend—and they found out my big sister’s dating again before I did.”
My mouth falls open. “That’s unfair. You’ve met Serena. And I told you we slept together. You were the only one who knew that.”
“Yeah. And you said it was a mistake and that it would never happen again. Not to mention I had to pry it out of your cold, dead hands.”
I glance at her as I flick on my turn signal. “You didn’t have to come.”
“I have two small children, Nonny. I absolutely had to come. Oh, and you needed moral support. I’m definitely here for that.”
A laugh bubbles out of me as I roll my eyes at my crazy but lovable sister.
We’re driving into the city for what Miranda has dubbed “the friend gauntlet.” My sister has opinions about everything, and it’s unclear whether she intends to be my wingman or the natural disaster that sweeps through before the main event and lowers the bar for all subsequent entertainment. Probably both.
“You know, I looked these women up on that snazzy interwebs thing the cool kids use these days,” she says.
She’s winding me up, but it doesn’t escape me that she’s also wearing her good earrings.
“Oh really?” I say. “Are they on the dark web?”
“No, but their Instagram game is strong.” She brandishes her phone. “We’re brunching with millionaires—possibly billionaires. Are you ready to be the Humble Relatable One?”
“I’m not here to be relatable. I’m here to . . .” I try to think what would be an adult, poised answer, but all I can conjure is, “survive.”
Miranda grins, satisfied. “Better. Practice that. Also, you should know, I brought a disposable camera.” She waves a lurid yellow rectangle in my direction. “For posterity. And possible blackmail. Smile!”
She snaps a picture and I flinch involuntarily. “God. Warn a person.”
“Absolutely not. Spontaneity is part of the charm.”
We cut through the maze of side streets until I find the understated signage for Lockwood Wine Bar, and I park alongside a lineup of audacious parallel attempts.
Miranda gives an appreciative whistle at the building—all dark brick and street-level glass.
“Posh. I can taste the generational trauma already.”
I squeeze the steering wheel, inhale slow.
“Just . . . can you not make jokes about trauma? Theirs, or ours. I’ve only met these women briefly, and they’re all so tight-knit I don’t want to mess it up by telling them Dad left us alone to care for our sick mother and didn’t return until after the funeral. ”
“And only because Grandma and Grandpa threatened to write him out of the will.” She unbuckles. “But I get it—no parental abandonment jokes. Anything else?”
“Just be yourself. Please.”
She grins like the thing she’s about to do is the exact opposite of what I just asked.
We get out. Lockwood is one of those wine bars that manages to be both effortlessly chic and genuinely warm—exposed brick, copper fixtures, soft lighting that makes everyone look better than they have any right to on a Saturday morning.
The kind of place where the menu has a tasting flight and the servers remember your name, and the corner booth is always held for the people who matter.
The corner booth is currently occupied by four women who look like they’ve stepped out of different pins of the same aspirational Pinterest board.
Layla I recognize from the showcase and the day of the visitation hearing. She’s in a floral wrap dress that looks effortless and probably isn’t, her chestnut hair hanging loose in waves over her shoulders. She spots me first, waving me over with a smile.
Serena is beside her—dark hair, sharp cheekbones, the kind of poise that makes you want to sit up straighter.
She’s Caleb’s live-in girlfriend, which means she’s functionally David’s sister-in-law, which means she’s been watching this situation from the inside since it started.
She gives me a measured smile that manages to be welcoming and assessing simultaneously.
Audrey is across from them—brown curls, glasses, a quiet intelligence that’s visible in the way she watches the room. I’ve only met her once, during the showcase they all attended at the school. But she seems nice.
And then there’s Jenna.
I met her for a microsecond at the same showcase where I met all of them.
But she left an impression. She sits at the end of the booth, posture immaculate, dark hair in a sleek ponytail, wearing a silk blouse that sits like butter against her skin.
She has the kind of stillness of a woman who’s present by choice rather than enthusiasm, and the slight tilt of her head when she sees me says she’s cataloguing everything.
If I were into women, I’d likely have an immediate crush on her.
“Nora!” Layla is half out of the booth before I’ve reached the table. She pulls me into a hug so genuine my body goes stiff for a second before something in me unclenches and I hug her back.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she says, pulling back to beam at me. “Ever since we saw you and David speak at Michaela’s showcase, we’ve been quietly taking bets on how long it’d be until you started dating.”
“It’s true,” Audrey says, pushing her glasses up her nose. “When Michaela FaceTimed Logan to announce the news, I texted everyone right away.”
“And I screamed so loud Bennett thought there’d been a break-in,” Layla adds.
“I’m sorry about the early wake-up call. We didn’t exactly plan the reveal.”
“Are you kidding? It was the best alarm clock we’ve ever had.” Layla notices Miranda hovering behind me. “Oh! Who’s this?”
“This is my sister, Miranda. She’s my emotional support human.”
Miranda steps forward because she’s never met a social situation she couldn’t charm her way through. “Hi. I’m the sister. I’m here because my children are feral and I needed an excuse to drink wine before noon.”
“You’ll fit right in,” Serena says, sliding over to make room. “Sit. Both of you. Layla’s already ordered for the table because she has control issues.”
“Or I’m just better at making decisions than the rest of you,” Layla says, rolling her eyes before turning back to me and Miranda. “I ordered the French toast flight, the smoked salmon board, and mimosas for everyone except Jenna, who doesn’t do mimosas.”
“I don’t do orange juice,” Jenna clarifies. “The mimosa is a casualty of that principle.”
“She drinks martinis at brunch,” Audrey explains to me. “It’s either incredibly sophisticated or mildly concerning. We haven’t decided which.”
“Both,” Jenna says, and takes a sip of what is, indeed, a martini.
I slide into the booth beside Audrey, Miranda beside me. It’s like being inducted into a cult, if the cult had a bizarre devotion to carbs and everyone’s hair looked this good.
The next few minutes are a blur of introductions and witty banter so sharp I worry for the edge on Miranda’s tongue. I’m not sure whether I pass or fail the initial round, but nobody throws their drink in my face, so I take it as a win.
Layla radiates the nonthreatening warmth of someone who’s always been in charge of every group project and still brings muffins to the meeting.
She peppers me with questions about teaching, about the school, about whether Michaela was “always like this” or if there was an inciting incident.
We’re three questions in when I realize she already knows most of the answers and is just giving me an opening to show off my favorite stories.
Serena, as expected, zeroes in on the interpersonal drama. “So,” she says when the food arrives. “Is David as tightly strung in private as he is everywhere else in his life? I used to work with him at Luminous, and I didn’t even know he had a daughter until I started dating his brother.”
Miranda snorts from behind her croissant. “He definitely is.”
“How would you know?” I ask, trying to decide if I’m offended.
“Because he’s a lawyer and I’ve watched every episode of Suits.”
The table bursts out laughing, the sharp and unguarded kind I didn’t realize I missed until I’m surrounded by it.
“You have a point,” Serena says, lifting her mimosa and taking a sip. “Caleb was so emotionally repressed that he tried to win me over by citing legal precedents.”
Audrey makes a big show of clearing her throat, and Serena looks at her with a butter-wouldn’t-melt expression. “Caleb was emotionally repressed?” Audrey scoffs.
“Fine,” Serena reluctantly admits. “I was the one with the attachment issues. Happy now?”
“Ecstatic.” Audrey offers a smug smile as she lifts her glass.
“I’m not sure you’re one to talk, Audrey,” Jenna puts in. “Didn’t you flee the country for three months to avoid dealing with Logan?”
“That’s a significant oversimplification.”
“You flew to Sweden on a whim.”
“I accepted a prestigious fellowship.”
“In response to unresolved romantic tension.”
Audrey’s mouth falls open on a gasp. “Says the woman who’s in complete denial over her feelings for Dominic.”
“That’s an outrageous lie,” Jenna says, but there’s amusement in her eyes.
“It is not,” Audrey continues. “I’ve seen that little smirk you get when he’s simping all over you. You love it.”
“She really does,” Layla chimes in.
Jenna gives a tiny, imperious shrug, then turns her attention back to her martini, but she’s clearly fighting a losing battle not to smirk.
“You guys are terrifying,” Miranda says, eyes wide and delighted.
“We like to think of it as high-functioning,” Serena replies.
“I don’t think in my entire adult life I’ve had a conversation this honest before the second mimosa,” I say. “And we’re barely through the first.”