Chapter Nineteen
Chapter
Nineteen
April laughed as Sasha whirled through Ramona and Dylan’s immaculate kitchen in a plain white tee and black jeans, singing “Les Poissons” from The Little Mermaid.
She dropped chunks of ripe avocado into a blackberry and arugula salad, then glided Disney princess–style toward the stove to stir the sauce for the spicy peanut noodles.
“You know that song is about fish, right?” April asked.
“I’ve got crab cakes in the oven,” Sasha said.
“Still not a fish.”
“Shellfish.”
Sasha finished the chorus even louder, then grinned before tasting the sauce. “This is heaven.”
April laughed as she cut cucumbers. “The sauce or the kitchen?”
“Both, obviously.”
The space was beautiful, with swirled white-and-gray quartz counters, navy blue cabinets, matte gold fixtures, the largest stove April had ever seen next to a separate double oven, and a white porcelain farmhouse sink the size of April’s bathtub.
A stainless-steel Sub-Zero refrigerator held the groceries Dylan had insisted on buying for tonight’s engagement dinner, and a butler’s pantry was fully stocked with all manner of sundries despite the fact that the Riley-Monroes lived in LA eleven months out of the year.
Riley-Monroe.
Or maybe they’d go with Monroe-Riley, or simply keep their names as they were.
She knew Dylan and Ramona would never give up their last names entirely—they needed them professionally.
She took a sip of the chilled white wine Dylan had poured for them all when they’d arrived before whisking them off on a tour.
April oohed and aahed right along with Daphne and Sasha as they walked through the rooms, all painted different colors, all expertly decorated.
April had only ever been in this house once, after all, and that was last summer when Dylan and Ramona had come home for a few weeks, right before Dylan started filming for the Marlene Dietrich biopic, and they’d updated a bit since then.
Of course, the house was beautiful. Right on the lake, modern yet comfortable, spacious enough to host friends and family for any occasion, full of light and color and style.
But it wasn’t familiar. It wasn’t Ramona, at least not in April’s mind.
Since arriving at the house, she’d seen Ramona only once, at the end of the tour when they had gone outside to the expansive patio where they’d be dining.
Ramona had been setting up the table, had hugged April tight, and then April had promptly followed Sasha into the kitchen, claiming Sasha needed help with the preparations.
“I probably don’t,” Sasha had said, her voice deadpan, and April had laughed and punched Sasha’s shoulder lightly like the kidder she was.
Now, after Sasha did indeed have to take time out of actual preparations to show April and Daphne how to properly cut vegetables, April hadn’t seen Ramona again. She knew Olive and Mr. Riley would be arriving soon, and she couldn’t wait to see them.
“How long are you going to hide out in my kitchen?” Sasha asked as she hip-bumped April away from the cutting board and finished slicing the cucumbers in a flurry of motion, the knife nothing but a blur.
“I’m not hiding,” April said.
“You’re hiding,” Daphne said without looking up from her task. She was chopping stalks of green onion with such concentration—brows furrowed, fingers curled in on the produce just like Sasha had shown her—that April felt a ridiculous swell of affection.
“I am not hiding,” April repeated. “I’m simply…I’m just…”
“Hiding,” Sasha said, stirring the peanut sauce again, then filling a mint-colored Le Creuset Dutch oven with water for the pasta.
“Helping,” April said, setting a glass container full of raw noodles next to the pot. “Plus, it’s not your kitchen.”
“Am I the cook in this kitchen right now?” Sasha asked.
“Yes, Chef,” April said.
“Then it’s mine.”
April groaned but then caught Daphne’s eye and smiled. She smiled, and her stomach fluttered a little. She smiled, her stomach fluttered a little, and she flashed back to the way Daphne’s mouth had tasted in the lake, how her hands had felt in April’s hair, how—
“Good god, you two,” Sasha said.
April blinked.
Daphne blinked.
And April realized, horrified, they’d been staring at each other like two idiots on Moon Lovers Trail.
“Just fuck already,” Sasha said, sipping her own wine.
“Oh my god, wait, what?” Daphne spluttered in one breath, her cheeks going adorably pink.
Except it wasn’t adorable at all, dammit.
“Sasha, Jesus,” April said calmly, bracing her palms on the counter.
“I’m just saying, you both want to.”
“We do not,” Daphne said, the knife shaking in her hand.
April lifted a brow at her but said nothing.
“There’s nothing wrong with a casual dalliance,” Sasha went on, tossing stuff April didn’t even recognize into the peanut sauce. “In fact, I found a play party in Concord tomorrow night. You should both come with me. Get something out of your systems, at the very least.”
“A play party?” Daphne asked. “What’s that?”
“Oh my god,” April said, dropping her face into her hands.
Predictably, Sasha smirked. “It’s a social event in the BDSM or kink community where people hang out, talk, share ideas, and sometimes kiss and have sex.
It can be really chill or really intense.
Whatever people want to make of it. Someone hosts at their own house, usually, and there are toys and gadgets you can use if you want. It’s fun.”
“Oh, wow…okay,” Daphne said, her voice a squeak.
“I think you broke her,” April said.
“No, no, I’m…I’m into it,” Daphne said.
Sasha laughed, but before any of them could discuss it further, the heavy front door opened and closed, followed by a flurry of voices and footsteps through the expansive living room, which opened into the kitchen.
Soon, a slew of people came into view with Dylan and Ramona, including Ramona’s dad and sister, and Dylan’s rock legend parents, Jack Monroe and Carrie Page.
April and Ramona locked eyes, something unspoken traveling between them April couldn’t even translate, but thankfully, she didn’t have time to focus on it because Olive Riley flung herself into April’s arms.
After introductions were made, they took drinks and some crab cakes with a homemade remoulade to the back patio. Sasha stayed inside to finish cooking, despite April’s protests that she take a break.
The sun was just starting to set over the lake, spreading blood orange and crimson and gold over the water. April sat in a turquoise wooden chair around the firepit, and Olive tumbled into her lap. April wrapped her arms around the girl’s waist and hugged her close.
“I can’t believe how big you’ve gotten,” April said, rubbing her face against Olive’s back.
Olive laughed, her light brown hair newly cut short, a very butch-like hard part on the left.
She was dressed in baggy shorts and an oversized white tee, and she was the most beautiful thing April had ever seen.
She hadn’t realized exactly how much she’d missed Olive—missed being part of a family—until this moment.
“I’m the same height I was when I was thirteen,” Olive said.
“You’re huge,” April said, still snuggling. Olive even smelled the same, like cotton and worn leather from her softball glove. “Where’s Marley?”
Olive sighed. “Still in Nashville. We’re working at a softball camp for kids this summer and I only got a few days off to come home and see Ramona.”
“More chances to pine,” April said. Secretly, though, she was glad Olive’s girlfriend had stayed in Tennessee. She loved Marley, who’d been practically attached to Olive’s hip since they became best friends in eighth grade, but April wanted Olive to herself.
She wanted everyone to herself, if she was being honest—Ramona, Olive, even Mr. Riley. She wanted a moment where everything felt like it used to. Before Dylan, before Noelle Yang, before LA and film sets in Clover Lake, before Elena.
Just April and her family.
She pressed her forehead against Olive’s back.
If she closed her eyes, focused on certain voices as they chattered on, she could pretend she was sitting on the beach with Ramona and Olive, Mr. Riley in one of those straw sun hats and that pink Hawaiian-print shirt Olive was always so horrified he insisted on wearing.
“She’s pretty,” Olive whispered, jolting April out of her happy place.
She lifted her head, her eyes going immediately to Daphne.
She didn’t have to ask who Olive was talking about—Daphne was the only new person outside right now, and yes, Daphne was very, very pretty.
The late-day sun filtered through her lavender hair as she sat in a chair with her legs crossed, making her look almost as though she were glowing underwater.
She wore a floral sundress, tiny opalescent buttons trailing down the middle.
April suddenly wanted to unbutton each one. Slowly.
She shook her head while Daphne laughed at something Dylan’s mom, Carrie, was saying, the two of them deep in conversation. Still, Daphne’s eyes flitted over to April, just once, and April’s stomach billowed upward like a deployed parachute.
“She keeps doing that,” Olive said.
“Doing what?”
“Looking at you.”
“She does not.”
“She does too,” Olive said, pinching the skin on April’s forearm lightly.
“She’s looking at you.”
“Well, I am very cute, but you’re full of shit.”
“Language!” April said, feigning being appalled.
Olive laughed, then turned to look April in the eyes. “So how are you doing? Really.” Her expression was full of concern, even a tinge of pity.
April pressed her mouth flat. “Exactly how much did Ramona tell you?”
“Ramona tells me everything.”
April flinched, but she wasn’t even sure why. Of course Ramona told Olive everything. She always had since Olive became an adult, and April couldn’t even be mad about it. She could, as it happened, feel left out.