Chapter 31
Tuck
I should have known this wouldn’t be simple.
When my mother called for a pick-up, I foolishly assumed that meant they’d be waiting. Like ready to go. Instead, I’m idling outside the resort’s grand entrance, staring at the empty curb like a clueless Uber driver ghosted by his passengers.
I check my phone. No updates.
With a sigh, I head inside. I barely make it three steps before a security guy blocks my way.
“Can I help you, sir?” He eyes me like I’ve wandered in to steal the complimentary cucumber water.
“I’m picking up my mother and her friends,” I say, trying for patience. “They called for a ride.”
“Guests only beyond this point.”
Geezus. This place takes security more seriously than the Pentagon. I dig for my phone to call Mom or Pen.
“Tuck!”
I look up to find Virginia—Mason’s mom—drifting toward me, cream maxi-dress billowing like she’s sailing in on a personal breeze.
She greets me with a half-hug. “I was just heading home. But the other ladies are still out on the deck…in very high spirits,” she finishes in a conspiratorial whisper.
Fantastic.
Right on cue, a roar of laughter erupts in the distance.
Virginia pats my arm. “They’ve been drinking everything. Champagne, margaritas, espresso martinis…I’d brace yourself.” Then, she must take pity on me. “Want help rallying the troops?” she offers.
Thankfully, her presence helps get me past security, though not without a thorough manual checkover.
From the reception area, the space opens into a sweeping lounge, all polished marble floors, low-lit chandeliers, and plush seating. A long, mahogany bar glows under rows of pendant lights. Beyond it, through open archways, the deck bar spills out onto a terrace, sounds of laughter and clinking glasses carrying on the warm evening air.
A gilded sign near the entrance reads “Private Function”, as if the raucous voices haven’t already made that clear. And Virginia’s reference to “high spirits” doesn’t quite cover it.
They’re draped over the bar, faces flushed with the kind of reckless happiness that comes from a dozen too many cocktails, their voices ringing through the air like a chorus of bad decisions.
I spot Pen, wedged between Vivian and Mia, legs swinging from her barstool, a loose arm flung wide as she spins some story.
Then she looks up—sees me. And for some unknown reason, my mere presence at the doorway sets off a chain reaction of hushed whispers, sidelong glances, and, a second later, raucous laughter.
“Here you are, at last!” Mom wanders forward.
I exhale. “Yep. I was right outside. Like you asked.”
“Oh.” Mom blinks, looking vaguely around. “Yes, best be going home.”
She takes a step, wobbles, and I grab her arm.
“Er—Mom, forget something?”
“I don’t think so.” She frowns, then her eyes widen. “My shoes!”
“Yeah, Mom. Shoes. Also, Vivian and Pen—can you collect all three and meet me outside?”
She nods, then zigzags back to the bar like a pinball bouncing off bumpers.
“Told you.” Virginia folds her arms. “It’s been quite the afternoon.” She gives me a pointed look. “Let’s just hope the only regrets tomorrow are the hangovers since, apparently, they even played some game where they shared their deepest secrets.”
Before I can digest that alarming update, she adds: “At least no emergency rooms are involved this time.”
I shift my feet. Damn. Am I ever gonna live down Mason’s bachelor party debacle?
Then I spot Mom settling back onto a barstool. Shit.
“Virginia, any chance you could help me—”
She lifts a brow. “Consider it handled.”
True to her word—since Virginia has always been impressively direct and just the right amount of terrifying—fifteen minutes later, I’ve successfully rounded up my responsibilities: three inebriated women, their shoes, bags, and phones.
Finally, I can get the hell out of here.
Vivian sighs from the back seat, dabbing at her blouse. “My god. This is silk.”
“White vinegar.” Pen waggles a finger at the stain. “Or is it lemon juice?” She twists in her seat, struggling with the seatbelt.
After a few failed attempts, she finally clicks it into place. “Or is it—” She pauses dramatically, already bursting into laughter. “The nectar of an…angiosperm?”
That does it. They all dissolve into hysterics, laughter tumbling over itself like a runaway train.
“Oh god, I’m going to wet myself!” Mom gasps between wheezes.
“What?” Horrified, I glance over at her contorted shape. “Are you serious?”
She waves a hand dismissively, tears in her eyes. “Not entirely.”
Oh. god.
Vivian manages to come up for air, still breathless. “Angio-sperms! That’s so funny…wait—what are they again?”
“Flowering plants,” Mom replies, wiping her eyes. “According to Nora.”
And just like that, the laughter erupts all over again.
I glance into the rearview mirror, wary. “Been sharing a lot of gardening advice, then?”
Exchanged looks. Increased laughter.
“More like… sperm advice.” Vivian grins, eyes gleaming with tipsy mischief.
Fuck.
“No, no, no.” Mom claps her hands in a firm, schoolteacher way. “We can’t talk about it, remember? We signed NDAs.”
“Huh?” I glance at her. “How drunk are you?”
“Jess made us,” Vivian confirms. “We couldn’t hear Mia’s secret about their first engagement until we all signed.”
“You mean their fake engagement?” I ask.
Silence.
“You knew about that?” Pen exhales.
“Sure. Didn’t you?” I shrug. “I mean, it was a whirlwind, right? Mason never mentioned meeting a legendary movie star. Next minute, he’s engaged to her.”
“I thought they must have just been discreet for a while…” Pen trails off.
“Nope. Faked it. But then they actually fell for each other. For real.”
“Well, Tuck.” Mom turns serious. “You absolutely cannot tell anyone!”
“I can’t believe you knew!” Vivian exclaims. “Does this mean Brady knew? Did he know and not tell me?”
“I don’t think he knew,” I say firmly. A small favor I can do him.
“Do you know all the secrets?” Pen muses.
“He can’t know all the secrets!” Vivian assures her. “Like gosh, he definitely couldn’t know about Violet!”
“No fucking way,” Pen agrees.
“Nope. Did not see that coming,” Mom chimes in. “But Nora ? I totally knew she was dating Harvey’s dorm-buddy first.”
“But the real shocker—” Vivian leans forward, lowering her voice. “Was about the screaming orgasms he was giving other women that made Nora curious enough to dump her ex for him.”
“Vivian!” Mom makes a dramatic zip-it motion from the front seat. “Please remember the NDA!” Then she thumbs at me as if I’m some great security risk.
“Oh yeah, sure,” Vivian backtracks, barely keeping a straight face. “I mean, that didn’t seem so bad. Neither did Jess crushing on her best friend’s brother.”
“Yeah,” Pen pipes up. “Jess was so stressed sharing that. But holy hell, not even Raquel could outdo Violet’s clanger. That’s some next level shit.”
“Shhh!” Mom instructs them again. As if I—her own son—can’t be trusted.
What the hell else did they spill?
And more importantly, what the hell did Pen say?
I get Vivian home after talking her out of going to the restaurant to ‘help out’. She drops her keys three times and nearly tries to unlock her house with her phone before finally giving me a thumbs-up from inside the doorway.
Pen, at least, manages to get in on the first attempt. Small victories.
I return from leaving Mom in Dad’s capable hands—who’s already rummaging for Tylenol—only to find Pen sprawled across the couch, one arm flung dramatically over her head.
“I do have thoughts,” she announces, pointing at me like she’s about to deliver a TED Talk.
I sigh, dropping into the chair opposite her.
“About you. Us. Me. You.” She circles a hand like she’s conjuring an invisible equation.
“Maybe tonight’s not the best time for deep thoughts,” I suggest carefully.
“Why not?”
“Because you’re drunk, Pen. And not mildly.”
“Druck. Smunk…” Her leg slowly slides off the edge of the couch.
“How about we get you to bed?”
She tilts her head, eyes flickering playfully. “Yeah. How about it?” She tries to wink, but it’s more of a slow, exaggerated blink.
“Shower first?”
She frowns, wiggling her fingers. “I have had so much water today my fingers went like…mush. Mushy potatoes. Skin.”
“Something tells me you didn’t drink much water, though.”
“You know what, Tuck?” She grins proudly. “You’re right! But Raquel says that’s okay. That sometimes you have to let off steam.”
“Sounds like Raquel had a lot of wisdom to share.”
“Oh, she did. She also said I have nice hair and that I’m a great designer, and…” She snaps her fingers, searching for the lost thought. “Oh yeah. That I’m going about the baby thing completely wrong.”
“Really?” I try to keep my tone neutral as I reach for Pen’s hands, pulling her upright.
There’s nothing to be gained by talking this through tonight. Whatever Raquel’s unwelcome take on things is.
“Yep. And she’s savvy, you know,” Pen assures me. “Do you know how much her jewelry company is worth?”
“No idea.”
“No, I can’t remember now either. But it’s shit tons. Like, it really surprised me. Shit tons, Tuck. Maybe not like you, but a lot!”
“Shit tons,” I echo, dragging her off the couch and steering her toward the bedroom. “Got it.”
As soon as we reach our destination, she flops onto the bed.
“I like accomplished people,” she muses. “I wanna be accomplished.”
“You are accomplished, Pen.”
“But better accomplished.” She stretches as I tug off her shoes. “Like, multi-accomplished. Not just doing fashion lines every day. But contributing to something. Even my mom contributed to something bigger, and I thought she had no life at all. Meanwhile—” She gestures vaguely. “She had a better life than me.”
I lean over her to undo her dress. “Lift your arms.”
She does, and I tug the fabric over her head.
“Like, who do I even wanna be , Tuck?”
I glance at her frowny face. “I don’t know, Pen. Maybe…yourself? Instead of comparing yourself to everyone else?”
She snorts. “Wow. That’s deep.”
I sniff. “It’s really not.”
She sits up slightly, reaching behind her back to undo her bra. She tosses it to the floor, then collapses onto the pillows.
“They’re all hooked up. Our friends. They’re all gonna have babies. Vivian’s going to have a new baby with Brady. She will, you know. Then next thing, Mia’s gonna have a baby. And where am I? My business is going broke and—”
“What?” My head jerks up. “Your business isn’t going broke.”
“Oh, yes, it is, Tuck.” She rolls onto her stomach, muffling her voice into the pillow before flipping back over. “I’m totally in the red. A hundred percent in the red.”
“Pen, serious? Your business is in trouble?”
“Oh yeah. It’s pretty fucked, that’s for sure,” she mumbles, thumping the pillow.
I stare at her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
She flings an arm out, exasperated. “Because then you’d just want to fix it. Like you wanna fix everything!”
She turns her head, blinking at me blearily. “Fix my mom’s funeral. Fix this house. Fix the fact I want a baby. Like…” She shakes her head as if seeing me clearly for the first time. “You’re a fixer. And I’m a…” She pauses, searching for the words. “What do they call it? A…‘ renovator’s dream .’”
My chest tightens.
She gives a loose, defeated shrug. “Broken. Messed up. But you don’t realize I’m not like an old house or car or something. You think you can shine me up and make me better. But you can’t, Tuck,” her voice turns quiet, fragile.
“I’m unfixable. A giant, unfixable mess,” she mutters, her eyes heavy-lidded, her breath uneven. “And when you finally figure that out…”
She lifts her hands, slowly dusting them off.
A final, dismissive action—before face-planting the pillow.