Chapter 2 #3
I move the centerpiece back to its original place, never breaking eye contact with her. I swear I can hear a low growl escape her throat, but I refuse to retreat.
“What’s wrong, Robin, really?” I use even tones, hoping to engage her in a real dialogue. “This isn’t about catering or my moving to Denver.”
“I have no idea what you mean. This is a lovely party for a lovely couple.” I’ve skated too close to something resembling meaningful connection, so the ice shields rise to save her from the indignity of having to be emotionally vulnerable.
“And since this is probably the last one of these I will get to throw, I ought to do my best to enjoy it.”
I ignore the jab at my single status. “You should enjoy it because you’re celebrating Chloe and Chris. That’s reason enough.” I accept another flute of champagne and turn back to Robin, who is, to her credit, trying to collect herself.
“And who says I’m not?” She avoids looking at me altogether with an expression of such pained annoyance, I hope Chloe doesn’t see and have her night spoiled.
“Listen, I don’t want to fight. But I do want you to take it easy on Chloe with the wedding. She and Chris will do a fine job. Let them come to you for help where it’s needed. Your relationship will be the better for it.”
Robin purses her lips. “I’ll manage my relationship with your sister without your interference, thank you.”
“Wow, a serious family meeting, and you didn’t think to invite me?” Brian’s booming baritone sounds behind us. “I’m hurt.”
Robin’s demeanor changes in an instant. Golden Boy Brian is now on the scene with his Stepford wife, Annabelle.
No doubt my impeccable niece and nephew, Bailey and Asher, whom I’m convinced have never been permitted near a speck of dirt in their short lives, are probably in the care of three specially trained nannies with résumés good enough to get them posts in the Secret Service.
They’d want a spare in case one is taken out by sniper fire in Robin’s living room or some such equally likely disaster.
Robin. Loves. Annabelle.
“Not at all, dear. Sabrina and I were just finishing up a little chat, weren’t we?” She shoots me a glare that dares me to contradict her.
I lock eyes with my brother and pray silently that he can somehow defuse her.
If anyone can, it’s her precious baby boy.
Perhaps, with Annabelle’s help, he can persuade Robin that Chloe’s ideas are brilliant and creative.
But Annabelle is off taking footage for her feed, and Brian seems more interested in working his way over toward the bar than playing referee. Not that I blame him.
The guests begin to arrive and Robin’s face brightens. “Oh, there he is. You two stay here and I’ll be right back.”
Brian turns to scan the room. “Did Bradley Cooper just show up? Or whoever it is Boomer moms drool over these days?”
I am mid-sip, and a chuckle reverberates in my champagne flute. “I wouldn’t put it past Robin to try to get some A-list celebs here for the event. Though whom she’s trying to impress, I don’t know. I’ve been wondering that for close to twenty years now.”
“Don’t be so hard on her. She’s just trying her best.” Brian gives me a scowl as though Robin is a small child passing off a lopsided cake for dessert at some important dinner and I am the persnickety hostess who insists on perfection.
I successfully keep my tone low. “Trying her best to do what? To be supportive of Chloe and Chris? Not so much.”
“It is possible for you not to get involved for once. Let Mom and Chloe work it out between themselves.” Brian speaks as though reminding his son, Asher, to use a fork instead of his bare hands for the third time in the course of a meal.
I hate when he takes on the “man of the family” persona, as though he can dictate our behavior.
I take a step closer, taking advantage of the two inches I have on him.
“I wish I could, but you know full well Mom will just steamroll Chloe into whatever she wants, and Chloe will spend the whole day hovering over Chris with an EpiPen, miserable in a venue she doesn’t want. Chloe deserves better than that.”
Brian rolls his eyes and wanders off toward Annabelle, who is holding her phone at arm’s length, yammering away to her adoring fans. As usual he will be of no help.
The sound of the arriving guests drowns out my frustrated inner monologue, and I decide to play my part and make sure the food and drink are circulated without a hitch.
If people are well fed and the champagne flows freely, the better the chances people will stay civil.
I’m greeted by a flurry of relations, many of whom I haven’t seen in ages.
I’m about to greet my ancient aunt Carlotta when Robin uncharacteristically loops her arm in mine.
“Come, I’ve someone I want you to talk to. ”
The dread washes over me as she hauls me across the dining room. It’s either some long-forgotten relative, one of her boring-as-beige-paint friends, or . . .
“Darling, you remember Tim, don’t you?” She purrs like a cat who caught the mouse.
Tim Espersen. The literal boy next door from my childhood.
Mom had pushed us together at every opportunity, but I’d resisted.
He had been a foot shorter than me, pimpled, and a massive computer nerd.
I wasn’t popular or charming either, but I preferred hanging out with my dad and futzing around in the kitchen to forced social situations where neither party would have enjoyed themselves.
But the Tim before me looks nothing like the Tim from high school. He’s tall and confident, and his skin has mercifully cleared up.
“We had four years of English and science classes together, and a few other classes too. I think I can dredge up a memory or two.” I extend a hand toward Tim and wink. I actually wink. What on earth is wrong with me?
“True story. I could never keep up with Sabrina in English, but I like to think I gave her a run for her money in science. Except chemistry. You slayed in chemistry.” Tim flashes a grin as he accepts my hand in his.
“True enough. Cooking is just edible chemistry. It’s the science I could wrap my head around.
” I’d never considered that Tim considered me an academic rival, but it made sense.
We both graduated in the top five of our class.
I barely edged him out for salutatorian, but I’d not been all that interested in competing against him so much as against myself.
Robin chimes in with her fake titter she pulls out for social situations. “Yes, our Sabrina is quite handy in the kitchen. I’m shocked no one has swept her off her feet yet.”
It takes more than a little self-control to refrain from turning for the door. I instead decide to turn the conversation in the way Robin will hate the most. “I’m six foot two. I’d hate to meet the brute capable of sweeping me anywhere.”
I’m rewarded with a glower. Robin hates being mocked. Which is likely why I enjoy it so much.
Tim, to his credit, ignores Robin’s death stare and accepts a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and tips it in my direction. “It’s great to see you, Sabrina. You look the same as you did in high school.”
I snort. “So you come to my family’s party just to insult me? Real nice, Espersen.”
Robin elbows me discreetly but not playfully. She apparently missed that Tim is laughing at my rebuke. She is also incapable of letting the conversation flow without moderating it. “Tim is working in computers in Silicon Valley. Making quite the name for himself too.”
Tech means dollar signs and prestige to her.
I don’t look over to see her saccharine expression as she daydreams of his opulent house and posh lifestyle.
As she envisions living vicariously through me if Tim and I were to become an item.
I don’t think my stomach can handle it, but I keep my game face on for Chloe’s sake.
“No surprise there. Tim was always destined for the tech life. I had no doubt we’d all be using some product on the daily with the name Espersen on it. ”
A slight blush rises in his cheeks. “Yeah, I developed an algorithm that a lot of apps are using . . .” He goes on to list several, three of which are currently occupying prime real estate on the front page of my phone.
He hasn’t just made it in the tech world; he owns it.
Best of all, he’s the smart sort that manages to keep from becoming a household name, because who wants that?
“Wow,” is all I can muster.
Robin nudges me a step closer to Tim. “Sabrina has been working in Paris until recently. We’re all very proud.”
I look back at her to check for signs she’s been abducted by aliens. Remarkably, there are none.
“I knew you’d be a sensation, whatever you did.” Tim looks genuinely happy. “So if you’re not in Paris anymore, where are you?”
I decide to keep my lies consistent. “Denver. It’s great there. Good skiing, fabulous hiking.” I have never skied and only rarely hiked, but at least I’ve read both are true.
Robin clears her throat. “Yes, well, Sabrina’s career has led her all over the world. Who’s to say it won’t lead her back to California?”
I don’t give her the satisfaction of looking at her with disdain but lock eyes with Tim instead. “My plan is to stay in Denver awhile.”
“Plans change, dear. Especially yours, it would seem.” Robin fairly purrs the insult.
God how I wish Dad were alive to rein her in. He was the only one who could make her see how unreasonable she was.
I force myself to breathe once again. Just being in Robin’s presence makes me forget how.
Just as she is trying to railroad Chloe into her vision for the perfect wedding, she’s pushing me to settle here so I can be open to the mere possibility of dating Tim.
She’s publicly implying that I am so desperate and my career so unimportant, I can drop everything for the mere prospect of a relationship.
And embarrassing me spectacularly in the process.
I beam a Hollywood-worthy smile. “Tim, it was so great seeing you. If you’re ever in Denver, give me a shout, okay?” I shake his hand and turn back to the crowd to mingle. Of course I won’t be in Denver, most likely. And I didn’t give him my card. But it was at least a pretense of politeness.
Robin follows hard on my heels. “What are you doing? He is such a nice boy.”
I, through sheer force of will, love for my sister, and fear of the American prison system, narrowly avoid throttling Robin right there in the Oak Room.
“I’m sure he is, but you don’t have to ram him in my face.
He’s just making small talk, and you act like he’s on the verge of a marriage proposal. You were embarrassing me.”
“Embarrassing you?” Her expression goes cold.
“Maybe it’s just as well. He’s a family friend and it would be awkward.
Even if it worked out for a while, you’d find an excuse to end things.
It’s the same with men as it is with jobs for you: You never stick with anything long enough to really give it a chance. It’s sad, really.”
I scan the room and see that Chloe is enmeshed in her crowd of admirers, enjoying her moment in the sun.
She won’t notice if I leave. I set my champagne flute down on the nearest table.
I don’t spare a glance backward at Robin as I exit the dining room.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Tim working the room with a confidence I never would have expected of him.
I have worked so hard to get where I am. Sacrificed relationships—even friendships—to get closer to Michelin. It has meant upheaval and change, yes, but Robin should be proud of me and my accomplishments, even if she’s not fully aware of my end goal. That’s a mother’s job, isn’t it?
But between Robin’s spiteful words, the awful encounter with Edward, and the unrelenting feeling I let down Joelle and Maison Ortense, I am beginning to feel the weight of it all. Is going after the Michelin job at the expense of almost everything else in my life really worth it?
I’ve had some amazing experiences these past fifteen years, but it doesn’t change the fact that I feel alone in the world, even in a ballroom filled with my “nearest and dearest.” And I have felt that way for some time . . . and I’m not sure any job can fill that void.