Once in a Blue Moon

Chapter 1

ONE

WINNIE

Windsor Eleanora Smith was not a homewrecking whore. It’s just what everyone was saying these days. Including her brother.

“Wear it with pride,” said Robbie, younger by three and a half years physically and two decades emotionally. Winnie held up his gift, a white sweater with the letter A embroidered in red, front and center. “Not funny,” she said. Still… “Where did you get it?”

“Special order,” said Rosie, his fiancée. “We debated with going for a Coldplay kiss-cam meme, but this is more classic. And I agree. It will really screw with the gossips.”

It was yet another Smith Family dinner. They’d assembled at her sister Addison’s house—Winnie’s parents, Grandpop, her four siblings, their partners and three nieces—a mob, in other words.

Ostensibly, they were there to discuss Robbie and Rosie’s wedding in a few months.

Given recent events, however, they were also keen on showing support for Winnie, the recently crowned homewrecker, who had only wrecked one home, and not even on purpose.

“I kind of love it,” she said, giving Robbie a nod of thanks. Once, they had shared a bedroom, while she did not share his sense of humor, she appreciated that he’d given some thought to her dilemma.

That being said, this dinner was killing her.

She hated being the center of attention—her family was way too big and growing every year.

The noise was like the ocean…constant and huge.

But they were hers, she supposed. Grandpop, aka Robert Smith, beloved by all; her parents, Gerald and Ellie; her siblings—Harlow, the oldest, married to Grady, mother to Matthew, stepmother to Luna; Addison, the older-by-three-minutes identical twin, her unsmiling wife Nicole, and their two demon-daughters, Esme and Imogen; Lark, the other, more perfect twin and her new husband, Dante, also perfect (Boston firefighter, utterly gorgeous in body and spirit); and Robbie, the only boy, the scene stealer, adored, doted on, somehow engaged to Rosie, Harlow’s best friend from college and therefore older than Robbie by ten years.

They were getting married in December, and Winnie had offered to be their wedding planner…

Rosie’s father was an entertainment attorney in Los Angeles and insisted on paying her a Hollywood wage.

Thank God, because she’d need the money.

Until this week, Winnie had owned a fairly lucrative event planning business.

As of three days ago, it was a dumpster fire.

“This will pass, honey,” Lark said. “Someone else’s crisis will come up, and people will move on. Life in a small town, you know?” She reached across Dante and squeezed Winnie’s hand.

“Thanks.” She forced a smile at her sister.

“More wine?” asked Harlow, the other perfect sister, holding the bottle over Winnie’s glass.

“Keep it coming,” Winnie said. She didn’t drink very often, but this week called for it.

“You didn’t know you were sleeping with another woman’s husband,” Mom said, stating the obvious. “He’s the liar. People should cut you some slack.”

“We cannot help with whom we fall in love,” Grandpop said kindly. “He was using a different name! Who can blame you for not knowing his true identity?”

“The Mommy Mafia is who,” Winnie said. “My client base, in other words.”

“When I think of the ‘other woman,’” Robbie said, making air quotes, “I picture someone more like my beautiful fiancée here. Not you, Winnebago. No offense to either of you, of course.”

“I’m flattered,” Rosie said, kissing his cheek.

“I’m not,” Winnie said. “Seventeen parties canceled this week alone. Wives, lock away your husbands, because Winnie Smith is arranging your kids’ First Communion party, and she’s an immoral slut.” It was possible that she was buzzed, and more power to it.

“Oh, honey. Don’t call yourself that,” Dad said. “You’re wonderful. The most moral person I know.”

“Yeah, you’re not quite there yet,” Robbie said. “You can be an aspirational slut. Don’t get ahead of yourself. I had to put in years for that title.” Rosie laughed and tilted her head against his shoulder.

“Can you two not be so…happy?” Winnie asked.

“Unfortunately, Winnie’s right,” Addison said, checking her phone.

She couldn’t go thirty seconds without looking at it.

“People are blaming her. A few vague-book posts, a sudden burst of shitty reviews on Yelp. A text chain that went on for miles before they realized I was on it. So yeah, everyone is hating on her. They’re also saying Tanner is an asshole.

But mostly that Winnie should’ve done better research, and who doesn’t know these things in this day and age. ”

“You know, Addie, sometimes saying nothing works, too,” Harlow said.

“What?” Addison said. “I defend her! Obviously. Plus, information is power.”

“Addie is the queen of the Mommy Mafia,” Nicole, her wife, said proudly. “Girls! Stop eating the cheese spread with your hands.”

“Sleep around and live life to the fullest,” Robbie advised sagely. “I did, and now I’m engaged to the most perfect woman in the world.”

“Robbie, shut up,” Harlow said, smacking him upside the head. “Honestly, Rosie, are you sure you want to marry this little dweeb?”

“Weirdly, I am,” Rosie said. “He’s loved me since he had hormones. Who can resist that? And we won’t fire you, Winnie. You’re still our wedding planner, and my father wants to spare no expense for his beloved and only child.”

“Thanks,” Winnie muttered, polishing off her wine.

Only child. Lucky. And while she was grateful to Mr. Wolfe for saying “unlimited budget,” it’s not like it was a long-term solution.

Her event planning business had always been more focused on the more commonplace celebrations in a person’s life.

Birthdays, anniversaries, family reunions.

Baby showers and gender reveals (though she thought they were tempting fate and a bit self-aggrandizing).

There were plenty of other event planners who fed off the stress and fanfare of the zillion-dollar weddings and bat and bar mitzvahs, the demanding clients and expensive vendors.

Winnie had always tried to focus on the regular people.

For example, a five-year-old’s birthday party.

But Wellfleet, Massachusetts, like most of the towns on the outermost part of Cape Cod, was small.

Tiny in the off-season, especially in terms of the year-round families who made up the bulk of her business.

Life on Cape Cod was expensive, housing prices were ridiculous, and Winnie had just lost her base.

Life in a small town, as Lark said, meant it took mere minutes to cancel a business. Or a person.

“Mommy? Mommy? Mommy?” Esme chanted. “Can Luna sleep over? Mommy? Mommy? Can she? Can she?”

“Mama, can she? Please? Please? Can she? We’ll be good! I promise! We will be!” Imogen said. She would never need a bullhorn, no sir.

“Daddy, can I sleep over? Please? Please? Can I?” Luna added.

Amazing that people wanted children. Winnie liked having nieces and a nephew, but this? All day, every day? The world was crowded enough, and bless her sisters for procreating so her parents had grandchildren, releasing Winnie from any guilt they might try on her.

“Yes, yes, fine,” Addie said. “Of course. Luna, we love having you. Find something to do, though. The grownups are talking about your aunt Winnie and her problems.”

“What problems?” Esme asked. “Did you do something bad, Aunt Winnie? What was it? Did you kill someone?”

“I’ll never tell,” Winnie said. “My glass is empty, by the way.” Grady obliged with a gentle smile. Her favorite brother-in-law. Had Dante poured the wine, he would’ve nabbed the title, but the night was Grady’s.

“You did. You killed someone,” Esme said. “You’re so fun, Aunt Winnie.”

“I really am.”

“Don’t encourage her, Winnie,” Nicole snapped. “Girls, killing people is wrong. Go watch a movie.” The children obeyed, but Imogen first lowered her head and took a massive bite of cake, no hands. The kid grinned up at her, and Winnie gave a slight nod of approval before Nicole herded them off.

“Winnie, my dear, we all know who you are,” Grandpop said. “And we love and support you.”

“Thanks, Grandpop.” She felt the unfamiliar sting of tears and ordered them not to fall. She hadn’t cried since she was eight, and she wasn’t about to start now.

“We’re all still going to trivia night, right?” Harlow said. “Semifinals.” Harlow took her trivia team way too seriously.

“Of course I’m going. I’m the DJ,” said Robbie. “The most important person there.”

“Come with us, Winnie,” said Lark. “It’ll be good for you to get out. Dante and I are coming, too.”

“We’ll make sure you have fun,” Dante said. “And if anything happens, we’re your bodyguards, how’s that?”

Fun brought forth images of a cozy house in Antarctica, with only penguins for neighbors.

Winnie wouldn’t have to talk to anyone, just ice fish, keep a fire going and focus on not freezing to death.

Better than the pointed stares and whispers and hostile mutters she’d encountered these past few days.

You’d think society would be past that—how many politicians had blatantly cheated on their spouses?

How many actors? It didn’t hurt their careers, did it?

But here in Puritanical Massachusetts, it seemed like women were still blamed for husbands who couldn’t keep it in their pants.

“Please come,” Rosie said.

Winnie hesitated. She wanted to crawl into bed and rewatch The Office for the nineteenth time and doomscroll.

But she knew better. She was heartbroken (and a little drunk), and if she went home, she’d almost definitely curl into a ball and cry.

Being with her family was probably the safer option.

“Sure,” she said. This way, she could also avoid seeing how many more clients had canceled.