Chapter Eight
Eight
I wasn’t much of a cook, but the Carmichael kitchen made me want to captain a multicourse meal. It had white cabinets with butcher-block countertops and a retro but modern-looking lapis blue stove with gold accents. “Nana’s pièce de résistance!” Charlie joked when he caught me marveling.
Across the room was an oblong farmhouse table, and beyond that were floor-to-ceiling glass windows that were actually doors; when I came downstairs, I saw that someone had folded them so that there were no walls between the kitchen and back deck.
The sun was starting to slip on the horizon, bathing the sky in a pink-orange glow while voices, laughter, and the smell of citronella candles drifted inside; a combination that signaled cocktail hour was in full swing.
I spotted Erica sipping a peach-colored drink and nodding along to whatever her father was saying.
Nearby, my dad was helping himself to an elaborate cheese plate.
Are you aware I’m sharing a room with a boy? I’d texted him once I’d made the executive decision to keep my Tampax in my suitcase instead of the bathroom’s medicine cabinet.
I am now, he replied.
???, I typed when he didn’t add anything.
Totally up to you, Liv, he wrote back a few minutes later. You know I trust you. And Peggy said Connor is a very upstanding and trustworthy young man.
He’s preoccupied, I surmised. Something else is on his mind…
Nevertheless, I waited for him to offer me a trundle bed in Maisie and Bryce’s room, but it turned out they were in a bunk room with cousins Teddy and Finn. The Lupo “nook” only had one bedroom.
After consulting with Erica, the best my dad could do was offer an air mattress in an upstairs reading room. As tempting as that was, I told him I’d do a trial run with Connor.
Because after asking myself what I was so worried about, I concluded that I wasn’t worried about Connor ; I was worried about being an afterthought—a.k.a. being cut out of this vacation. Especially since I was sharing a room with the only other person who wasn’t part of Erica’s family.
Now, there was plenty of action in the kitchen. Maisie and Bryce were playing with Swede and the other dogs while Charlie decanted a bottle of wine at the island and a pretty blond woman danced her heart out to the song playing over the speakers. “This band is terrible,” I heard Charlie say.
“They are not,” the blond protested, shaking her hips. “They take me back to Bexley!”
He snorted. “Exactly.”
By way of a response, she threw up her arms and belted out the song’s chorus.
I swallowed my laugh. From casually stalking Nick’s Instagram earlier, I knew this was his fiancée, Sage.
And based on the amount of childhood throwback photos he’d posted, I surmised their story was a friends-to-lovers one.
Charlie noticed me skulking. “Hey, Olivia,” he said, then tipped his head at Sage. “Have you met this character yet?”
“Olivia, hi!” Sage’s smile lit up her face, and I weirdly felt like we were friends five minutes later. “So I kinda found you on Instagram yesterday,” she said as Charlie glanced at his watch. “And I need to know where you get your clothes.”
I tried not to blush. In no way was I trying to mirror Erica, but every Friday I posted a recap of my outfits for the week.
Mirror selfies I took in my room. Maybe I’d done it to annoy her a little, but it’d had the opposite effect, especially after I hit five thousand followers—she’d started wordlessly leaving castoffs on my bed.
“I’m always on Poshmark,” I told Sage. “I also have some things from Erica, plus a lot of vintage pieces from my grandmother.” I gestured to my top, a light pink eyelet blouse with billowy sleeves. “This is from the seventies.”
“Amazing!” she said. “Your whole look is very Parisian chic meets Palm Beach.”
“That’s what I’m going for.” I nodded excitedly. Tonight, I’d paired Annie’s shirt with a sleek bun and barely there dewy makeup. “It’s harder than—”
“Please tell me you lit the grill,” someone said, and I turned to see Nick and another guy walk into the kitchen.
They looked like the odd couple; redheaded Nick was built while his friend was thin with dark hair and tortoiseshell glasses.
They both carried reusable bags with EDGARTOWN MEAT AND FISH printed on the side.
“Yes, Chef.” Charlie nodded, all business. “The grill has indeed been lit. Uncle Paul’s monitoring it by toasting marshmallows over the coals.”
The chef rolled his eyes but kissed Charlie’s cheek once he rounded the island. “Olivia, this is Luke,” Charlie said. “Executive chef, Nick’s BFF, and my husband.”
“Obviously listed in order of importance,” Luke quipped, then readjusted his glasses. “I hope you like swordfish and steak tips, Olivia. We were supposed to have tuna, but there was an incident earlier…”
Sage grimaced. “One of the dogs went counter surfing.”
Prematurely mortified, my eyes widened. “Swede?”
Charlie shook his head. “Greta.” He pointed to the black Lab whose belly Nick was rubbing. “My parents’ dog.” He chuckled. “She always listens, but never follows the rules!”
“Swordfish and steak tips sound delicious,” I told Luke, who was unwrapping the fresh fish. My stomach rumbled, both hungry and excited. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
* * *
Dinner was ready right after the sun went down; with so many people, we served ourselves buffet-style in the kitchen before finding a place to sit out on the deck.
I wanted to stick with Luke, Sage, and the Carmichael twins—at twenty-six, they were the closest to my age, not to mention really cool—but Erica’s sister waved me over to the round table where her mother probably hosted multimillion-dollar-view bridge games.
“Miss Lupo!” Beth called. “We haven’t gotten to chat yet… ”
I forced myself to smile. Erica’s older sister was nice, but I understood why my stepmother kept her at a distance. Beth was intense. She’d pressed me on where I’d wanted to go to college when I was only a sophomore in high school and told me to find an SAT tutor stat.
“It’s so nice you were able to make the trip up here,” she said once we started eating, everything making my mouth water. “Erica mentioned it’s been a busy summer.”
For who? I wondered, savoring my steak. Luke had grilled it to perfection, medium rare, and the marinade was delicious, both sweet and savory. For my family? Or me?
“Oh, of course!” I told her sister, keeping my uncertainty to myself. “I wouldn’t have missed it. I’m so flattered to be included.”
Beth took a sip of water. “And your grandmother’s doing okay? All things considered?”
Her eyebrows pinched together in concern, but her forehead didn’t move. Erica had a Botox appointment now and again, but were her sister’s monthly?
“She’s fine,” I said, and was relieved when Erica’s brother Jay—newly arrived from Atlanta—sat down with a plate and wasted no time before sharing each and every detail of his roller-coaster trek here.
It was more or less a smear campaign against Delta Airlines.
“I’m going to take this up with your father, Olivia,” he concluded as I swallowed my last spoonful of corn salad. “It was an absolute nightmare.”
“It sounds like it,” I said. “But my dad flies for American, so I’m not sure how much he’ll apologize on Delta’s behalf…”
“Wait.” Jay cocked his head. “When did he switch to American?”
“A while ago,” I said. “From United.”
“He’s never flown for Delta?”
I internally sighed. Erica’s family liked my dad, but I felt like they made no effort to get to know my dad.
I might’ve been young at their wedding, but I’d never forget how Erica’s brother sarcastically referred to my dad as “Maverick” in his rehearsal dinner speech, and how irritated my grandparents had been when Jay had warned Erica about marrying a pilot.
The ego! The drinking! The flirty flight attendants!
“How original,” Annie had deadpanned during the applause while Pops had rolled his eyes.
“Nope!” I told Jay with a bright smile. “He’s never flown for Delta.”
* * *
Everyone gathered around the deck’s gas firepit for dessert later.
I wasn’t really a pie person, but the mixed berry pie made me think that whatever I’d eaten in the past could not have possibly been pie.
This was pie: raspberries, blueberries, and blackberries all so light, sweet, and bursting with flavor wrapped in a warm, flaky crust. I also followed Nick’s lead and plopped a scoop of vanilla ice cream on top…
“Alright, who made this?” I asked nobody in particular.
“Morning Glory Farm,” Sage answered with a knowing look. “Best pie you’ve ever had, right?”
I nodded emphatically, my interest also piqued. Morning Glory Farm? Had Annie been there? Might the tractor photo even have been taken there?
My thought bubble popped when Sage held up her phone to show me Morning Glory’s Instagram. It was a flash of colorful flowers, fruits, veggies, and baked goods.
Its bio also read: Local Family-Owned Farm Since 1975.
Okay, never mind.
“I worked there one summer,” Sage said wistfully.
“Only one?”
“I wanted to spend more time outdoors.” She settled back against the striped couch cushions. “I loved the farming part, but most of my shifts ended up being behind the register.” She smiled. “I spent the next summer as a bike tour guide and also interned at the hospital a few days a week.”
“You’re a nurse, right?” I asked, even though the words I’d snagged on were tour guide.
Would she be interested in checking out Annie’s Polaroids?
Maybe hitting a few landmarks with me? Retracing Annie’s steps sounded more fun if I had a copilot, and Sage seemed like someone who was up for anything.
Plus, how was I going to get around? I had neither my bike nor my car here. Maybe I could borrow someone’s?