Chapter 12
MY MOM CALLED AS I WAS WALKING OUT OF school on Monday afternoon, so I sat in Brigitta while we spoke.
Spine rigid, I kept waiting for her to bring up the drained bank account, but she didn’t.
he student parking lot had almost emptied out by the time she finished recapping her and my dad’s latest adventures.
“I’m bringing back a case of this wonderful chardonnay,” she told me.
“Our wine ambassador called it her ‘date night’ wine. It has an attitude, if that makes sense—a bit spicy.”
“Awesome,” I said. My dad was the one who enjoyed wine’s technical terms—body, legs, and “oak” levels—while my mom was more informal and creative with her descriptions. “A wine with gumption!”
She laughed. “I’m long overdue to rewatch that movie.” She sighed, as if swooning over bespectacled Jude Law holding a cup of coffee in The Holiday. “How are you? How is James?”
“I’m good…” I said slowly. “James is good, too.” My pulse picked up a little as I fumbled for something more concrete to say. “He’s been playing me some recent In the Luxembourg Gardens songs.”
In the Luxembourg Gardens was the name of my cousin and Isa’s band, inspired by a famous painting.
They weren’t gunning for a record deal, but they did have a Spotify page and performed at various New England colleges.
They could pretty much play anything, but their bread and butter were covers, transforming big-band songs from the fifties and sixties into dreamy contemporary duets.
I knew their fans were hoping for original music soon.
Not yet, James texted whenever anyone in the Barbour cousin group chat asked.
“And you?” my mom asked. “Have you made—blown—anything interesting recently?”
I closed my eyes. “No,” I heard myself say, unable to lie to her. A lump rose in my throat. “Not really. Golightly Glass has gotten a rush of orders, so Henry and I’ve been shipping stuff out, but…”
“Your pendants are very pretty,” she said when I trailed off. “Coincidentally, Stacy Gallant and I both wore ours to dinner the other night. Her daughter Katie gave one to her for Mother’s Day last year.”
I perked up a little. My mom had brought her mermaid teardrop with her? As far as I knew, she’d only worn it a few times.
“What about Henry?” she asked when I didn’t respond. “You two been spending a lot of time together?”
For some reason, that ruffled my feathers. “Of course we have,” I said. “He’s my boyfriend.”
Boyfriend, I mouthed again, just to feel the word on my lips.
I didn’t realize my mistake until it was too late.
“Your boyfriend, huh?” my mom teased. “Well, isn’t that an interesting development…”
Heat rushed to my cheeks. “Yeah,” was all I said. Again, my mom and I didn’t really talk about my love life. “I suppose.”
She laughed. “Has he stood outside your window with a boom box and asked you to prom yet?”
“Actually, no,” I said, hoping Henry would be a little more original than imitating Lloyd Dobler in Say Anything… “He’s cutting it close.”
Prom was ten days away. I hadn’t forgotten about it per se, but becoming a Here-to-Stay host had shuffled my priorities. My guess was Henry hadn’t promposed yet because he was holding out hope that he and Ellie might end up going together.
I thought of their junior prom photo, sitting framed on Henry’s bookshelf. Collecting dust or not, it suddenly felt more significant than ever.
“Oh, sweetheart, I have to go,” my mom said as I wondered what Griff’s prom thoughts were. “Kim’s calling.”
“No problem,” I said. “I love you, Mom. Say hi to Dad for me.”
“I will. I love—Oh, shit!”
“What?” I asked, suddenly nervous. “What is it?”
“Dave Matthews’s signing is tomorrow night,” she said. “And I collected all those concert posters for the collage but forgot to drop them off at the store before we left. Would you be able to swing by?”
“Oh, sure!” I prayed she didn’t notice the squeak in my voice.
Dave Matthews’s memoir had been published last week, and my mom had successfully pitched Bedtime Stories as the Connecticut stop on his book tour.
It was a ticketed event, and I knew for a fact some out-of-towners were driving in for it.
Fair Winds’ next guests, for example.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’ll text Maureen to let her know you’re coming.”
“Perfect,” I said, and then we hung up so she could catch Aunt Kim’s call.
INSTEAD OF GOING STRAIGHT HOME, I DROVE to Trader Joe’s to exercise my food-only American Express card.
Their chicken fried rice sounded like the dinner of champions, but after I’d filled my basket with the rice and an assortment of other goodies—Everything but the Bagel mixed nuts, mac and cheese bites, chili and lime tortilla chips, and dark chocolate peanut butter cups—I overheard recognizable voices from the next aisle.
“Are you serious?” Ellie was saying. “You brought me to Trader Joe’s for an intervention? ”
A shiver went up my spine. Please hide me, seltzer section…
“This isn’t an intervention, Adelaide,” Caroline Hopper said to her daughter. “We’re shopping. All I did was ask if you wanted the chocolate lava cakes.”
“Even though you know I—”
“But yes,” her mom interrupted, quietly but sharply, “if you want this to be an intervention, we can turn it into one.” I knew they deserved privacy, but I found myself unable to move. “Is something bothering you, honey?” Caroline asked, her voice softer.
“No,” Ellie said, and I pictured her folding her arms across her chest. “I’m fine. I’ve just given up dessert.”
Had she? I could still see her devouring three slices of margherita pizza at my party, but had she eaten any dessert? She’d declined the Rice Krispies treat leftovers I offered, but I thought that was just because she was pissed about Henry and me.
And she didn’t get a root beer float at the Here-to-Stay summit, I realized.
Ellie always got an old-fashioned root beer float at Hamburger Hill.
She’d left early to rendezvous with Chase, but the first thing we did at that meeting—before I even explained the precarious situation that was Fair Winds—was put in our milkshake order. They’d arrived minutes later.
I felt stupid for only noticing the disappearance of her pink hair.
“I know you’ve given up sweets,” Caroline said. “What I’m wondering is why. I can’t help but notice you’ve lost some weight. I know you’re swimming more, but if it’s not deliberate…”
Ellie was quiet, but after a couple of beats, she admitted she was stressed.
About what? I wondered. Chase? Graduation? College?
My heart twinged. We never talked enough for me to know.
Maybe that was my fault. I should’ve tried harder to be her friend.
“Have you tried talking to Henry?” her mom asked as I shifted my shopping basket to the other arm. “You two used to tell each other everything. What you found in each other is truly special, and I don’t think you should let it go…”
“I hate to break it to you, Mom,” Ellie said, a waver in her voice, “but what I had with Henry is gone, and whatever he had with me is long gone. He happily went and found something with Audrey.”
Wow, I thought, a little sick to my stomach. We must be putting on an incredible show.
But at the same time, on Henry’s behalf: What did you expect? You dumped him for your asshole ex!
“I know breakups are hard, El,” Caroline said. “But they pass. It’ll pass.”
A lump formed in my throat. I stood still, guiltily listening to them push their cart farther down the aisle. The last thing I heard was Ellie saying, “Tate asked for vanilla meringues…”
What are Henry and I doing? I wondered. It sounded (and looked) like Ellie was really going through something—and here we were waving a fake relationship in her face.
“Excuse me, Miss Barbour.” Someone coughed behind me. Stomach dropping, I turned and was relieved to see Mrs. Nystrom, my math teacher. She pointed at the case of seltzer I was blocking. “Do you mind?”
brIAN AND LESLIE FISHER WERE CHECKING IN today, but there was no rush to be home by four since they wouldn’t arrive until ten.
Even though chances were I’d still be awake, I had no intention of welcoming them in my pajamas.
Instead, I went to the hardware store and bought a lockbox to hang on the door.
Fair Winds was back in Architectural Digest photo-shoot shape thanks to Henry’s and my cleaning service.
Griff cut out after two minutes of vacuuming, because he needed to drive his brother somewhere.
“He can forget about a piece of this tip!” Henry had joked when we noticed an Andrew Jackson left on the coffee table.
Sandy and Ron were so sweet—and neat. Besides an easy vacuum-Swiffer combo, taking out the trash, and washing the towels and sheets, the only challenge was fumigating the place of Old Bay.
Although in the process of opening all the windows, I did notice that a few things had been moved around.
For example, my mom had inherited an antique silver tea service from her grandmother, and instead of displaying it as a set, she’d split it up.
The small oval biscuit box with an intricate handle and working lock had sat next to the Nespresso machine.
My mom used it to store tea bags. But now, it was gone.
Huh, I thought. It was probably on the back balcony—Sandy and Ron had had coffee there this morning—but I didn’t stop working to check. There was no way I wanted the Fishers to wrinkle their noses upon arrival.
The reason for my second guests’ visit was simple: Dave Matthews.
Brian had emphasized what superfans they were—they followed his tour up and down the East Coast every summer, getting the same seats at each venue—and how excited they were for his memoir.
Unfortunately, they lived in Rhode Island and Dave’s publisher hadn’t scheduled an event there.
So they’d decided to drive to Connecticut.