Chapter 19 #2
“They said to just show up whenever. Can I still borrow the car?”
“Sure.”
Ada’s parents live further out of town, whereas mine are still in the bungalow they bought when they were first married, and it’s within walking distance of the hotel.
I take Ada’s advice and finish my double breakfast. I am a lightweight, and I’ve lost many an outfit to pinot noir.
When I’m done eating, I go over to the hotel wardrobe and admire my golden ballgown on its hanger.
My dress for the cocktail party tonight isn’t nearly as exciting, but it’s classy, a sleeveless black minidress with a round neckline that makes my boobs sit up like two scoops of ice cream.
I brush my hand over my chest, hopeful that Will Sharpe has a craving for dessert-shaped tits.
“You’re gonna look great,” Ada says from behind me. “You sure you wanna waste that gold dress on Will Not-So-Sharpe?”
Davis’s face flickers through my mind and I force myself to imagine Will catching sight of me in my ballgown and taking my hand. That’s the whole point of this weekend. It’s what I’m here for. That was my decision.
“Absolutely,” I say. “Especially after what Jenny did with the mice. She’ll be lucky if I don’t screw Will right in front of her.”
“That’s my girl.”
I turn to see Ada, shockingly casual in jeans, boots, and a long military-style jacket I’ve never seen her in before. “That’s… A new look.”
She plucks at an olive-green sleeve. “Ah, you know my parents hate it when I dress like the skank I am.”
“You’re not a skank. But when you’re around them you usually…”
I let my voice trail off as nerves clang inside me.
Why has Ada ditched the Sunday-school drag she always wears for her parents?
I chew my lower lip, debating whether to risk an outright ask.
I don’t exactly trust my best friend to take care of herself right now…
then again, we’ll only be apart for a few hours.
What trouble could she possibly get herself into at 10 a.m. in Pukekohe?
“I’m gonna get dressed,” I say. “Gimme five minutes.”
When I’m ready, we exit the hotel and walk to the car park. I toss Ada my keys, and she clambers behind the wheel, flexing each of her fingers the way she used to before she played the flute.
“Dude, I genuinely can’t remember the last time I drove.”
“Just keep left and don’t run over any kids.”
“I’ll do my best…”
The nostalgia playlist kicks in, but we don’t sing as Ada cruises the short distance to my old house.
“Have fun,” she says, pulling up to my curb. “Say ‘hi’ to your mum from me.”
“I will.”
I’m about to shut the door when I see how pale Ada is. Her hands are clenched around the wheel. Another stab of worry runs through me. “Do you want to come in for a cup of tea before you go?”
She flicks on the indicator. “Nah, I’m all good. I’ll see you back at the hotel at three, yeah?”
Feeling like I don’t have much of a choice, I reluctantly shut the door and watch my Toyota turn around the corner and out of sight. I exhale deeply, check the mailbox, and despite my nerves, I can’t help but smile as I head up the familiar porch steps.
The door swings open before I can knock. Mum pulls me into a tight hug that smells of laundry powder and White Musk from The Body Shop.
“Welcome home,” she cries like I’m a hero back from war and not someone she had brunch with two months ago.
“Kia ora, Mum. It’s nice to be home.”
“Come on in,” she singsongs, grabbing my hand. “I’ve got a surprise for you!”
Hopefully she won lotto, and it’s a pile of money...
“Taa-daa!” Mum announces, tugging me into the kitchen. My heart drops. It’s not a pile of money. My brother is parked at the end of the breakfast bar, holding a cup of coffee. He lifts it in a salute.
“Hey, Cee.”
My mouth falls open. I haven’t seen Tristan in person for three years, yet here he is. He must be coming to the reunion. He didn’t say he was, but he must be.
Tristan’s sister, a voice whispers in the back of my head. Tristan Taylor’s little sister.
“Oh my God!” I say, a beat too late. “Tris! You’re here!”
“Wanted to surprise you,” he says, standing to pull me into a hug, seemingly oblivious to my shock. Or purposefully ignoring it.
I hug him back, no laundry powder here, just expensive aftershave. “It’s so good to see you. Are Caroline and Maisie here?”
“Nah, it’s a last-minute trip.” He pulls away, flipping his fringe off his face. “Like the hair?”
It looks bloody stupid. Like a thirty-five-year-old cosplaying as Harry Styles. “I love it. Did you come back for the reunion?”
He snorts. “Nah, someone needed a top defence lawyer on a speeding fine at the Pukekohe courthouse.”
… And there it is. Three whole sentences before he managed to bring up his fancy job while not actually answering my question.
Be nice, I chide myself. He’s allowed to be proud of what he does.
“So, you are coming?” I ask.
“Yeah. Seemed like a great chance to catch up with everyone.”
I look away and blink hard, suddenly fighting back angry tears. How can I expect Will, or anyone else, to see me as more than Tristan Taylor’s Sister, if Tristan Taylor is going to be standing right next to me all weekend?
My brother drops back on his stool and hooks his foot around another one, pulling it out for me. “Come sit.”
I hop on as Dad wanders into the room. “Cece! Good to see you, peanut.”
I beam at him. “You too, Dad.”
He comes over and kisses the top of my head. Mum slides a cup of milky sweet coffee in front of me and for a single glorious moment my heart settles. “I’m so happy we’re all together.”
“Me too, peanut,” Dad says.
“Hey,” Tristan says. “How’s work going, Cee?”
My glorious moment ends.
“Good,” I lie. “Really good. The bar’s great. I’m really enjoying it. Everything’s just… really good.”
You’re saying ‘really’ too much. And good. Stop saying ‘good.’
“Still don’t miss nursing?” Mum says in the deceptively light tone she always uses when she’s trying to steer someone ‘in the right direction.’
“Nope,” I say brightly. “Things have really picked up lately, and it’s been great having Ada around. She’s really helped with the…”
I stop myself just in time. The last thing I need is Mum scrolling online photos of me with my tits half-out while I pull pints. Not to mention Ada blowing cherries in slow motion.
“… the place,” I finish.
Mum hums. “I’m not surprised. She’s always been a clever girl. Very creative.”
“Yup,” I say, as visions of Ada’s lips wrapped around cherries dance before my eyes. “Mega creative.”
“Ada’s coming to the centenary?”
The edge in Tristan’s voice makes me turn, but he’s not looking at me. He’s frowning into his coffee mug. I feel an answering frown crumple my forehead. Why does he care? As far as I know, he’s never given a damn about Ada. He thought her name was ‘Anna’ for three years.
“Yeah, she is,” I say, watching him closely. “Why?”
“No reason. Be good to see her, I guess.”
I squint at my brother, officially suspicious.
Is he following the Afterglow account? My stomach knots as an uglier option occurs to me.
He might know about Ada from Jake’s golf chat.
He told me a bunch of ex-Pukekohe rugby guys are in there, but I’d never considered that Tristan might be one of them.
Then again, why would living halfway around the world stop my brother from bragging about his handicap?
Before I can ask Tristan what he knows, or even consider what it might mean, Mum interrupts. “Is Agnes still working with you, Cece?”
“Sure is. I’d be lost without her.”
At least I don’t have to lie about that…
Mum purses her lips. She’s never been a huge fan of Aggie or her all-animal-print wardrobe.
“Lovely,” she says, with all the enthusiasm of someone discussing compost. She drifts over to the pantry and rattles her old flower-covered biscuit tin. “Any takers?”
Ada’s carb-warning echoes in my head, so I take two, then instantly worry they’ll test the limits of my control-top underwear.
Tristan doesn’t share my concerns. He grabs a fistful, then nods at the front porch. “Let’s go outside. Need to talk.”
My Coconut Krispie turns to dust in my mouth. What if he wants to warn me about Ada’s new football groupie reputation, or scold me about my Afterglow photos? Oh God, what if he knows I’ve been flirting with Will Sharpe?
Pure panic floods me for a second, and then my hackles rise.
If Tristan wants to play the conservative knuckle-dragger, he can, but I don’t have to listen. I’m thirty-two, and I can date whoever the hell I want. So can Ada. As if Tristan didn’t spend his early twenties sticking it into anything with a pulse before Caroline roped him in.
I stand, forcing down the rest of my biscuit. “Sure.”
Outside, I sit on the porch swing while Tristan leans against the railing, dunking another Coconut Krispie into his coffee. In the morning sun, his haircut looks even more tragic. I think he was aiming for ‘laid back rockstar,’ but he landed right on ‘divorced Creed superfan.’
I bury my smile in my mug. “What’s up?”
“I need to talk to you about the bar.”
Well, that doesn’t narrow it down. “What about the bar?”
“Your lease is going up.”
My windpipe closes. “What do you mean, ‘My lease is going up?’ How do you know anything about my lease?”
He gives me a ‘Serious Lawyer’ look, and ice slides through my veins.
“Tristan? How the fuck do you know anything about my lease?”
He turns to gaze over the street like it’s his own personal empire. “Look, you know how Mitch left you the bar?”
“Yes. Obviously.”
“Well, the terms of his will left you the lease to the business and the premises—”
“I don’t need you to build me a case, just tell me what’s happening!”
He glares at me, and I know I should still be trying to be nice, but my heart is tripping over itself in a wonky, rapid rhythm.
“Mitch left you the bar,” Tristan says. “But he left the building to me.”