Chapter 3
Chapter Three
By Friday evening, Hudson had objected to the dinner three times without ever asking Abby to cancel it.
He complained that Evan would arrive late, predicted Makayla would spend the meal punishing him for it, and suggested more than once that they could have chosen a quieter way to spend the evening.
He still came home at six carrying two bottles from the Covington cellar, though he made a point of mentioning what each one cost.
"You brought the Bordeaux your father gave us for Christmas," Abby said as she found him loosening his tie in the bedroom. She took the bottles from him and read the label, although the vineyard and vintage meant nothing to her beyond the certainty that neither belonged beside takeout.
"If Evan is going to keep me waiting, I want something decent to drink." Hudson pulled his tie free and left it on the bench at the foot of their bed. "He can consider it compensation for the time."
"You could try being glad he's coming." Abby followed Hudson into the closet, where he exchanged his suit for dark trousers and a sweater. "He is still your friend."
"He was easier to be friends with before every conversation became a request for introductions." Hudson pushed his sleeves up his forearms and glanced at Abby's reflection in the mirror. "I don't know whether he wants dinner or access to someone in my father's contact list."
Abby fastened one of her earrings and considered defending Evan, but she had already done enough of that for one week.
Hudson knew him better than she did, and their friendship had survived college, competing job offers, and the year Evan moved across the country to work for a company he later left to start his own.
Whatever irritation existed between them belonged to a history Abby had only witnessed from the outside.
"Then don't discuss work," she said, reaching past Hudson for the perfume on the dresser. "You used to have things in common before the company."
"I still have things in common with him." Hudson checked his watch, already looking bored by an evening that had not begun. "I just don't intend to spend four hours pretending his choices haven't made everyone around him miserable."
“Then talk to him about something else,” she said, reaching past Hudson for the perfume on the dresser. “You used to play basketball together. You could discuss how both of you are now too old to jump without your knees making a noise.”
“I am not too old to jump.” Hudson caught her around the waist before she could move away and lifted her several inches from the floor, ignoring her startled protest. “I’m in my physical prime, and I resent your attempt to manufacture evidence to the contrary.”
Abby laughed as he set her down, but the sudden movement left her faintly dizzy. She braced a hand against his chest until the sensation passed, blaming the lack of any food since breakfast.
“You’re showing off before anyone has even arrived,” she said, pressing her palm to his sweater. “Pace yourself.”
The buzzer sounded from the front hall, and Hudson’s expression altered beneath her hand. The change was small—a brief tightening at the corners of his mouth, gone before Abby could decide whether she had imagined it—but he released her and checked his watch.
“That will be Makayla,” he said as he walked toward the door. “Evan won’t be here for another hour.”
He was right.
Makayla stood in the hallway alone, holding a bakery box against the front of a fitted green dress Abby had persuaded her to buy the previous summer. Gold gleamed at her wrist when she lifted the box, revealing a slim bracelet set with tiny diamonds.
“I come bearing pastry,” Makayla announced as she stepped inside. She kissed Abby’s cheek and then paused when Hudson reached for her coat, her eyes flicking toward his face before she turned her back to him. “Be careful with that. It’s the nicest thing I own.”
“The consignment miracle,” Hudson said as he slid the camel coat from her shoulders. His tone carried the same dry amusement he used whenever Makayla discussed clothes, and Abby wondered whether she had mentioned the purchase to him after lunch. “Abby told me all about it.”
Makayla glanced at Abby before touching the bracelet at her wrist.
Hudson’s gaze dropped to the movement, but he said nothing as he hung the coat in the closet. Abby saw only another expensive purchase Makayla regretted, evidence of the tension between the life she wanted and the one Evan kept asking her to postpone.
“That’s new, isn’t it? I think I know all your jewelry, but I don’t remember this piece, it’s lovely.
Don’t tell me that came from the same shop,” Abby said as she took Makayla’s hand and examined the bracelet.
The diamonds were delicate enough to seem almost modest until they caught the light.
“If it did, I need the address immediately.”
“It was a gift.” Makayla withdrew her hand and reached for the bakery box Abby still held. “A client gave it to me after an event last month. I told her it was too much, but she insisted.”
Hudson moved toward the kitchen before Abby could ask which client. “Some people have no sense of appropriate professional boundaries.”
Makayla followed him with her eyes, her mouth tightening around an answer she apparently chose not to give. Abby interpreted the silence as offense and nudged her shoulder toward the kitchen.
“He means the client, not you,” she murmured. “Hudson believes work gifts should arrive with a tax disclosure form.”
“I know exactly what Hudson means.” Makayla smiled as she looped her arm through Abby’s, allowing herself to be led from the hall. “His thoroughness is one of his more exhausting qualities.”
The first half hour passed more easily than Abby had expected.
Makayla sat at the island while Abby transferred Thai food into serving dishes, and Hudson opened the wine despite pointing out that it would pair badly with everything they had ordered.
They discussed the wedding invitations, a mutual friend’s abrupt move to Seattle, and whether Abby’s sister would object if Hudson’s youngest cousin gave a speech at the rehearsal dinner.
“Sadie will object if his speech is longer than hers,” Abby said as she carried bowls to the table.
She placed Makayla’s favorite curry at the seat beside Evan’s, then shifted it farther from the candles so the coconut milk would not form a skin.
“She has been preparing her toast since Hudson proposed, and I suspect it now includes visual aids.”
“She sent me a draft,” Makayla said, tracing one finger around the base of her wineglass. “There’s an entire section about the time Abby broke her arm after climbing onto the garage roof because she thought she could see Canada.”
“You lived in Pennsylvania,” Hudson said, staring at Abby with renewed interest. “How have I never heard this?”
“Because I was nine, geographically confused, and heavily influenced by a book about explorers.” Abby set down the last bowl and gave Makayla a look of affectionate betrayal.
The front buzzer sounded at eight fifty-three. Makayla’s smile disappeared before she covered the reaction by lifting her wine, and Abby rose quickly enough to prevent Hudson from making a snide comment on the time.
Evan stood outside the apartment with rain darkening the shoulders of his coat and fatigue carved into the skin beneath his eyes. He held a grocery-store bouquet in one hand and a paper bag in the other, both of which he extended toward Abby with an apologetic grimace.
“I know flowers don’t compensate for being late,” he said as she let him inside. He looked past her toward the dining room, where Makayla had turned her chair away from the door. “I also know these are not especially good flowers, but every actual florist was closed.”
“They’re perfect.” Abby accepted the bouquet and found herself moved by the sad arrangement of carnations and daisies, chosen by a man who clearly had no idea whether they were good. “You’re only fifty minutes late, which is practically early in Evan-time.”
“I had predicted an hour,” Hudson called from the table. He rose when Evan entered, and the two men clasped hands before Hudson pulled him into a brief embrace. “You’re ruining my reputation for accuracy.”
Evan smiled, and for a moment he looked younger, more like the man Abby remembered from college than the exhausted founder who appeared in photographs beside announcements about funding. “Give me another week. I’m sure I’ll provide new data.”
He crossed to Makayla and bent to kiss her, but she turned her face just enough that his mouth landed near her temple. Evan paused with one hand resting on the back of her chair, his expression briefly unguarded before he straightened.
“I brought the lemon cookies you like,” he said, lifting the paper bag. “The place near the office was still open.”
“I stopped liking those two years ago.” Makayla examined her wine as though the answer might be visible in it. “You would know that if you ever came home before midnight.”
The room contracted around the words. Abby reached for the flowers, searching for a vase she knew was under the sink, while Hudson poured Evan a glass of wine.
“I thought you ate them last month,” Evan said after a moment. He remained standing behind Makayla’s chair, his damp coat still buttoned and his paper bag beginning to crumple beneath his grip. “You asked me to bring them home.”
“I ate one because they were there.” Makayla finally looked up at him, and the pain in her face was self-inflicted. “That isn’t the same as liking them.”
Evan nodded once and placed the bag beside her plate. “Sorry. I’ll remember for next time.” He removed his coat without defending himself, then took the empty chair with the weary obedience of someone who believed accepting punishment was easier than arguing over whether he deserved it.
Abby found the vase and arranged the flowers at the counter, giving herself several seconds before returning to the table. When she sat, Evan caught her eye across the candles and offered a small, embarrassed smile.
“Thank you for waiting,” he said as he unfolded his napkin. His gaze moved around the table, touching briefly on Makayla before returning to Abby. “I know everyone has better things to do than organize dinner around my inability to leave work.”
“We wanted you here,” Abby said, because Makayla’s silence made the assurance necessary. She passed him the curry she had kept warm and watched some of the strain leave his face. “We’re always happy to wait for you.”