For the first time, a blip of quiet inserted itself into the conversation. “Are you done now?” Britt asked.
“I am,” Willow said. “Are you done, Nora?”
“Yes. I’m ready to joinmy husbandin the kitchen.”
Britt rolled her eyes. Her sisters linked arms with her on either side as they made their way toward the others.
Mom, Dad, Willow, Corbin, Nora, John, Zander, Grandma, Clint, and Valentina talked and snacked on appetizers while the stew simmered. Britt flitted from one person to the next, trying to prove to them all that she was just fine. Her inner attention was split, however. One third of her focus stayed where she wanted it—on the conversation. One third tried to suppress a roiling sense of fear. One third was preoccupied with Zander.
He was quieter than usual. Several times, she caught him surveying her with an inscrutable expression.
When Valentina declared the borscht ready, they moved into the dining room. Britt had forced herself to eat a pancake this morning and half the sandwich Maddie had brought to her for lunch. She still wasn’t hungry. She watched the pat of butter she’d spread on her crusty slice of French bread soften. She chewed a bite, waiting for her brain to register its deliciousness. But it didn’t. Perhaps because her stomach had contracted with nerves.
Her passion for food, the thing that had motivated her entire career, had deserted her.
Though Zander was sitting next to her, he felt as far away as Guam. That uncomfortable truth wasn’t helped by the swoony happiness shooting from Nora and John and Willow and Corbin in rosy bursts.
If you were one of three sisters and the other two had recently married, you deserved a medal.
“You look shaken by the ordeal you went through yesterday,” Grandma said to Britt, taking a stab at sympathy.
“No, I’m not shaken. I’m right as rain!”
“The beef in this dish might not be the best thing for your state of mind,” Grandma continued. “Or your waistline. It’s very rich.”
Britt fantasized about picking Grandma up, carrying her to the canal, and throwing her in. “I’ll go easy on the beef.”
Grandma cupped a hand around her mouth, as if telling Britt a secret, despite the fact that she was sitting across the table. “Be sure to take some Milk of Magnesia later. I always do after eating Valentina’s borscht. Keeps me regular.”
“Yes!” Valentina piped up. “Warm milk before bed help you sleep, miss.”
“Meditative music helps me fall asleep,” Clint told Britt.
Grandma gave Clint a suspicious look. “What’s meditative music?”
“Therapeutic sounds and melodies. You know? Played on instruments like the dulcimer, the pan flute, and wind chimes.”
“Wind chimes are not an instrument,” Grandma stated. “They’re a porch decoration for those who aren’t at home with the natural sounds of God’s world.”
Britt had to wonder whether God considered Grandma’s cantankerous voice to be one of the natural sounds of His world.
“I just pop a Tylenol PM when I’m having trouble sleeping,” Corbin said.
“No, no, no.” Willow shook her head. “The most natural thing, Britt, is melatonin.”
“I exercise to improve sleep,” John told her.
“I read,” Nora said.
She needed to mount a counteroffensive in order to end this sleep intervention. “Thanks, everyone, for the helpful suggestions, but how about we move right along to the topic of Clint dating Nikki? All in favor, raise your hands.” Poor Clint. It was cowardly of her to turn the spotlight from herself to him. But there you had it.
Everyone raised their hands.
“I don’t want to pressure you or anything,” Nora said to Clint, “but Nikki really is great. She’s worked with me for several years now, and she’s someone who says what she thinks. She’s confident and sassy, but she’s also genuinely good-hearted.”
Clint blushed. He’d removed his cowboy hat politely when he’d come inside. His long, thin hair shone beneath the chandelier. Women all over America would pay to get their hair that shiny.
“What do you think?” the never-shy Corbin asked him. “Are you interested in dating Nikki?”
