The final time he’d visited the tree house, he’d been seventeen and had almost reached his full height. When he’d pulled himself up into it, the entire thing had creaked and threatened to collapse.
He’d sat very still, his weight evenly distributed, reading a textbook. He’d been in a relatively good place in his life. He’d been on his way to achieving his goals. He had the Colemans. Yet on that day, his eyes had stung with sorrow, because he’d known that trip to the tree house would be his last.
He wasn’t a crier. During his childhood there were many times when crying would’ve been the healthiest response. But on those occasions, his eyes had remained dry and his heart had been cold as stone.
On his next visit to the Colemans, every piece of the tree house had been gone. The only sign that it had been there was the damaged bark where the steps had been. The loss had hit him like a blow.
He threaded his way through the guests, nodding to people he knew, making his way onto the deck.
He found Ben’s dad exactly where he’d known he’d be, in front of the barbecue, surrounded by friends.
“Sebastian,” Hersh said with deep affection. The older man hugged him and bumped a fist against his back. “Love you, man.”
Love you,manandyeahmade up about half of Hersh’s vocabulary. For decades he’d worked for a company that sold trucks to corporations. A big man with a bald oval head and a goatee, Hersh was so good-natured that smile lines permanently indented his face.
Hersh extended his tasting plate to Sebastian, who pulled off a crispy piece of rib meat. Sebastian chewed slowly. “Delicious.”
“Good, right?”
“Better than good.” Sebastian licked his fingers.
Hersh made a merry sound and snuck another taste for himself. “What’s that you got there?” He indicated the present Sebastian carried.
“A gift for your wife that she’ll probably like better than whatever you bought for her.”
“Man, I booked a trip for the two of us to Mexico. There’s no way your gift is better than that.”
“You’re right. It’s not better than— ”
“I believe I get to be the judge of that.” CeCe had arrived. Short, plump, and opinionated, she made up in feistiness what she lacked in inches.
She’d combed her graying black hair tightly away from her face into a twist at the back of her neck. In the mid-2000s, she’d decided she had “springtime coloring” and since then had worn only pale purple clothing. Her features were plain. But when you spoke with her, nothing about her read as plain because of the force of her personality.
After the earthquake, Ben was the one who’d invited Sebastian over numerous times. CeCe was the one who’d insisted he become a part of their family. She’d been very firm on that, especially the times when they’d butted heads and he’d tried to pull away. Her own kids had never found a way to disobey her, and neither had Sebastian.
CeCe gave him a hug filled with the scent of a flower garden and the press of long, fancy fingernails. Then she clasped her hands on either side of his face, eyes narrowing as she studied him. “You’re late,” she said.
“Hi.”
“You’re late,” she repeated, setting her hands on her round hips.
“I can’t be late until the barbecue is served. Also, the invitation said this was a come-and-go thing from five until ten.”
“Not for you! You’re family, so you should’ve been here at 4:45 to help deal with me when I was having my pre-party hissy fit.”
“As sorry as I am to have missed your pre-party hissy fit—”
She sucked air through her teeth.
“—I had to work. I got in the car and drove here as soon as I could. Also, I brought you a gift.” He handed over the package. He’d convinced Markie to wrap it for him in gold paper with a big white bow.
After pulling free the wrapping paper, CeCe opened the box. Within lay a crystal wine glass.
“What!” she crowed. Her eyes rounded, and her lips formed a blazing smile. “It’s my holy grail!” She lifted it from the box and held it up like a trophy.
Before their wedding, CeCe had registered for twelve Alana crystal goblets by Waterford. Several years ago, when washing goblets after a baby shower, one had slipped and shattered. The Alana style was discontinued, and CeCe had been unable to purchase a replacement. She’d never gotten over it. Several times she’d complained loudly to Sebastian about having only eleven goblets.“An odd number! What on earth am I supposed to do with eleven goblets?”
“My holy grail!” she screeched again.
