21
MAXFORD
“What a delightful surprise—families who coordinate together stay together.” Stella adjusts my charcoal gray tie. “You really should consider tuxes more often. You look wonderful, darling.”
“They’re not my thing,” I tell her, tugging at the collar, fighting the urge to loosen the tie. You’d never know it’s single digits outside for how warm this room is, thanks to the blazing fireplace and all the bodies packed into the space.
Nola, Emma, and I arrived twenty minutes ago, and this is the first chance I’ve had to talk to the guest of honor. Stella organized an official unveiling at White Pine Assisted Living Center after Nola finished the portrait last week. It turned into a big to-do, complete with catered finger foods delivered around by professional waitstaff on trays. She invited all the residents and staff, as well as a few others from the community and art world, to see herself immortalized in acrylic. And, naturally, Roy Orbison is serenading us in the background from a playlist curated by the woman of the hour.
The evening is a major throwback to our life in PalmSprings. Front and center is Stella, thriving in her element. She’s in charge, center of attention, and dressed to the nines in a black ballgown with elbow-length white gloves. She’s giddy and plucky, tossing around her boisterous laugh often and reveling in the moment. My gut tells me I’ve missed this side of her more than I knew.
“Do you really need to leave next week?” she scolds. “It feels so soon.”
“It is, but we’ve talked about this already—I’m not twenty-two anymore. If I’m going to have a chance at making a name for myself this season, I have got to get to Arizona ahead of everybody, get back into the routine, and be there to mentor the newbies.”
“You’rea newbie this season.” My grandmother pats my cheek lovingly. “Don’t forget that. Maxford, I understand the logic, even if I don’t like it. I’m just not ready to let you go yet. Don’t tell your sisters, but you’re my favorite.”
With a side hug, I lean in and tell her, “Tell me something I don’t already know.” She gives me her mischievous grin that reaches all the way to her eyes. “I honestly never thought I’d be experiencing another spring training, and I hate leaving you like this. At least you’ve got Opal and I’ll be back during the off-season . . . and you know, Nola is close by.”
She rallies at that last part but then lowers her voice, and with concern, says, “She’s going to be busy with Emma and her career, especially after my people circulate news of this piece here through the right channels. Do you really think she’ll make time for me?”
I give my grandma an expression that tells her she’s being ridiculous. Nola will stop by and visit. She’s already told Stella as much and has promised me multiple times that she’ll take over my duties since Madelyn is currently unavailable forsome secretive reason and Violet is across the world in Vienna, administering Band-Aids and handing out Advil to embassy employees.
“I think she’ll be disappointed if you didn’t make time forher,” I say.
“Hey, Grandson,” she leans conspiratorially, “I’m so proud of our girl, aren’t you?” She grabs my arm and rotates us so she can look longingly at her portrait.
I love that she called Nola ‘our girl.’ I know she hasn’t always been the welcome committee Nola deserves, but it means a lot to me for her to say that about the woman who has infiltrated my every waking thought. Even if Stella hadn’t taken to her like I have, I’ll never stop being so proud of Nola. She threw herself into this project and it’s nothing short of incredible. She’s going to open doors by her own doing, regardless of how my grandmother is able to help her out.
I study the painting for the hundredth time and am in awe. The way Nola mixed the boldness of the color with the control her subject exudes is perfect. There’s a femininity about it, soft touches in the details while the overlying tone is power. “Yeah. She captured you well.”
“I look absolutely stunning. What’s that phrase the kids say? Sorry, not sorry? Well, that’s me. I’m not embarrassed to say I’m planning to sit and stare at myself for at least the next two days.” Stella glances around the room. “Where is that wife of yours, anyway? I wanted to introduce her to somebody.”
With the ferocity of a man who’s been at sea for years and is finally making land, I scan the room for Nola. I spy her across the way, selecting a sparkling water at the drink table while talking to Opal. She looks gorgeous in a floor length, deep purple lace dress. She invited the same stylist to do herhair and makeup from the night of our PR-home run hockey date.
Stella’s invitations had stated the expectation we arrive looking our absolute best and Nola was up for the challenge. She’s never looked better. My heart aches with joy that this woman is my wife.
Emma, wearing a similar-styled dress in midnight blue, has parked herself on one of the large armchairs near the fireplace. She’s got a plate full of treats and has singled out Jacqueline as her friend for the evening. I have watched her talk my grandmother’s assistant’s ear off for a solid half an hour. Luckily, Jacqueline is nothing short of a professional and appears to be engaged.
Nola must feel the intensity of my stare because she turns and locates me from across the room, a smile growing until it threatens to overtake her face. Opal waves her off and Nola comes over to join Stella and me. Her hand gently finds my back. “Hello, Stella.” It’s innocent and welcoming. Then she turns toward me and her hand slides down to my butt, where she gives it a love tap. “Maxford,” she growls, her eyes slowly raking up and down my body. “We have got to find reasons for you to be dressed up more often.”
Stella raises a brow at me as if saying ‘told you so.’ “Nola, I have a friend from the art museum in Palm Springs who is here and I’d love to introduce you two. Can I steal you away for a minute?”
They go off to a group mingling near the grand piano, and I relieve Jacqueline. “Hey, kiddo.”
“Hi.” She has a plate with a slice of chocolate cake on her lap that she picks at.
“What’s the matter?” I take a seat in the armchair next to her.
Emma had wanted dress shoes with low heels for tonight but never thought her mom would agree. Nola had wanted her to wear simple flats she already owned, but when she surprised Emma with the pair of black low heels this afternoon, her whole face lit up. Then I gifted Emma a charm bracelet and she spent the whole car ride over shaking her wrist to hear the charms clink against one another. The happy child who bounced into this room ready to eat her weight in sugar has been replaced by a gloomy girl.
“You can tell me,” I remind her. “I don’t like to see you sad.”
“It’s all going to end,” she finally says.
“Tonight?”
“No, the Hutchings-Adler family. I mean, I know we’re not real-real, but I’ve liked having you at home. And Mom has too. You’d told me you weren’t going to Arizona until the middle of February and now you’re leaving in a few days. It makes me worry that you also told Mom you like her, but what if that changes too?”
