Not with appliances, but with being a friend at a time when I didn’t have the bandwidth to make friends. She was justthere, with her completely different lifestyle and zero fear about anything and some soul-level understanding that we needed each other.
“Bea,” Simon says suddenly, “did you tell Daphne what the fortune teller said?”
I wince.
His smile freezes. “Oh.”
“You saw Madame Petty without me?” Daph shrieks. “What did she say? I have to know what she said. You know she told me I should hoard money two weeks before my parents disowned me, right?”
“She didn’t say anything that made any sense,” I tell her.
“But what did she say?”
I look at Simon.
He shovels another scoopful of risotto into his mouth, with far fewer manners than he’s been using to eat the rest of dinner—seriously, adorable—and his eyes roll back in his head again.
“She just said you shouldn’t do anything stupid,” I say. “Which is dumb. Who’s to say what’s stupid?”
Simon eyes me.
If he tells Daph that Madame Petty said she wouldn’t come home one day, my hopeless romantic vagina will be finding someone else to be hopelessly romantic about.
“That’s seriously what she said?” Daph looks between us. “That’s so vague.”
“Does she—erm, that is, she also said that my boys would cease speaking to me, so I rather suspect she’s a charlatan,” Simon says.
“Honestly, Daph, he has a point,” I say. “You know I love you, so I say this with love too, but that fortune she gave you about hoarding money? Anyone who’d ever seen a single article about who you used to be and the subsequent articles about your parents’ heartburn might’ve guessed the same.”
She squints at us, her gaze still darting back and forth between us.
And then she sighs. “You’re right. Another fortune teller told me once I’d be arrested, and honestly, of course I was going to be arrested. It was inspiration, if anything.” Her eyes suddenly go big. “Oh my god. Your mother’s Naomi Luckwood, isn’t she?”
Simon’s face goes blank. “That is her name, yes.”
“The painter?”
“That is what she’s known for, yes.”
“She was there.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your mother. My mother went on this kick where she was thinking about buying some of your mother’s artwork since she was Margot’s fiancé’s mother’s favorite obscure artist for a while, and she was there when I got home after the first time I was arrested. They all were, actually. My mother, your mother, Margot’s former fiancé’s mother…”
“Fascinating.”
If Simon thinks he’s hiding how he feels about his parents with this neutral-expression thing he has going on, he’s dead wrong.
I canfeelDaph picking up on the vibes.
“You’re not very much like your parents, are you?” Daph says.
“Strawberry shortcake?” I interrupt.
“Indeed.” Simon rises. “Please. Allow me to assist.”
“That’s a fabulous idea,” Daphne says. “I’m gonna sit here and be lazy and watch the sun set. Can you make sure my cream is extra whipped?”
