“It was nothing,” Blaire says, beaming. “I had just read an article that gave me an idea. I’m glad it worked out.”
“Worked out? It’s fucking brilliant!” Oliver shouts from the kitchen. “And Holt didn’t tell me it was your idea.”
Blaire gasps in faux shock.
“I did too,” I fire back.
Oliver just chuckles and goes back to making his plate.
The ice cubes in my father’s drink clink together as he examines Blaire. “Do you have any other brilliant insights to share on easements? Because I’m having a legal dispute with my neighbor to the right.”
Blaire’s eyes light up. “I don’t know. Try me.”
“Holt! Can you help me with this?” My mom shouts from the kitchen.
I look down at Blaire. I don’t want to leave her here if she’s uncomfortable, considering she’s spent exactly thirty seconds with my father. But the shine in her eye and the wide grin on her face tell me she’s perfectly happy talking legal bullshit with Dad.
“Go on,” she says. “This is my wheelhouse.”
“Good luck to you. Dad will talk your ear off,” I say, earning a clap on the back from my father.
I make my way into the kitchen, slipping in a quick hug from Larissa as I walk by. She jabs me in the ribs in an apparent ode to Blaire coming to a family event again, but I ignore it.
My mother points at a box on the top shelf. “Can you grab that?”
“You couldn’t have one of these assholes get it?”
“They’re filling their plates,” she says. “Besides, I wanted to talk to you.”
I know. I knew it when she pretended to need my help.
The cereal box that has nothing to do with brunch is retrieved from its spot next to the crackers. I hand it to my mom.
“She’s lovely,” Mom whispers. “She’s so, so lovely, Holton.”
“She’s lovely,” Boone whispers sarcastically as he walks by.
I glare at him. He laughs.
“Should I get used to seeing her around?” Mom asks. “We’re having the Champagne and Crudites event at the Country Club next week, and I’d love to invite her.”
I glance at Blaire over my shoulder. She’s engaged in a conversation with my father, who looks captivated by her.
I get it, Dad. Me too.
“She’s going back to Chicago in a couple of days,” I say before turning around to face my mother again.
She looks confused. “To get her things? To see her family?”
“To work.” I blow out a breath “She’s … She doesn’t live here. And she’s not going to. Her life is in Illinois.”
“But I thought …”
Oliver approaches us from the table. He looks between my mom and me.
“Hey, I need to talk to you for a second,” he tells me, motioning toward the hallway.
“Wewillreconvene this conversation later,” Mom warns.
