At first everyone ends up in the kitchen, setting plates and platters onto countertops, but then Claire and Bonnie herd us all out of the room, promising that coffee and dessert will be served shortly.
We cluster in the large living room, a space decorated invitingly in cream, mint, and lavender and featuring vases of Claire’s flowers on several surfaces. After realizing that Gabe is missing in action, I check the long corridor that runs perpendicularto the main hall, poking my head into the den but not seeing him there. I finally locate him on the screened porch at the east end of the house, staring out at the rain.
“Hey,” I say, coming up next to him. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I guess.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “It’s just a lot to digest.”
There’s almost a pulse to his unease, I realize, one I can practically feel. Good, maybe he’s finally catching on to how big of an issue the Nick-Hannah romance is.
“Did you have any sense this was coming?” I ask.
“Of course not. I would have told you.”
“Gabe, it wasn’t an accusation. I was just wondering whether in hindsight you realize there were hints he was this serious.”
“No, there weren’t. I mean, he’s clearly besotted—you couldn’t missthatfrom the International Space Station—but I’ve seen him that way before.”
“How do you think your parents feel? Your mom seems to be putting on a brave face, but something tells me she’s pretty dismayed.”
He shrugs. “They know Nick’s a smart guy—my dad wouldn’t have brought him into the business otherwise. But they’re also aware that in his personal life, he doesn’t always think things through.”
“Is there some way to convince him to take his time?”
“I’m not sure of the best tack.” He’s continued to face the lawn as we’ve been speaking, but he turns now in my direction. “But I’ll tell you what’snotgoing to help? Stuff like looking totally bummed and refusing to join a toast in their honor.”
He’s right, I know. “I’m sorry. I’m just not any good at pretending I’m happy about this.”
“I thought you were an actress.”
“That’s a cheap shot, Gabe,” I say as anger flares in me.
“Agreed. Sorry. But we’re all going to have to fake it for now. And who knows? Maybe it will turn out better than we imagine. My parents only knew each other six months before they were married, and look how well that’s worked—”
“Wait, you really think the issue is that Nick and Hannah haven’t had enough time to get to know each other? And not that she’s untrustworthy?”
Even in the dusky light, I see the muscles of his face tense.
“Summer, let’s not get into that again, okay? Like I told you before, I’m not giving any credence to something based on hearsay.... I think we’d better show our faces in there or else we’re going to seem totally rude.”
I’m still bristling, but I don’t want to make things any worse tonight than they already are, so I nod and start for the interior of the house. Gabe suddenly pulls me close and kisses the top of my head.
“Babe, I know you care about Nick, and you don’t want anything bad to happen to him. But let’s give them a chance, okay?”
“Sure.”
I follow him back down the corridor toward the sound of voices, ending up in the dining room this time. Everyone’s milling around the table, where there are two large stoneware baking dishes with blueberry crumble and a huge bowl of vanilla ice cream for topping. Claire still seems to be in the kitchen, though, and I don’t see Marcus, either.
By now I’ve lost my appetite, and fruit crumble sounds about as appealing as a plateful of hair, but I join Gabe at the table, where a short line has formed. Henry’s at the front and has already managed to secure himself a piece of the crumble and top it with a giant mound of ice cream.
“Buddy, let me help you carry that into the living room,” Gabe tells him.
As they depart the room, I drift toward the coffee carafes on the sideboard. Hannah, I notice, is already serving herself a tiny sliver of crumble. As she rounds the far end of the table, dessert plate in one hand and coffee mug in the other, she glances backward and for the first time since the announcement, we make eye contact. She stares, as if daring me to look away—which I finally do—before she goes to sit with herfiancé.
Soon, Keira and I are the only ones left in the dining room, both serving ourselves coffee. She looks even more pensive than normal.
“Where’s Marcus?” I ask.
“Already in bed. He felt a cold coming on, and he wants to see if he can nip it in the bud.”
