Mrs. Barbanel looked thoughtful. “The young lady who studies astrophysics?”
“Right.”
“I assume they’ll both be here today.”
I nodded.
“Hm. And what about you? And beaux?” She frowned. “Or ladyfriends? My grandchildren tell me everyone likes everyone these days.”
Oh, wow, okay, not sure I wanted to explain being queer to the Barbanel matriarch. “Uh, no, none of the above. Just—me.”
“What about Ethan?”
What had I done to deserve this conversation? “Er—Ethan?”
“He seems to like you.”
Hoo-boy. How did I tell someone’s grandmother their grandson liked to hook up with me, not date me?
Actually, easy solution, I didn’t have to talk about this. “Ethan and I are just friends.”
Mrs. Barbanel gave me a skeptical look. “Why?”
“Why…are we just friends?”
“Young lady,” Mrs. Barbanel said, “you should not spend an entire conversation repeating what the other person said.”
Wow, love this talk for me.It seemed truly unfair old people could be rude and young people could do nothing in return. “I don’t think Ethan and I see each other that way.”
“My dear.” Helen Barbanel sounded pitying. “You stare after him like a moonstruck calf.”
Cool!
As though our conversation had summoned him, Ethan bounded onto the lawn. “Grandma! Jordan!” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders and gave me a hard side hug, knuckling my head as though I was a Little League player. I wanted to shove him away and also press my lips to his. “What’s up?”
Mrs. Barbanel raised her thread-thin brows at me.
I smiled weakly. “Let’s get ready for this garden tour, huh?”
“I’m pumped,” Ethan said. “So ready. Grandma, can’t wait to learn about flowers.”
“I’m so glad after eighteen years you deign to come on a tour,” Mrs. Barbanel said, but even she succumbed in the face of Ethan’s good humor, a smile twitching at her lips.
Dad and Cora soon arrived, followed by the official tour of thirty people, both locals and tourists. A professional facilitated the tour, though Mrs. Barbanel did most of the talking, leading the group though the carefully tended groves and gardens created by generations of the women in her husband’s family. By dint of not knowing anyone else, Cora and Dad gravitated together, though first I had to summon Ethan away so Dad couldn’t use him as a crutch. “Pst,” I said to get his attention while Mrs. Barbanel explained about beach grasses and other native plants she’d introduced to help fight dune erosion. When he glanced at me, I flapped my hand.“Psst!”
“You would make a terrible spy,” Ethan said after finally coming over to my side.
“How can you say that? I would make anexcellentspy.” I gestured at my outfit, a black shirtdress. “I always blend with the shadows.”
“A good spy blends with the crowd, not the shadows. If you really wanted to succeed at espionage, you’d be wearing Nantucket red.”
This was not a horrible point. “True, but only if I was a daytime spy, not if I was a nighttime stealthy spy.”
He glanced pointedly at the garden party. “Are you a nighttime stealthy spy?”
“No. But I’m not trying to be a spy, I’m trying to be—” I belatedly remembered the origin of this conversation. “Are you trying to say I’m not subtle?”
Ethan ruffled my hair and grinned. “There we go.”
