I flinch. “Are you serious?”
“Are you serious? Yes, Gray. Maggie’s not . . .” He trails off, filling his cheeks with air before letting it out slowly. “I mean, you and Eva . . . you’re kissing or whatever,” he finally says. “I think she needs to know.”
“Do you tell all your sad stories to every girl you make out with?”
“You’re not just making out with her.”
“Exactly, Luca. This isn’t some fling for me.”
I look down, hooking my hands on my elbows, the admission making my heart hurl itself against my ribs. I feel exposed and tender, a butterfly caught in a thunderstorm.
“I know it’s not,” Luca says softly.
I nod, finally daring to glance his way. “Whoopie pie?” I ask.
He grins. “Always whoopie pie.”
“All right. I’ll see you there.”
I’ll do just about anything for Emmy’s whoopie pies, and Luca knows it.
The temperature at dinner is about a hundred degrees of weird. The bisque is thick and creamy, and I could live on Emmy’s homemade brown bread alone for the rest of my life and be totally happy, but the overall vibe? Well, let’s just say I could do without a repeat.
Emmy watches Eva sip at her bisque, flicking her eyes to me, then back to Eva. She smiles and asks about Mom and piano and all that, but I can’t shake the feeling that she’s watching the two of us for signs of . . . what? That we made out? I’m not sure if she even knows Eva’s gay.
“Mom, can we take our whoopie pies downstairs?” Luca asks when Emmy brings a platter brimming with chocolaty-creamy goodness in from the kitchen. “I told Kimber we’d play air hockey.”
“Okay, that sounds fine. Go have fun.” She puts the pies on small white plates and hands them out.
While Luca heads to the kitchen for a glass of milk, something he cannot live without when eating whoopie pies, Eva, Kimber, and I take our desserts and start toward the basement. Halfway down, I stop.
“I’ll be right there,” I tell Eva, handing her my plate. “Just want to ask Emmy something.”
She tilts her head at me but nods. “Okay.”
I tromp back upstairs, not sure what I actually want to say to Emmy. Everything just seems off between us. I’m not used to feeling so disconnected from her or Luca, and I really hate it. Luca knows I’m with Eva, and while I don’t know if Emmy knows about me, I do know she’d be fine with it. When the Supreme Court legalized same-sex marriage, she baked a huge rainbow cake and sold it by the slice at LuMac’s, for god’s sake. Some people on the cape turned up their noses, but a lot of people loved it. So, yeah, I know Emmy will be fine with this, and I just need to hug her. Thank her for dinner. Anything to keep us feeling like us right now.
I’m rounding the corner into the kitchen when I hear Emmy’s voice. It’s low and laced with worry, making me stop in my tracks.
“You’ll talk to Grace?” she says to Luca. “I mean really talk to her?”
“Yeah. I told you I would.”
“I can do it if you need me to.”
“No, I will. But she’s not going to like it.”
The refrigerator opens and something rattles around before it’s closed. “I know, honey. I don’t like it either. I wish I could give Maggie the benefit of the doubt. Everyone deserves fresh starts and second chances, but this thing with Maggie goes way beyond a few too many drinks. Under normal circumstances, I would never ask Grace to talk about her family life if she didn’t want to, but . . . Eva’s been through too much. I can’t take that risk. Not right now.”
“I don’t know why Grace hasn’t told her everything already.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” Emmy says, sighing. “Yes, you do.”
“This sucks.”
“You’re her best friend. She knows you love her.”
“It still sucks.”
