They’d been driving for over an hour, and they were about halfway to their destination.
It was a slightly chilly Saturday morning, but the weather would warm up in a few hours, when they were slated to arrive at the Fitzpatricks’ seaside mansion, just ‘a hop, skip, and a jump away’—they’d been told, according to the text that Stan Fitzpatrick had sent Reese’s entire family—from the country club where they’d be spending the day.
Sydney had snuck little glances at Reese, conversation light as the radio played instead.
Reese was dressed more casually today than she had been last weekend, in an airy linen shirt that was half tucked into her white, high-waisted, wide-legged pants.
“Is it okay that I’m taking the scenic route?” Reese asked, her eyes staying on the road. “I figured you weren’t champing at the bit to get there any earlier than necessary.”
They’d had a quiet send-off early this morning, at least between the two of them. Hallie, the jubilant ray of sunshine thatshe was, had cups of coffee ready for them and a few good-natured jabs about what their sleeping situation would be tonight.
Sydney had waved her best friend off, but it was something she’d thought about more than once over the last couple of days.
Reese, however, hadn’t seemed to give it much consideration. She was clearly distracted as they’d thrown their weekend bags in the car and started their Saturday morning drive.
Sydney took in Reese’s posture, which hadn’t relaxed since they’d gotten in the car. “Are we taking the long way for me or for you?”
She watched as Reese’s shoulders sagged. “I’ve interacted with my father more this week than I have in the last ten years. Apparently, the possibility of currying favor with the Fitzpatricks has gotten me off the bench and back on the starting team for children who have value to him.”
“We don’t have to go,” Sydney said, meaning it. “I saw a lobster shack a few miles back. We can sit in the parking lot until it opens and then gorge ourselves on a morning lobster roll.”
“I don’t know that ‘morning lobster rolls’ are a thing.”
Sydney looked at her, aghast. “There isnevera bad time for a lobster roll.”
Reese glanced over at her, still clearly lost in her own thoughts. “He called me on the phone this morning.To check in.”
It took Sydney a few seconds to realize they were still talking about Tripp.
“Is that not something you two do? Like, ever?” Sydney, in contrast, talked to her parents multiple times a week on the phone. When she was in Florida, they lived together. Being surprised to see one of her parents’ names flash across her phone screen was an alien concept to her.
“Let me put it this way: I think he would have had my mom send a card for my college and business school graduations if he could have gotten away with it. You’ve probably spent more time with my father in the last couple of years than I have.”
Reese was probably right, Sydney acknowledged with a wince.She’d had dinner with Tripp, Grant, and varying groups of business associates and friends of theirs over the last half decade when she was in town in Boston.
And yet, she’d never liked Grant Devereux III, colloquially known as ‘Tripp’ to anyone from their dinner companions to the female waitstaff he stared at for a few beats longer than Sydney had ever been comfortable with.
When she’d been with Grant, she’d made an effort, truly. They’d gone to dinner at dozens of places over the years during Sydney’s visits to Boston.
And his father had always come off as… smarmy, for lack of a better word.
It felt strange and a little embarrassing to accept that Grant was just a Mini Tripp, which she’d never let herself acknowledge before.
Settling down with Grant once she retired from the tour had always been the plan, so if she’d needed to put some blinders on to stay the course, she’d done it. Unthinkingly at the time, honestly, but the signs were obvious in retrospect—at least where his self-important personality was concerned.
On some level, though, she understood how Reese was feeling.
“I used to think that it was sweet that Grant wanted me to spend time with your dad,” she said, “that he wanted to make sure I was ingratiated into his world.”
Reese looked briefly at Sydney. “And now?”
“Now, I feel like I was just a prop for them to parade around at dinner with people Tripp wanted to impress,” Sydney admitted.
It was something she was only recently coming to terms with.
She’d liked going out to dinner with Grant, but when she was back in Boston for such limited periods, spending time with other people meant they had less time to reconnect and focus on themselves as a couple.
Sometimes, she’d just wanted to cuddle up on the sofa with aglass of wine and a romcom, her partner’s head resting on her chest as she played with their hair.
