“Anyway,” Hollie continues, “Hugh and Fergus are distantcousins, and Fergus recently moved here from Scotland to work forthe MacKinnon Group. The Group is one of the food bank’s biggestsponsors, so we’ve been working together the last couple of months.He’s great—nice, funny, handsome. Single.”
I’m almost afraidto ask: “Where are you going with this, Hollie Anne?”
Shetitters. “This isn’t an actual set up if that’s what you’rethinking. It’s more like a pre-emptive strike against yourmom’smatchmakingattempts. I could talk to Fergus about being your date at theparty, with the caveat that he’s just an escort and it’s only forthe night. Unless you two hit it off, of course.”
“Hmm.”A pre-emptive strike isn’t a bad idea. At my mom’s most recentdinner party, she introduced me to no fewer than four ‘eligiblebachelors’. One of them was nearly my dad’s age, which makes methink Mom is getting desperate. I’m perfectly content being single,but to Eleanor Hathaway, approaching thirty-five while unattachedclearly means I’m heading for spinsterhood, and we can’t havethat.
“Goahead and mention it to him,” I tell Hollie. “If he’s notcomfortable with the ruse, he’s welcome to come to the partyregardless. Since he’s new in town, he might like to mingle andmake connections.”
“You’renot interested in him yourself, Hols?” Stella asks.
Hollie suddenlybecomes absorbed in fastening the buttons of her jacket. “Nope.He’s great, like I said, but we’re just friends.”
I expect there’smore to it—like perhaps the fact Hollie has met someone on thedating site we both joined recently—but now isn’t the time to pressfor details. “Well, we’ll look forward to meeting him,” I saybefore Stella can speak again. “You two have fun with the animalsat the shelter. Snuggle some puppies for me and send uspics.”
When the othersare gone, I move to the opposite side of the booth so I’m facingStella. “Okay, what’s up with you? Where did you go this morning?”I woke up to a note on the fridge saying she had something to doand would meet us at the diner for our weekly breakfast.
Stellaslumps in her seat and releases a sigh that turns into a groan. “Iwent to meet Tannis,” she mutters, referring to the woman she’sbeen dating off and on since she returned to town. When I don’trespond, she peeks up at me. “It was her idea to meet early thismorning, but she didn’t show. Again. Which makes me anidiot.Again.”
“You’renot an idiot, Stella.”
“Afailure then,” she says. “Failed marriage. No job. Dating losers,even though Iknowbetter. Squatting at your condo.”
“You’renotafailure.” My voice is more forceful than I intended, but at leastStella is looking at me now. I hate seeing her like this: lost,uncertain, feeling like she’s messed up her life. I’ve seen herslip into depression enough times over the years to spot thewarning signs. “Your marriage not working out is a hard pill toswallow, but we both know you’re better off away from Lars. It tookreal courage to move back here and be willing to start over, andyou’ll be happier and healthier in the long run. As for thisso-called ‘squatting’…” I can’t help but laugh as I say it, and I’m pleased whenStella’s lips give the slightest twitch in response. “I invited youto live with me, and I’ve loved every minute of it. We always saidwe’d live together someday and now we are, even if it’stemporary.”
A genuine smileblooms on her face, although it withers quickly. “But all the moneyI owe you, Evie—”
I hold up a handto cut her off. “You know that doesn’t matter to me. I don’t wantyour money.” Saying that comes from a place of extreme privilege,and I know it; I’ve been making good money for years, and I alsohave wealthy parents to come to my aid if I ever need it. Myfriends and I have always taken care of each other, and this is nodifferent. “I meant it when I told you to take all the time youneed while you figure things out. There’s no need to rush thisfresh start.”
Stella nods as sheblinks away tears. I’m sure she’s as relieved as I am when ourfavorite waitress—and the co-owner of B&H Diner, our home awayfrom home—comes to refill our coffees. Bea is usually quick with ajoke or a comment since she’s known the four of us for most of ourlives, but she remains silent as she pours. She briefly touchesStella’s shoulder before moving on to the next table.
Stella blows out ashaky breath as she adds milk and sugar to her coffee. I observethe way she straightens in her seat, knowing she’s mentallycollecting herself. A change of topic is coming in three, two, one…“Now that the others are gone, I have to ask: on a scale of one tofive, how much are you dreading your mom’s party?”
I laugh under mybreath at the question. Nothing ever gets by Stella. As much as Iadore Hollie and Louisa and consider them an extension of myself, Itry to limit how much I complain about my mom in front of thembecause it makes me feel like a whiny, ungrateful child. Louisa’smom died when we were fourteen, and shortly after that, Hollie’smom took off for a ‘short break’ and never returned. Both eventsset off a terrible chain reaction in Louisa’s and Hollie’s lives,and things were never the same for them again.
I feel comfortablecommiserating with Stella, though. She knows my mom well, havinglived next door to us for most of our childhood. My mom can bepretentious and over the top, and we’re not as close as we werewhen I was younger, but she’s a good person. And consideringHollie’s and Louisa’s moms are both gone, I’m lucky to have mymother here and driving me nuts rather than not having her atall.
“Honestly, it’s fine,” I tell Stella. “It’s one evening, and itmakes Mom happy, so…” My phone, which is facedown on the table,lets out a series of short buzzing sounds. Without looking, I knowit’s the reminder I set before coming to the diner this morning.“Speak of the devil. That’s my alarm to tell me it’s time to go.Mom summoned me last night for some sort of party prep today, and Ineed to run a couple of errands first.”
“Don’twant to leave Mama Hathaway waiting. I shudder to think of theconsequences.” Stella’s playful tone eases the lingering worryniggling at the back of my mind. She’s going to be fine; my friendsare made of tough stuff.
And, as I leavethe diner a few minutes later, wondering what awaits me at myparents’ house, I remind myself I’m made of tough stufftoo.
CHAPTER TWO
I park in thecircular driveway of my parents’ place. As I often do when Iarrive, I mentally prepare myself by sitting in the silence of mycar and staring at the enormous house with its elaborate gardens.When we moved in nearly twenty years ago, my mom nicknamed theplace Hathaway Manor. It didn’t occur to me at the time, but thatshould have been my first inkling that our new-found wealth wasbeginning to change Eleanor Hathaway.
I didn’t grow upwith this kind of affluence. For the first fifteen years of mylife, my parents and I lived in a modest three-bedroom house in aquiet, family-friendly neighborhood. Around the time I hit myteens, my dad was promoted to partner at the law firm where heworked, and we suddenly had a lot more money. The changes weren’tnoticeable at first, at least not to a self-centeredthirteen-year-old.
Itwasn’t until a year later when my great uncle died and left asurprisingly large inheritance to my dad that thingsreallychanged. My momimmediately began house hunting in neighborhoods we’d only everdriven past, and the clothes in our closets went from departmentstore labels to luxury brands. Within the year, my parents had soldmy childhood home, moved us into Hathaway Manor, and put me inprivate school for the last two years of high school.
Myphone chimes. I lift it from the center console and swallow adisbelieving laugh when I see the text from my mom:Are you going to sit there all day or are youcoming in?I peek up at the house,searching for her in the many front-facing windows. There’s no signof her, which makes me picture her hovering just out of sightbehind the curtains, her phone clutched in her hand.
“Herewe go,” I murmur, giving myself one final glance in the rearviewmirror. Even though it’ll only be the two of us, I’ll be sure tohear about it if I have so much as a hair out of place or a tinysmudge in my lipstick. Eleanor Hathaway doesn’t only expectperfection, she demands it at all times. ‘It’s for your own good’is her standard line any time I call her on her ridiculous penchantfor flawlessness.
“Evelyn, so nice of you to join us,” Mom says as she opens thegiant, intricately carved front door. The door I had toknockon andwaitfor her to answer,even though she knew I was here. When I was little, in what I nowrefer to as the Before We Became Rich Times, or Before Times forshort, I rarely made it to the door before she’d have it flungopen, her arms spread wide to welcome me with a hug, no matter howlong I’d been gone.
That’sone of countless things that have changed over the last twodecades. There was a time I would have attempted to get a rise outof her by pointing outshesummonedmewithout giving me any choice in the matter, butI'm past that. Just like I’m past asking who ‘us’ is when I knowshe uses the term the way a sovereign uses the Royal We.
