“Is it me, or do we keep getting the Christmas decorations out earlier and earlier every year?” he asked, twisting the cap off his bottle.
Jean ignored the question as she took the lid off the pot and gave it a stir. “We can keep everything in the dining room for now and wait until next weekend to put up the tree, don’t you think?”
Fred Sr. turned to his son. “I’ll pay you twenty bucks to leave the tree down there.”
His wife smacked his arm. Fred Sr. chuckled again and grabbed his apron-clad wife around the waist to pull her in for a quick kiss before she turned away with a coy grin. Freddie had watched this scene play out his entire life. It was truly disgusting.
At least, that’s what he and his sister thought when they were little. There had been nothing more embarrassing than the fact that their parents actually liked each other. But now that he was older, he couldn’t help but smile to himself.
The front door opened again, then slammed shut, followed by the sound of his sister’s voice. “Where is everybody?”
“In the kitchen,” their father called back.
A moment later, she appeared, her pink hair shooting out in all directions like she had just taken off a hat. “It’s like a party in here.”
Freddie popped another grape in his mouth. “If that’s true, I worry about your social life.”
She made a face at him, the same scrunched-up, cross-eyed one from when she was six.
“Hey,” her mother smacked her arm. It was the height of Jean Wentworth’s discipline. “Be nice.”
“If I were an only child, I would be,” Sophie answered sweetly, then collapsed into one of the chairs at the table.
“Where have you been?” their father asked her. He was halfway out the doorway, as if he hadn’t quite decided whether to stay for the conversation or go back to the Jets.
“I was at the shop, picking up some stuff from the back office that I need to organize,” Sophie said. “And then I had coffee with Anne Elliot.”
Shit. Freddie’s head fell forward.Here we go.
Jean’s wooden spoon clattered onto the top of the stove. “What?”
“Oh, didn’t Freddie tell you? She lives in his new building,” Sophie said, a devious smile curling her lips. She was enjoying this too much. Meanwhile, their father winced and turned back to the living room.
Smart man, Freddie thought.
“Freddie!” his mother shrieked. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because we broke up eight years ago, Mom,” he replied.
“But it’s Anne!” Their mother turned back to Sophie. “How is she? What is she doing? I bet she’s a high-powered businesswoman. Like Melanie Griffith inWorking Girl.”
Freddie let out a deep sigh. For his mom, nothing equated professional success more than a corner office and shoulder pads. Even after he sold his company for a small fortune last year, she still couldn’t move past the idea that he was now unemployed. She had no frame of reference for a career that didn’t require long hours in the city and a 401(k).
“She’s good. Working at her dad’s production company. Or sheused to? Anyway, she offered to help me with all the bookkeeping for the shop,” Sophie said, reaching for the grapes.
Freddie slid them out of her reach. “Excuse me?”
Sophie reached over and grabbed the bowl, setting it in her lap. “She’s got some downtime and offered to organize the shop’s finances so I’m not having a panic attack every day.”
Their mother let out a wistful sigh. “She was always so smart. And helpful. Andsobeautiful.”
Freddie ignored her, keeping his attention on his sister. She was still wearing the same shit-eating grin, but he couldn’t decipher whether it was entirely due to telling their mom about Anne, or whether she was actually serious about accepting Anne’s help.
“What happened to hiring someone?” he asked.
“I will, eventually. But for now, she offered, and I think she would be perfect.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea, Soph.”
