“He was a real hippie back then,” Louise says, a fond sparkle in her voice. “And the only thing worse for my parents than marrying European nobility,” she sighs, “was marrying a Catholic. Which, naturally, made the whole thing ten times more appealing.”
The group laughs. Pen’s laugh goes on a little past organic. “You’re so funny, Aunt Lou.” Her opalescent nails rest hesitantly on Louise’s shoulder before slipping off. Pen stands and hooks her Saks bag on the crook of her arm. “The next time we see each other is the suit fitting, right?”
She looks at Eitan.
“Uh.” He clears his throat. “The suit fitting?”
“Yes, Miri had marked it on the calendar to be this weekend so there would be enough time.” She turns to Louise. “Bespoke suits take time, right?”
“They do, hun.” Louise nods.
Penelope hums, pleased, and turns back to Eitan, who is looking paler by the minute. “You did schedule it, right?” she asks, her voice sharpening.
Eitan’s blank stare says otherwise.
“You were cc’ed on Miri’s email, and in the table you wereclearlytagged as the task’s owner.” Pen begins breathing heavily.
“Ah—I–I missed that, but I can schedule it now?—”
“It takes a month just to get an appointment!” Pen’s brows push together, weighed down with frustration. “Joshie,” she keens. “You assured me?—”
“It’s fine, baby. They’ll give us an appointment earlier than a month.” Josh sets his hands on Pen’s shoulders and rubs them. “It’s going to be fine. Eitan’s got this.” He nudges his chin at Eitan.
“I’m on it.” Eitan nods. “Don’t worry.”
Pen still looks angry but her breaths even out. “Iwillbe marrying you in bespoke silk.”
Calliope’s eyes roll.
“You sure will, baby.” Josh kisses her. They’re so sweet I’m getting a toothache just watching them.
“Time’s up!” Louise declares. “I have my Pink Ribbon Ladies happy hour to get to. And I look forward to hearing how this” —Louise wags a finger between Eitan and Pen— “resolves.”
Eitan protests, “There won’t be anything to resol?—”
“Alma will show you out.ALMA!”Louise shouts loud enough to wake the ghost of Christmas past.
“What?” Alma asks, panicked, as they hurry into the room.
“Time for them to leave.” Louise turns away from us to lean back on her chaise. Elderly, kaftanified Dionysus alright. This woman could be a mafia don. I’m scared of her, and I also want to be her when I grow up.
“I thought something was wrong!” Alma complains, catching their breath. “Are you?—”
“I’m fine,” Louise cuts her off sharply.
“Right.” Alma throws her hands up and turns on her heel. “Follow me!” she shouts back at us. Eitan holds a hand out for Pen to go first. She eyes him like he’s getting a good look at her back to determine the best spots for storing a knife.
Alma practically pats us on the behind, shoving us out the door like stray cats who overstayed their welcome. I barely get one last look at that Rothko.
“Aunt Loulovedyou.” Pen arranges my hair, perfecting the way it frames my face. Josh waits for her in her car. Eitan tookoff as soon as we stepped outside, phone already pressed to his ear. “And she normally hates people. She’s gone through three housekeepers already this year.”
“I’m happy to help,” I say, my skin no doubt glowing with the praise. “I want to be there for you.”
She squeezes my arm. “I’m so glad you feel that way.” We smile at each other, the incandescence of our bond bouncing back and forth between us like two mirrors reflecting each other. “Because I have a proposal.”
“Hmm?”
“You’re clearly a natural at this wedding planning thing.”
