“Horsebackriding,” Jamie muttered to me under his breath, a devilish grin quirking at the corners of his mouth.
Amelia raised an eyebrow at her brother, then turned back to me.
“Do you love riding? I’m sure Jamie could never date someone who didn’t like horses. He’s such an animal lover.”
This was actually news to me—our life in the city hadn’t afforded many interactions with wildlife. I looked to Jamie for help, but he just smiled and shrugged, saying, “I was known to rescue a stray here and there, back in the day.”
Grandma G leaned in conspiratorially. “He insisted we hold a funeral for a dead skunk once.”
“At least it wasn’t a funeral for a live skunk?” I said, but no one laughed.
From across the table, his mother rolled her eyes. “Yes, my dear son does have a habit of dragging adorable little mongrels into our home and expecting them to be fed.”
The way she said it, with her eyes grazing over me, I could have sworn she was not talking about a stray puppy or lost rabbit but aboutme.
“So, Sybil,” Amelia said, taking a swig of her wine. I silently thanked her for interjecting to change the subject. “You went to USC, right?” Amelia’s glass of wine flashed ruby as she set it back down and looked at me with a smile that felt… professional. “One of my clerks went there; I wonder if you know her. Kendra Davies?”
I shook my head. “Sorry, it doesn’t sound familiar.”
“What year did you graduate?”
Oh god.I had chosen that moment to take another long pull from my own glass of wine, but didn’t want her to think I was avoiding her question, so I tried to swallow it quickly—and ended up choking and coughing.
Jamie handed me the cloth napkin from my lap, which I wished I could disappear behind like a magic trick, and answered for me. “Sybil was a year behind me in school.”
Amelia continued to look at me expectantly, so I did my best to strangle what remained of the coughing fit and shrugged apologetically. “It’s a really big—ahem, excuse me—school. I’m sure I crossed paths with her at a Delta Gamma party at some point!”
“Probably not,” Amelia said with a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “She was a double major in English and poli-sci. Not much time for frat parties.”
She said the words “frat parties” with approximately the tone you might use to tell someone to watch out for dog poo. I didn’t bother correcting her that DG was a sorority, not a fraternity. Nor did I mention that Ruth Bader Ginsburg, who was a member of Alpha Epsilon Phi at Cornell, somehow managedto find time to attend a Greek party or two while also becoming one of the nation’s greatest legal minds.
Eager to change the subject, I was about to compliment Mrs. Kauffman on the beautiful centerpiece when Amelia cut in again. “And what do you do for work, Sybil?”
“I’m actually between things right now.”
She sat silently, expecting me to fill in more. When I didn’t, she just gave a small “oh!” of surprise. “But your career is in the field of…”
I could feel myself sweating nervously. Amelia may not have been behind the judge’s bench, but her version of casual conversation felt like a formal inquisition.
“I’m really a dabbler!” I said helplessly, knowing anything I added by way of embellishment would probably not impress her. She didn’t seem like someone who appreciated the merits of high-end dog grooming or who would understand my promising-yet-failed entrepreneurial line of leopard-print scrunchies. I had greater ambitions… I just didn’t quite have words for those yet.
“I’m sure something will turn up for you soon,” Mrs. Kauffman said. Though she didn’t sound sure at all.
The conversation moved on, thankfully, with Jamie and his dad talking shop and Amelia and Mrs. Kauffman discussing some apparently high-profile court case I’d never heard of. I nodded vigorously and gulped nervously at my wine, and when Mr. Kauffman said something about a former client that made his wife laugh, I laughed, too, even though I had no idea what was funny about his comment. But somehow my laugh came out about as loud as a five-piece jazz band, and everyonesuddenly went silent again and looked away as if I’d committed some horrid faux pas.
It was truly one of the more painfully uncomfortable meals of my life, and that’s saying something considering my own parents aren’t always the warmest and fuzziest.
I took a sip of the cabernet, trying to think of a contribution to the conversation. “Wow, this wine really is nice,” I said to the table at large. “Jamie mentioned y’all were thinking about expanding production? I could totally see ordering this at any of the best restaurants in LA and New York.” I turned to Jamie, “Babe, what were you saying about client investors?”
Before Jamie could even open his mouth to respond, his dad cut in. “Jamie knows it’s just a pet project. I’ve told him, there’s no real business model in a vineyard this size.” His voice had a disinterested air, but I could still detect a note of finality.
Jamie cleared his throat. “Yeah, my dad’s right about that,” he said, though his eyes were focused on his glass, I noticed, not on me or his father.
I was surprised—I knew Jamie didn’t like to argue, but it seemed so strange that he wouldn’t even push back a little bit. Jamie’s face in the vineyard earlier had been pure excitement, but now it was just quiet resignation.
An awkward silence descended over the table. I turned my attention to my plate, willing the meal to be over soon and wondering what else Jamie was quietly resigned to.
THE MOMENTJAMIE CLOSEDthe door to our room, I whirled around, covering my face with my hands. “What an absolute nightmare.”
