But I’ll worry about that later. Right now, I just want to enjoy his company. Live in the high of being near him one more time. And Nantucket is my safe place. That may not be entirely true, but it feels like we can be in our own little world here.
It was hard not to go to the rehearsal dinner too, while I have the chance to see Tully, but this is the right thing. I genuinely want to spend time with my family as well, eventhough my parents can be challenging at times. Loving them has never been the hard part.
I reach our gate, where the flowers have been trimmed into submission against the gray shingles, and breathe in the salty air. There are definitely things I miss about Nantucket…and things I don’t. I smooth down my sweater and go in.
Mom meets me in the foyer before I can set down my tote.
“Lola, darling. You’re late.”
She kisses the air beside my cheek. Her perfume smells expensive and sharp.
“Hi, Mom. Sorry. It’s such a pretty day, I just kept walking.”
Behind her, Dad walks in. “Good to see you, Lo.”
He kisses my other cheek. Then Luca rounds the corner and crushes me into a hug.
“There you are,” he says. “Thought you’d never come back. Mom is in a mood.”
My brother is three years older than me and lives in Boston, and my sister is a year and a half older and lives here in Nantucket. They come to New York frequently to see me, which helps a lot.
“Sorry,” I mumble into his sweater.
Isla slips in beside him, tucking herself into my side. “Hey.” She glances at me and then does a double take. “Must’ve been a great walk.”
“It was.” I smile.
“Excellent. Be glad you got out for a while,” she whispers.
“Dinner is waiting,” Mom says, already moving back toward the kitchen.
“Sorry. I was gone longer than I expected to be.”
I sit down and look at the plate Mom puts in front of me.Seared halibut, garlic mashed potatoes, and asparagus arranged in architectural precision.
“Looks beautiful, Mom,” I tell her, and she perks up a little.
“It should. Took way longer than it should have to execute.” And then she goes into all the reasons the meal nearly flopped and how worried she is that it won’t taste as good as she was hoping.
“It’s delicious,” I say, one bite in.
“So good,” Isla echoes.
Dad lifts his wineglass. “To having everyone home.”
Conversation moves in the usual template: Luca’s firm, Isla’s nonprofit, Dad’s investment news, Mom’s charity gala. Then, inevitably, Mom turns to me.
“And the shop?”
Here we go.
“It’s busy,” I say. “Things are going well.”
I leave out all the negatives, the biggest one being that it’s challenging to run your own business.
Her smile holds, but only just. “I still don’t understand how you make any money doing that. You graduated at the top of your class in high school.”
“Smartest one in this family,” Dad adds.
