I almost fall off the couch in surprise.
God, I forgot how strong Gran’s punch is.
He’s scowling at me.
“Right—cover blown. I’m here on a secret mission. I mean—” I slur.
“She’s just trying to give me a strong hint that she wants a ring in the very near future,” Graham says smoothly.
“Wow, already wedding planning?” His mom’s thin black eyebrows arch up. “That’s fast.”
“Ryan and Claire were dating since freshman year of high school,” Hannah reminds her.
“Graham’s old now,” Max says from where he and his brother are chowing down on the oysters Rockefeller that we’ve been broiling in the fireplace.
“Just the ol’ biological clock ticking.” I pat my stomach. “I need to get started. We’re going to have seven kids, and they will all have names that start with the letter G.”
I can feel Graham being likeshut up, shut up, shut upbeside me, but I’m too drunk to stop.
“Seven kids?” Ryan’s eyes widen.
“That’s a lot of kids,” Frank says slowly.
“Some of them will need to be twins, and they’ll be back to back to back. I have birthing hips—it’s been a perpetual complaint of my mother’s—so I’ll be good.”
“You could have your wedding here.” Bridget perks up.
“Oh no.” I laugh. “My family is not coming to New Jersey for a wedding. It has to be at St. Augustine’s on Waverly and Ninth, with the reception at the Fairmont Langley Hotel on Park Avenue. Otherwise, I’m disowned.”
“When are you proposing, Graham?” His sisters giggle. “You guys are so cute together.”
“Maybe now that you’re his girlfriend, you can convince him to come hang out more often.” Ryan leans back on the sofa.
Graham seems tense. I know he didn’t want to be my boyfriend. Definitely doesn’t want me hanging around his family like we have a future together.
I take another long sip of punch.
“I don’t think my job will let me leave early every Friday.”
“Don’t you do summer Fridays?” Claire asks.
“Yeah, but my parents always want to go to the Hamptons or a friend’s yacht they want to show off.”
“Wow, the Hamptons!”
“Um—you have friends with yachts? Are they looking for other friends?” Hannah asks.
“Graham has friends with yachts,” I remind them.
“No, I don’t.”
“Uh-huh! Your brother Spencer has a yacht,” I slur at him.
Frank tenses up.
Change the subject, change the subject.Guess all those forced etiquette classes pay off. Thanks, Mom.
“So I assume there’s no yachting tomorrow. However, I’m hoping there’s no strenuous hiking. If there is, that’s fine. I make a mean bourbon hot chocolate, and that goes great with traipsing through the snow.”
