“I supposed we should all soak up all this luxury while we can, since I’m sure his new girlfriend is going to make him cut us all out,” Frank’s sister says sourly. “Frank tells me you two are already thinking about getting married.”
Frank’s mother peers at me. “Does she know what he is?”
“Mom—” Frank warns her.
“I just think that this Danielle should be prepared. Naïve Upper East Side princess. Sounds like what’s-her-name—Emily.”
“Mom, we are trying to have a nice weekend.” Frank’s tense.
The door opens again, the cold air rushing in, chasing away the last blankets of sleep.
That’s my out. My reason for why Dani will eventually break up with me, sooner rather than later.
“Nana”—I hate calling her that, though Frank insists, because it’s too weird for me to call her Mrs. Donnelly—“is right. I think Dani will probably end up breaking up with me over it,” I tell my family smoothly.
“No!” Bridget cries. “She likes you!”
I shrug. “Her parents are old New York. I think they’re trying to nudge her in a more suitable direction. People talk, you know.”
Grandpa Donnelly huffs. “We’re not good enough for those stuck-up Ivy Leaguers? Then fuck ’em. Fuck ’em, I say.”
“Dad, language.”
“We should meet her parents, then, show them that we’re normal people. You’re a normal person.” My mom immediately gets defensive. The whiplash is always a little nauseating.
“I didn’t raise you in a trailer.” She beats the egg-and-cream mixture furiously. “They don’t have any right to judge my son.” She slams the bowl down. “See, this is why I didn’t let you go to that fancy boarding school you wanted to go to,Graham. Because I didn’t want you around people like that, after everything.” She whips her arms out angrily.
“I can finish the French toast, Mom,” Hannah offers.
“No, I have it.”
Gino, with his children and grandchildren, tumbles into the kitchen.
“My beautiful grandchildren and great-grandchildren.” Frank’s mom and dad greet them with kisses and candy and money.
I hate these gatherings. My family usually meets up at the cabin at least twice a month. I can only stomach a couple of times a year.
Should have gone to Paris.
“I’m going to get dressed,” I mutter to no one.
“Hey.” Ryan jogs after me.
“Do you want your sweater back?” I reach for the hem.
“Hell no, it smells like stale caramels. Look… I wanted to ask about the anniversary party. Bridgie says we’re having a planning session at your place this week? That cool?”
“Sure.” I don’t want to, but I’ll agree to anything to get out of here.
When I’m back in the room, my back against the closed door, I stand there trying to gather my bearings.
Dani’s in the bathroom, her mouth open, her eyes comically wide as she applies mascara.
She stabs herself in the eye. “Son of a—Oh, there you are! Is it ugly sweater day?” She smiles up at me.
I look down and frown.
“I need to change.”
