by Sarina Bowen
“Well.” Ruth sighs. “I’m so sorry. I guess it’s better to know what she’s done.”
“True.” May picks up her fork and plays with the food on her plate. “Anyway. Here I am. Alec took me by the house and helped me make a quick getaway.”
“She was cheatin’?” Grandpa Shipley hollers. “On you? What a super bitch!”
“Grandpa,” several Shipleys say at once.
“A bitch is a female dog.” Grandpa sniffs. “Not a curse word.”
“If you put super in front of it…” Dylan starts.
“Quiet, boy,” Grandpa snarls. “I’m quite worked up. I think a slice of pie might calm me down.”
“I like how you think,” I say, and then shove another piece of ham in my craw so I won’t add, “About Daniela as well as the pie.”
“I’ll start the coffee,” Audrey Shipley says, lifting her pregnant belly out of her chair.
“I got it!” three other people say at once. This little race to save Audrey a trip to the kitchen is won by Zara. “We need to wiggle anyway,” she insists, setting Nicole on the floor.
“Wow.” Audrey eases down into the chair again. “I should have gotten pregnant before now.”
“The way you two go at it it’s kind of a surprise you didn’t,” Grandpa mumbles into his water glass.
Who knew the Shipley’s Thursday dinner was so entertaining? Grandpa is my favorite. He doesn’t have the same stick up his ass that Griffin does. Maybe it skips the occasional generation.
I shovel in more of my excellent food and hope they’ll leave May alone now. And maybe I can help by changing the topic. “Hey, Audrey? How’s your new employee working out?”
“Oh!” She pats her round belly and gets a soft expression on her face. “He’s dreamy.”
Griffin snorts beside her. “Tell ’im why.”
“I get to sleep in most mornings now! He opens the coffee shop four days a week. And he’s begun making fresh bread along with the pastries we were making before. Not only is it profitable, but the coffee shop smells like heaven when I roll in every morning at ten.”
“That is dreamy,” May says, perking up. “Also, I noticed he’s pretty easy on the eyes.”
Everyone laughs, including me.
“What? Have you seen the man?” she says, smiling for the first time in an hour. “Those forearms. It must be all that kneading.”
There’s more laughter. “Get ’is number!” Grandpa croaks.
But Audrey shakes her head. “I’m pretty sure he bats for the other team. Whenever Griffin shows up in the coffee shop it’s not my backside that’s admired.”
“What can I say?” Griff shrugs his big shoulders. “I have a very nice ass.”
“Language,” Ruth Shipley says.
“Ass is just another word for donkey,” Grandpa chirps. “Now is it time for pie? That young fella has finished his dinner.” He points at my plate.
“Why not,” Ruth says with a sigh. “I think I lost control of this meal a long time ago.” She glances at her daughter. “Nice to have you at home, sweetie. We haven’t converted your room into a home gym or anything.”
“Glad to hear it,” May grumbles.
But she doesn’t sound glad.
“How’s business at the Gin Mill?” Griff asks me over pie and coffee.
“Great,” I say immediately. Because I’ll be damned if I complain to Mr. Perfect. “I thought November would be terrible, but the dip isn’t as bad as I thought. The weekends are still pretty packed.” If only I had a better profit margin. “I’ll always be scraping by until I can expand my revenue sources.”
“I hear you.” Griff smooths his beard with one hand. “We have cider and fruit and milk. Diversity is pretty critical.”
This is something I’ve already learned the hard way. “I think serving food is my obvious next step, but a commercial kitchen costs fifty grand, and then I’d need more people on the payroll.”
“And blowing up the payroll is scary,” Audrey adds. “Ask me how I know.”
Griffin reaches over and rubs his wife’s pregnant belly. “What else you got for ideas?” he asks me.
“Making beer,” I admit. Griff is an accomplished cider-maker, so he’ll understand the appeal. But it’s kind of a pipe dream at this point, because even though my home brew is tasty, I don’t have the facilities to make commercial beers. “I don’t have the cash to invest in that idea, either.”
“You can start small,” he points out, as if I can’t figure it out for myself. “At least with ale. Lagers need more equipment.”
“True.” I’ve thought about it a hundred times already. My uncle Otto has a fermentation tank that’s only in use for about ninety days a year. I have designs on that tank for sure.
“Who wants more pie?” Ruth Shipley calls, and nearly everyone raises a hand.
Except for May, who’s pushing crumbs around on her plate, looking sad.
I don’t get it. I really don’t. May is smart, loyal, and hot as hell. She’s obviously the most lively of the Shipley kids. Who would cheat on her?
Even though I stopped May from punching Daniela or the other woman tonight, a part of me thinks they deserved it.
I eat another piece of excellent pie, certain that Daniela had no idea what she was missing.
Chapter Four
May
When I walk into the Busy Bean five days later, Zara is behind the register.
“What wonderful thing am I smelling?” I ask in lieu of a proper greeting.
“Homemade hot pretzels,” she says. “Roderick just took them out of the oven.”
“Can I have one?” I’m practically drooling already.
“Of course. Cafe latte, too? I just made one for Lark.”
I turn around and find my friend sitting on a velvet armchair in front of a little marble table. With her shiny black hair and her golden skin, she has the casual glamour of a movie star. She’s looking out the window with a smile teasing her perfect rosebud lips.
It takes me a second to remember I’m in the middle of a conversation. But then Zara clears her throat.
“Sure!” I say quickly. “A latte would be great. Thank you!”
I pay at the register and take a sip of my latte before I make my way across the room to tell my best friend how badly I’ve fucked up my life once again.
* * *
“And then what happened?”
Lark leans forward in her chair, her expression rapt, her dark eyes wide as I weave the tale of my dramatic breakup with Daniela.
“Well, I slapped Tracy.”
“Oh my god!” Lark squeaks, her eyes shining.
“But I didn’t get to do any damage, because Alec Rossi hauled me out of the room.”
“Really?”
“True story.” If anything, my retelling underplays things. Alec didn’t just tow me away. Shock has already made the details fuzzy, but I’m pretty sure he lifted me clear off the ground. “Then Alec drove me home and helped me clear my things from the house, and I haven’t been back.”
“Sure sorry I missed this whole thing,” Zara says, passing our table with a tray of empty coffee cups. “I love a good bar brawl.” She winks and disappears into the kitchen.
“It wasn’t a brawl!” I call over my shoulder, even though I know she was only kidding.
“What I don’t get,” Lark says, stirring her latte. “Is how I had to wait five days to hear all this?”
“Hey now.” I reach down and pick up my knitting from the bag on the floor. “I wasn’t going to interrupt your romantic weekend in Florida with my sob story. And you have to admit—it’s a better tale in person.”
“True.” Lark smiles at me. “But how are you doing now—with all of five days to get over it?”
“Well, I’m okay. Embarrassed, though.” I scrutinize the scarf I’ve started knitting for my little sister, Daphne. “The crappy thing is that I have to see Daniela again next week at an alumni function. So I’m sort of bracing
myself. But mostly I feel like I’m waking up from a bad dream. She and I weren’t working out. And I’m going to be fine.”
Again, I’m understating things. This has been a long and shitty five days. But I don’t want Lark worrying about me. She and I have enough baggage between us.
“Hmm,” she says, her brown eyes on me. “I’m gonna need a little more detail than that. Do you miss her? Is it weird being home again?”
“Well, sure.” I sigh. “Everything is a little grim, but not because I’m heartbroken. Breaking up with Daniela is almost a relief, because the other shoe dropped already. The bigger problem is my family treating me like a grenade with the pin pulled.”
“Why?”
“Because they’ve read lots of articles about how to be supportive of your alcoholic family member. I think they’re waiting for me to lose my shit and relapse.”
“Ah.” She frowns into her coffee. “Well that sucks.”
“It does. I spend a lot of time with a fake happy expression. Like this…” I put my teeth together in a ridiculous, plastic smile, and Lark laughs suddenly, low and throaty.
And boom. There it is—the lightning bolt of attraction I always feel when she smiles at me. My desire for her is so familiar that I’m pretty good at hiding it now. I’ve been fighting it off since freshman year of college. I’ve spent ten years trying not to notice Lark’s sparkling eyes and the high color splashed across her wide-set cheekbones.
She is so freaking beautiful that my lungs feel a little tight.
It’s not a secret, either. Lark knows. That cat has been out of its bag for a year. But we never talk about it, because I don’t want to. I know the yearning will never go away. It’s my little cross to bear.
To think if I’d loved Daniela even half as much as I love Lark. My breakup would be a real disaster.
“Has she called you?” Lark asks, as if reading my thoughts.
“Once?” I sigh again. “I got one tearful message that night, left for me from a strange number. But no more since.”
Lark frowns, maybe wondering why Daniela isn’t calling me hourly. But maybe Daniela’s relieved, too. Also, her lack of communication might have something to do with me ruining her smartphone. I’m embarrassed about that petty little act of destruction, so I don’t tell Lark about it.
I’m actually happy not hearing from Daniela. I really am done. I should have left her months ago—as soon as her bad behavior began. We’d been together less than six months when she started putting me down all the time. First in private, and then in front of people.
“Well,” Lark says slowly. “I guess it’s better that you’re not feeling too conflicted right now.”
“It is better,” I agree. “Small mercies. And thank you for being the only one who has made it…” I check my watch. “Fifteen minutes without saying ‘good riddance’ and ‘what were you thinking.’”
My best friend winces. “I won’t say that.”
“Even if you’re thinking it,” I tease.
She smiles. “I’ll just say this—I wish I’d been there in the bar when it happened so I could punch her myself for hurting you.”
“Thank you.”
“And lord knows I dated the wrong person too many times to count.” She rolls her eyes. “We all do it.”
“But not anymore,” I say, putting my knitting down in my lap. “I’m done dating people who don’t deserve me. And you’re with someone who thinks you hung the moon, so that’s it, right? No more big mistakes for us.”
“Right!” Lark lifts her coffee mug in the air to toast me. “Cheers.”
I take a sip of my own and decide I don’t want to talk about my woes anymore. “So. Florida! How was it? Tell me everything.”
“Oh, it was great.” She takes a big gulp of her coffee, and her eyes shift to the side.
Her dodge is subtle. But I’ve known Lark for almost ten years and I’ve memorized every one of her expressions. “What?”
“Hmm?”
“Tell me the thing. Whatever thing you’re not telling me. Is everything okay?” I sit up a little straighter, worried.
She puts the mug down and folds her hands. “Everything is fine. Really. Florida was lovely.” There are spots of color on her cheekbones now.
“Lovely,” I repeat slowly. I’m missing something. “And?”
“And what?”
“I don’t know what. You tell me.”
Lark bites her lip. “The timing is shitty.”
“Shitty for what?”
“For you.” She lifts those brown eyes and finally levels with me. “Zach asked me to marry him, and I said yes.”
Oh.
Oh, wow.
A long beat goes by while I try to process this. My brain offers up a vision of the future—Lark in a white dress, her olive skin radiant against the silk. She’s staring up into Zachariah’s eyes as she promises to be his forever.
And I’m standing right behind her clutching a bouquet and desperate for an entire bottle of vodka.
As I roll the scene forward, it doesn’t get any easier, either. Babies will be next. I’ll be the one throwing the shower for Lark. And when the baby comes, I’ll be Auntie May, holding Lark’s first child against my chest in her hospital room.
Oh, wow. The wave of pain that rolls through me is startling in its power. I’ve imagined all of this before. Not a bit of it should surprise me. I want my friends to be happy together.
So why can’t I breathe?
And Lark is waiting for me to say something. My face is hot and my heart is cold and it is a colossal effort to swallow. “Hey,” I choke out. “That’s amazing! Congratulations!” My horrible fake smile is back on my face and my eyes are burning. “You must be so excited,” I croak.
Just then, Zara Rossi passes us again. She’s gathering someone else’s abandoned coffee cups from a table. When I glance at her, she’s looking right at me, her face stricken.
Which means I’m doing a terrible job of concealing how steamrolled I feel right now.
Fuck.
I suck in a breath and look my best friend right in the eyes. “Sorry, I just didn’t see that coming.”
Her eyes well. “I said the timing was shitty.”
“No.” I shake my head and then take a deep breath. “The timing is perfect. You guys deserve this. And it’s going to be great. Can I help you plan the wedding? Did you set a date?”
There. That came out sounding reasonably sane. “Does your mom want a big Beacon Hill affair? Do you?”
Lark is watching me with shiny eyes. “Would you believe that I haven’t told my parents yet?”
“Really?” I laugh, and then swallow hard. “What are you waiting for?”
And then it hits me. I know exactly what Lark was waiting for. She sat down at this table without an engagement ring on. She isn’t wearing it yet. She hasn’t told her mother because she hasn’t told anyone. Not a soul.
Because of me.
Lark wanted to tell me first, so I could put on my stupid brave face and get used to the idea for half a minute before I have to talk about it with other people.
Jesus Christ. How did it come to this? I never wanted to be that delicate flower that others have to maneuver carefully around.
I fucking hate my life right now.
“Look,” I gasp. “You are the best friend I could ever have. And I’m so happy for you.” My eyes are wet, too, though I ignore it. “Is there a ring? I want to see it. Where did he propose? At the beach? Don’t you dare hold out on me.” The first tear rolls down my face, and I clutch my knitting in sweaty hands.
Lark hesitates another moment. We’re both stuck here in this awful place. Come on, I beg her silently. Help me get through this without forking over a fatal portion of my dignity.
She reaches inside her purse and emerges with a perfect little velvet box. She cracks open the lid to reveal a rose-gold band with a shimmering diamond solitaire.
“Ooh!” I breathe through my panic. �
�Put it on. It’s perfect.”
She does, and it is. “There’s no big proposal story, sorry. He asked me when we were waking up at the hotel in the morning,” she whispers. “We were just lying there listening to the waves crash outside. Just like that.”
“Oh.” I sigh with genuine appreciation. Of course he did. Because Zach knew it was the right time to ask her. He didn’t need a spectacular sunset, or a flash-mob dancing to their favorite song, or a table at a very exclusive restaurant. Zach and Lark are the real deal.
When they stand in that church and promise each other everything, they’ll both mean it.
I wipe my tears with the back of my hand. “Well, that is just perfect. Thank you for telling me first. I’m honored. Now when you tell your mother, and she tries to book the ballroom at some palace on Beacon Hill, I can talk you off the ledge.”
Lark laughs with shiny eyes. “Okay, fine.”
I smile back as credibly as I can.
“I’m really sorry about the shitty timing.”
“Don’t be,” I say, shaking my head. “If I’m helping you plan your wedding instead of planning Daniela’s murder, that’s a good thing.”
Lark looks down at the ring on her hand. “What do you think about a wedding at the Woodstock Inn? It’s fancy enough to please my parents, but still Vermont.”
“I love that idea,” I say immediately. “It’s Vermont Fancy, if you know what I mean. It should please her, but still be comfortable. And there’s golf. Your dad might go for that.”
“Good idea. I’ll lead with golf.” She smiles, and I match it. For real this time. I love Lark enough to want this for her. Even if it hurts.
A lot.
* * *
The rest of the day is a meaningless blur. My fledgling law practice isn’t exactly slammed with business, but today that’s a blessing. Because I don’t actually need to think.
I have to look up some real estate records at the Tuxbury town hall that afternoon, only a few miles away from Shipley Farm. Making the copies I need doesn’t take very long, though. I’m finished by four thirty, and so I knock off work early.