Always the Last to Know

by Kristan Higgins

  The only time I felt like my old self was when I was with my dad. He’d made some real progress from those terrifying first days in January. He wasn’t talking or otherwise communicating yet . . . I’d been trying some sign language with him, since I knew a little from St. Catherine’s, where it was taught one day a week. LeVon was trying that, too, but we’d yet to have an Anne Sullivan/Helen Keller breakthrough. Not yet. He was right on the cusp, it seemed. I could sense it.

  He smelled different, my father. It was one of those things you didn’t know would affect you until you were crying in the bathroom.

  Mom and Juliet were there, and I was sure they missed him, too, but they hid it well. I had the feeling Mom wished he had just died.

  But he was getting better. “It’s tempting to read into every little thing,” LeVon had warned me. “If he’s having a breakthrough, we’ll know, but it’ll be harder if you attribute every reflex to meaningful interaction.” He put a big hand on my shoulder. “But I agree with you. He’s making progress.”

  We all fricking loved LeVon.

  Meanwhile, something was happening to me.

  It was the view. My house might be a decrepit pile of mold and decaying wood, but damn, that view. Because my house was on a little hill, I could watch both the sunrise and the sunset. Every morning, I woke up to the sun streaming in my room at the literal crack of dawn. I’d take Pepper out and let her romp and chase the dead leaves, and we’d watch the sun come out from behind the clouds, beams of light stretching out their arms. I’d sit on the porch with my coffee, listening to the birds. Each week they got more vocal—the chickadees, red-winged blackbirds, blue jays, ducks and geese. A blue heron hung out at the bend of the river, just past the bridge.

  At night, if I was home from my parents’ house in time, I’d watch the sun set over the water, and it was even more startling in its beauty than the sunrise. Sometimes, the sun would glitter over the ocean, not a cloud in the sky, and after it sank below the horizon, a band of yellow and gold would linger for an hour as the stars came out. Other times, the clouds would catch and throw the light in all the shades of color I knew and then some—dianthus pink, iridescent pale gold, French blue, Montserrat orange. This past week had been milder, and Pepper and I stayed out till the last bird sang, and the smell of earth was strong as the sky deepened bit by bit.

  I’d sit there and watch and listen, and all the yoga classes in all the world didn’t make me feel this way. Still. Awed. I hadn’t come back to Stoningham for Noah—I couldn’t, not the way he’d demanded it of me, not under the weight of his expectations. But even though it was temporary, I was glad I was here now. The town was less insipid than I’d painted it as a teenager; the people were more layered than I’d imagined them to be. Maybe it had been a necessary exercise to prepare for the New York phase of my life. Maybe I’d had to minimize what home meant to me so I could leave it behind.

  I loved my New York life. But I loved this, too. I was . . . happy.

  Happy. Even though I was here for a terrible reason, the happiness, the peace, snuck in. Right now, there was nowhere else I should be, could be or wanted to be.

  * * *

  — —

  The dinner party did not get off to a great start.

  For one, Alexander was running late. “Babe. I’m so sorry, but this traffic is horrible.”

  “Well, what time did you leave?” I asked.

  “At four.”

  “That’s way too late! I told you to get out of the city by two thirty!” I groaned. “Honey. We haven’t seen each other in weeks. I wanted to get you in bed before this party. Now you’ll have to come straight to my mother’s.”

  “I know. I’m so sorry. I had all this paperwork to file, and time just got away from me. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ve missed you so much.”

  I sighed. “It’s okay. Just . . . drive carefully. I love you.”

  “Love you, too.” He clicked off.

  I got ready, which meant showering downstairs (I’d installed a makeshift showerhead) and being licked by Pepper as I got out (she loved the taste of my soap). I got dressed in a skirt and shirt, then ditched it for a flowered dress and little sweater. Couldn’t find my blue pumps so I wore the cowboy boots that made Pepper bark, and so I left the house with a dog who simultaneously loved me and feared my footwear. Getting her into the car took some effort, torn as she was. Right as I pulled up to Mom’s, I realized I’d offered to bring wine, so I had to run to the package store and buy some that would pass the snob test. Jules and Oliver had a wine cellar and a wine fridge.

  Finally, I got to the house. Pepper liked my dad, and he seemed to be interested in her. She bolted for the dining room the minute we got in. From the sound of it, people were already here.

  “There you are,” Mom said. “I said six o’clock. It’s almost seven. Your friend Carter made it on time from New York. You had two miles, Sadie.”

  “I know, and Alexander will be late, too, I’m afraid. Here.” I handed her the wine. “Hi, Mom. You look pretty.”

  She sighed and took the two wine bottles into the kitchen. I checked on my dad before going into the family room, where everyone else seemed to be. Sure enough, Pepper was already curled up on his bed.

  “You’re Pepper’s favorite, Daddy,” I said.

  He didn’t look at me. He was just looking ahead, but his hand was on Pepper’s bony little head.

  “You like her, Dad? Do you like the dog?”

  He looked at me then, and my heart leaped. “You do, right? You like Pepper?”

  She licked his hand, and he smiled.

  Oh, my God, he smiled! “Good job, Daddy,” I whispered around the immediate lump in my throat.

  “Hey. I didn’t know you were here.” It was Jules. “Where’s your boy toy? Also, did you know your friend Carter is gay?”

  “Why, yes, I did, since I’ve known him for years and years. Jules, Dad just smiled at me! Because of Pepper!”

  “Right. You got a dog.”

  “Juliet. Our father just smiled.”

  “Good. Great job, Dad.” She took a sip of her wine. “You coming to join the rest of us? Also, you should’ve told Mom your friend is gay. She’s trying to fix him up with one of her guests. A woman.”

  “Oh, shit.”

  “Also, Sadie, remember what the doctor said. Smiling could just be a reflex, you know?”

  “No, Jules, it wasn’t. I asked him if he liked Pepper, and she licked his hand, and he smiled. That’s significant.”

  “Sure.”

  “What is with you? Did he beat you or lock you in the cellar before I was born? Why aren’t you more excited?”

  “He’s asleep now. You gonna join us or what?”

  I closed my eyes briefly, then looked at my father. He was asleep, Pepper’s head on his leg. I covered them both with a soft throw and followed my sister into the back. “You look good, by the way,” I told her.

  “Are you making fun of me?” She jerked to a stop in the hallway and turned to glare at me.

  “No! Why? Should I have said you look like shit? You just look . . . pretty. I’m sorry. Was that a wrong thing to say? No. It’s not. I revoke my apology.”

  “Can you do me one favor? Be nice to Mom.”

  “I . . . okay. Check.”

  Carter saw me first and gave me a big bear hug. “I’ve missed you so desperately! How are you, precious?” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “Why does your mother think I’m straight? Will she stone me if I tell her I like boys?”

  “She’s very accepting, if obtuse. I’m so sorry. I missed you, too!” I kissed him on the cheek. “We’re still on for tomorrow morning, right?”

  “What’s tomorrow morning?”

  “I show you my house, you wave your magical Queer Eye wand and boom! It’s beautiful, and we go out for brunch with Al
exander.”

  “Oh, honey, I’m sorry. I’m going to the casino tomorrow with Josh. He loves the craps table.”

  “You brought Josh?”

  “He’s coming tomorrow.” Carter paused for effect. “It’s official. He’s my boyfriend, and we’re getting matching tattoos. Now come. Mingle, and break the news to your mother that I won’t be dating that nice girl in the corner.”

  The family room was two steps down, and there were more people here than I’d expected. Oliver (smiling, ever smiling, which shouldn’t irritate me as much as it did), Caro and her boo, Ted or Theo or Tim, I could never remember, and . . .

  Oh, crap. Noah. And (not crap) Mickey and their baby. Little Marcus was being cooed over by my mother at the moment.

  That could’ve been her grandchild. The thought came unbidden. But yeah. Once, I thought I’d be the mother of Noah’s children, long before I’d asked myself if I wanted to be a mother at all.

  Shit. Where was Alexander?

  I turned, then froze. Sweet baby Jesus. Though I hadn’t ever seen her in person, I knew her right away. Gillian Epstein. Noah’s ex-fiancée.

  What the what?

  She looked up at me, and she obviously recognized me, too, because she flinched the teeniest bit. “Hi,” she said after a beat. “I’m Gillian Epstein.” Ah. A hard G, not the J sound. I hadn’t expected that.

  “I’m Sadie. Barb’s daughter.”

  “Believe me, I know who you are.” She forced a smile. “I was engaged to Noah a few years back.”

  “Right. I knew that. From Facebook, that is. You know. We have mutual friends, I mean, of course we do, we grew up together, Noah and I that is, not you and me”—stop yourself, Sadie—“and I guess one of my friends commented on your picture, and you’d tagged Noah, so I . . . well. I knew he was engaged.”

  She looked to the left, hoping for someone to save her, no doubt. I, too, cast about for a savior. Where had Carter gone? And why, why did Alexander have to be late today?

  Gillian—I kind of hated the hard G—was even prettier in person. Olive skin, green eyes, really good lashes (natural, damn her). Perfect body, nice clothes. She even smelled nice, like oranges.

  “So you and Noah stayed friends, I guess?” I said.

  “No. It’s kind of hard to stay friends with the person who broke your heart and embarrassed you by calling off your wedding.”

  Youch. “Yeah, that would be . . . tricky.” I felt sweat prickling in my armpits. “You’re very honest.”

  “Are you and Noah still friends?” she asked.

  “Oh, uh . . . yes? Sort of? Not really, no. I mean, it’s different, since he and I have known each other since kindergarten. Maybe before that. And we were never, um, engaged.”

  She cocked a well-groomed eyebrow, as if doubting me.

  “Gillian, uh . . . you mind if I ask why you’re here?”

  “Your mother invited me. I’m an event planner, and I’m handling the town’s three hundred and fiftieth anniversary weekend. I wasn’t aware Noah and his . . . partner . . . would be here.”

  “Mickey.” I lowered my voice. “She’s gay. They’re just coparents. It’s not romantic.”

  “I know that.”

  “Cool. Great. Information is good to have. That’s great.” I needed a drink. Gillian probably needed more to drink. Or a Xanax.

  Ah. My mother was handing the baby off to Mickey. “Mom! Let me help you with dinner!” I said. “Excuse me, Gillian. So nice to meet you.”

  I dragged my mom into the kitchen. “What are you doing?” I hissed.

  “As usual, Sadie, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Gillian Epstein and Noah used to be engaged.”

  “Oh. Oh, dear. I didn’t think of that.” She blinked at me. She looked tired, I suddenly noticed. Of course she did, living with Dad, doing her part in his care.

  “Also . . . I used to date Noah, remember? It’s awkward to have to schmooze with his ex. And it might be awkward for him, too, don’t you think? And, not to put too fine a point on it, awkward for me to be with both of them.”

  “I just told you, Sadie, I forgot! I invited her because she’d mentioned how hard it was to meet a nice man, and I thought maybe your friend and she would hit it off.”

  “My friend is gay. And thirty years older than Gillian.”

  “Do you have to jump down my throat with a houseful of guests here? Hm? Do you? Noah’s been very kind to your father. And you, missy. Didn’t he fix your furnace?”

  “Yes. But—”

  “Gillian is handling the town’s anniversary, and who knows? Maybe Noah will realize he made a big mistake.”

  I blinked. “I don’t think you should try to get them back together.”

  “You have a boyfriend, Sadie. It’s not really your business, is it?”

  Ouch. “I don’t. I mean . . . I just think it’s weird to try to fix up your daughter’s ex-boyfriend with his ex-fiancée.”

  Caro popped her head in. “Need help, Barb? Hi, Sadie, sweetheart.”

  “Hi, Caro. You look beautiful, as always.”

  “I know, and thank you, angel. Barb, what can I do?”

  “We’ll be eating in a few minutes, so if you could start herding everyone in here, that’d be great.”

  Caro flashed her dimples at me and popped back out.

  “So. You won’t try to push Gillian and Noah together,” I said, just to be clear.

  “Whatever happens with them happens, Sadie. She does a lot of events in town and she knows everyone. Maybe she can help you find a job while you’re here, who knows? You could run errands for her.”

  Nice. “I have a job,” I said.

  “Is that right.”

  “I paint.”

  “Of course. Now, would you mind getting your father so we can eat?” She went back into the family room, all smiles for everyone but me.

  It would be nice to like my mother as much as other people did. Then again, they didn’t get the side of her I did—the slightly irritated, impatient, better-things-to-do mother who already had a perfect daughter and couldn’t be bothered with me. She had a knack for peeing on everything I liked or did in ways both subtle and obvious and then wondered why I didn’t seek her out the way Juliet did. It was exhausting.

  I took a deep breath and went back to the dining room. I bet my dad missed being in a proper bedroom. Pepper was still curled at his side, looking like a giant cinnamon bun, snoring gently. My father’s eyes were open. “Hey, Dad,” I said. “Mom’s driving me crazy, but what else is new, right?”

  He glanced at me, looking blank, and my eyes filled. “It’s me, Dad. Sadie. You know who I am, right?”

  I thought his expression softened a little. “Of course you do. I’m your daughter, and I love you.” Pepper’s tail wagged, beating on the bed. “And my little doggy loves you, too. Right, Pepper?”

  “Do you need help?”

  Noah. I wiped my eyes before turning. “Sure. Thanks.” He came closer, and his hair was extra curly. Must’ve just washed it. Not that I was thinking about Noah in the shower or anything. I cleared my throat. “Hey, I’m sorry my mom invited your . . . um, Gillian.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it might be awkward for you.”

  “It’s not. She’s a good person.” There was already an edge in his voice.

  “I’m sure she is.”

  “Is it awkward for you?”

  “Of course not! Why would it be? I’m great! How’s the baby, by the way? And Mickey’s still nursing? Is it going well?”

  He gave me a pained look. “Why don’t you ask her?”

  “I will do so.” Blathering like an idiot yet again, and over my father’s balding head. “Come on, Dad. Time for dinner.” Noah took one of his arms, and I took the other.

&
nbsp; “Whose dog is this?” Noah asked.

  “Mine. Pepper, meet Noah. Noah, this is my puppy, Pepper.”

  She licked his face, and he laughed.

  Oh, that laugh. That sooty, low scraping laugh. A hundred memories of Noah laughing flashed through my head—hearing it in high school, turning to see him smiling at me, the two of us walking to get coffee, his big, strong hand holding mine, or best of all, in bed, his skin warm against mine, that soft, tangled black hair framing his face.

  Yep.

  Pepper was going to town on him, lucky thing, and he picked her up and set her on the floor. “Okay, Mr. Frost, one, two, three. There you go.”

  Together, we helped Dad get his walker and come into the kitchen.

  It was really, really unfortunate that my boyfriend was stuck in traffic. I could use an ally to fight these memories before I fell in love with Noah Pelletier all over again.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Juliet

  Juliet Frost had seduction on her mind, which was hard enough since she was in her mother’s house with her brain-damaged father, her yappy sister and about six other people.

  But sex with Oliver was on her list of things to do tonight, and she owed him some sparkly time. She sipped the wine she’d brought and smiled hard.

  Knowing that her father had had an affair had shaken her to the roots. That her father—her father, that steadiest of men, married for fifty years—could have an affair made her feel that every second Oliver was not in view, he, too, could be screwing some other woman, or thinking about it, or flirting or looking or . . . or smelling some other woman.

  Perhaps she should lay off the wine.

  Which wouldn’t calm her fears. Oliver had never once indicated anything but happiness in their marriage, but it happened. Half of marriages ended in divorce! Half! Why were she and Ollie any better than anyone else? She’d spent half her workday Googling “why do men have affairs?” It happens even in the best marriages, the literature said darkly.