How to End a Love Story(44)

At dinner with friends, don’t wait up.





Grant is helping set the table when she walks in. He’s wearing an old Dunollie Warriors crew-neck sweatshirt that she has too, buried somewhere in the back of her closet.

“Can I help?” she asks, gripping a chair for something to do with her hands.

“No, no,” Lisa says, bringing over a steaming platter of green beans. “You’re our guest. Oh! Wine. We need a good wine.”

Lisa disappears into the kitchen and Grant grins at Helen lazily.

“She’s going to bring back the good stuff she’s been saving,” he says.

“Oh no, tell her not to—”

“We have to get rid of it before she moves anyway,” he says. “And she doesn’t like drinking alone.”

“Here we are,” she says, and returns with two bottles. “A nice red, but also, I found this lovely white while I was rummaging around and I thought, why not.”

Grant rolls his eyes. “Helen will think we’re trying to get her drunk, Mom.”

“Well, if she does get drunk, she can take a nice nap on the couch,” Lisa says, with a roguish wink. “That’s what I do when I’ve overindulged.”

Over the course of roast potatoes, green beans, leftover pot roast, and a surprise bottle of port that comes out before dessert, Helen learns more about Lisa Shepard than she’s ever known about Grant himself. She tells them about the sheep farms in Ireland that she’s been researching and how she’s narrowed her choice down to two likely options. One that’s a longer commitment and a bit farther from the parts of Ireland she’s interested in; another that’s a shorter commitment but maybe that’s a blessing in disguise—“You never know what could be waiting for you at the end of an opportunity rainbow.” Lisa tells Helen about her childhood in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, and growing up as the girl next door to the Shepard brothers. “Very handsome, very in demand.” She reminisces about her wedding, and brightens when she remembers she found her old bridal portrait in the basement the other day.

“One second,” she says, and dashes downstairs.

Helen glances at Grant and can’t help laughing at his pained expression.

“Sorry,” he says. “She doesn’t get to talk to new people very often anymore.”

“She’s charming,” Helen says. “I see how you learned to talk to people.”

“I’m good at getting other people to talk,” Grant says. “She’s good at talking about herself. There’s a difference.”

Lisa reemerges with a framed photo of herself on her wedding day, in a Victorian-revival gown with puffed sleeves and a lace collar. “That was the style back then,” she says. “I remember feeling like the prettiest girl in Bucks County that morning.”

“You were a beautiful bride,” Helen says honestly.

“Mm.” Lisa nods, staring fondly at the photo. “I was a picture. Which ended up in the basement! Ha! That’s where these things end up sometimes.”

Grant sighs audibly and Lisa laughs at him.

“He’s embarrassed,” she says. “It’s so nice to be able to embarrass him. It’s been ages since he brought any of his friends over.”

“Mom, can we wrap up the show-and-tell before midnight?”

Lisa looks at the old clock in the corner and claps her hands. “Oh my god, it’s after nine! Well, time flies when you have good company.”

“And three bottles of wine,” Grant mutters under his breath, and Helen laughs.

“Helen, do you want some decaf before you get on the road?”

Helen presses her hand to her cheeks, feeling a flush of warmth from the wine. “That would be great, Mrs. Shepard.”

Grant glances at her warily when Lisa leaves the room.

“You shouldn’t drive. My mom practically poured a gallon of alcohol down your throat.”

Helen lays her head down on her linen placemat, feeling a warm kind of sleepy.

“Yeah, why’d you let her do that?” she yawns, and her eyes drift shut of their own volition.

Grant laughs—it’s a familiar rumble now.

“I’ll give you a ride once you’re more sober. You can get your car in the morning.”

Helen opens one eye and squints at him. “Such a sturdy oak.”

“Mom, bring the coffee upstairs,” he shouts into the kitchen, then leans over to rap the table in front of her. “Come on, if you fall asleep, I can’t give you the grand tour.”



They walk up the stairs slowly, ostensibly to look at the old family photos and framed childhood paintings on the wall, but also because Grant wants to be sure she doesn’t tumble over the railing, forcing him to explain the unexpected death of a second Zhang sister on his watch.

“You grew up in my childhood dream,” Helen murmurs as he leads her past the lounge area on the second floor. “I begged and begged my parents for an old house like this.”

“It’s not as romantic as you think it is,” Grant says. “None of the doors fit their frames, the heating system sounds like four ghosts ate a cat, and it’s colder than a witch’s titty in the mornings this time of year.”

Helen cackles, then pushes past him into the next room.