An arm is slung around my shoulders. ‘And everyone knows my brother’s a slut!’ quips Charlie.
I laugh and lean into him. Charlie is tall and slim with dark hair and designer stubble. Where Jack is confidence and challenge and that last square of dark chocolate melting on your tongue, Charlie is warmth and bounce and that first sip of ice-cool water on a too-hot day.
‘Well done, kiddo,’ he says into my hair. ‘Everyone’s bursting with pride.’
They’re all smiling at me. All of them but Jack, who sips his drink and doesn’t speak. My own smile is so wide and so fake, it feels as though it’s been carved onto my face.
Eventually, I escape to the kitchen for some quiet and wallow. I’m sad my life isn’t what I thought it would be. Sad I am forever a disappointment to my family. Sad I couldn’t succeed, not even for Noah. I either have to tell everyone the truth, that there never was a deal, or lie again and claim the contract fell through. But how? Everyone has taken time out of their lives to be here tonight. The last time people came together to celebrate an achievement of mine was after graduation eight years ago. Jesus, eight years. How have I accomplished nothing else worthy of social celebration in eight years?
At my parents’ house, most of the photographs are of Ada, moments of pride strung like pearls along Laura Ashley wallpaper in the lounge: Ada grinning beside the ice-blue Audi Ethan bought her for her thirtieth birthday; Ada and Ethan at their Amalfi Coast wedding; the newlyweds smiling and clutching the keys to the door of this house.
The kitchen door is shoved part-way open and I catch a furious snippet of conversation. ‘… just saying, you shouldn’t be drinking wine tonight. The doctor said—’
‘I know what the doctor said,’ snaps Ada, cutting off her husband. The door opens further and then stops abruptly, as though someone is trying to pull it closed. ‘What’re you doing?’
‘Don’t just walk away,’ implores Ethan. He sighs deeply. ‘If we want to get pregnant, we need to follow his instructions.’
‘We?’ Ada’s laugh is knife-sharp and stabbing.
‘What?’
There’s a terse silence. My heart pounds; I absolutely should not be privy to this conversation – maybe I should duck into the laundry room and hide.
‘Go back to the guests,’ says Ada firmly. ‘It’s rude to leave them so long.’
‘Fine.’
Ethan’s footsteps recede.
I hop off the stool and turn towards the utility room. But there’s no time to hide because Ada strides inside. When she sees me, she jumps, hand on heart. ‘Jesus, Elodie, what’re you doing in here?’
‘Getting some air.’
Her brows knit together. Ada is blessed with gorgeous brows, the kind you see in beauty adverts. She opens her mouth to ask more questions I don’t want to answer but I beat her to it. ‘What’re you doing in here – shouldn’t you be hosting?’
Her mouth closes and she glances briefly at the kitchen door, wondering how much I heard. ‘Elderflower,’ she says simply. ‘We’re out.’
I watch as she moves over to the fridge. She’s tense, I see it in her neck and shoulders. I’ve never heard her and Ethan have a cross word or even a friendly little bicker, and I think I’ve just seen a crack in their shiny veneer. Then I notice her trembling hands. ‘Ada, are you okay?’
My pulse kicks again as I wait for her to reply. She busies herself in the fridge longer than necessary, like she’s trying to avoid the question. I wonder how often people bother to ask Ada if she’s okay; she’s always so perfectly put together that the question seems irrelevant. When she turns to me, she looks weary. I’m not sure if it’s Ruby’s comments or the tension between her and Ethan. Maybe this is our moment to reconnect, to fix whatever was damaged. I look at my sister and I’m sure she’s thinking the same thing. ‘Yes,’ she says with forced lightness. ‘Everything’s great. Hosting is busy work, but I love it.’
I nod, sad that she decided to lie but then, who am I to judge?
‘And you?’ she asks, coming closer. It’s the same soothing tone she used after Noah died. ‘Are you okay?’
I’m grateful she’s asked, and I can tell she’s genuinely interested in my answer, even though it means I have to lie too. Because if I tell the truth, it will be out there, hanging in the air between us and impossible to stuff back into my mouth. I’ll come to pieces and I’m not entirely sure I’ll be able to stick myself back together again. ‘Yes, I’m fine,’ I lie. ‘Great. Everything is just so great.’