Hannah’s apartment was chic, sleek and comfortable （and chilly, I thought, all those shades of cool gray and stark white）。 My house was colorful, funky, often cluttered, and homey with worn couches that welcomed a nap and chairs frayed from Milo, our late great cat who had died in his sleep two years ago. Thomasina, Hannah’s cat, would never be so rude.
Hannah came back in with a tray, two wineglasses, a bottle of white wine in a marble wine chiller, some crumbly cheese, grapes and crackers, as well as a tiny vase holding three roses in various shades of pink. She was very fancy, courtesy of Beatrice.
“From your garden?” I asked as she poured.
“Yes.” She handed me a glass, sat down and crossed her legs. “How are you doing?”
“Shitty.”
“Yeah. Of course.”
I drank some wine. It was really good, all buttery and caramel and citrus.
“Do you want to . . . tell me about it?”
I sighed and sat back on the couch. Super comfy. Was it strange that we were in her office, rather than upstairs? Even though it looked like a very nice living room? “Um . . . it was the night before graduation,” I said. “We went to Pepe’s, and I surprised him with a vacation I’d booked. To Europe, to celebrate us having gotten Dylan off to college.”
“Can you afford that?” she asked, our mother’s girl. She closed her eyes. “I’m sorry. Go on.”
“Well, we could afford it when we were a two-income family, Hannah. But no, and I did cancel it. Anyway,” I said, my voice sharp, “he told me that he was in love with someone else. Has been for some time.”
“My God. I never would have guessed he’d have the balls.”
I felt a little twinge of affection. “Me neither. And anyway, he’s moving in with her when Dylan leaves for college.”
“The day after tomorrow?” she asked.
“Yep.” Then something in me cracked, and I started crying, big ugly sobs. My hands went over my face, and I leaned forward against the pain.
“How horrible!” She leaned over and patted my knee, irritating me with that paltry gesture even as I grabbed a few tissues and blew my nose. How about a hug, sis? I wanted to ask. Then again, that would’ve been awkward. We weren’t the hugging type. Even as kids, I’d been the emotional one. She’d been calm and wise, sometimes regretful, but otherwise the epitome of grace under pressure. No wonder she made a killer living at her job.
When I quieted down, a little embarrassed at my outburst, I suddenly realized I was starving. Shoveled some cheese onto a cracker and stuffed it in my mouth. Repeated twice as my sister watched. Did a palate cleanse with the wine.
“Do you know who she is?” Hannah asked.
“Yes. Actually, I introduced them, Hannah. Can you believe it? Melissa Finch. She bought a house from the Fairchilds last winter, and— What?”
Hannah looked stricken. “She . . . she just booked a wedding consultation with me.”
My mouth fell open. “You’re going to plan my husband’s wedding, Hannah? Are you kidding me?”
“I—I didn’t know who the groom was, I swear! Obviously, I didn’t know,” Hannah said. “We have an appointment for next week, but I . . . She just called to make sure I was free. Said she heard I was the best. And um . . . she paid me a deposit. Twenty grand.”
I closed my eyes.
“I’ll tell her I can’t,” Hannah said. “Of course I will. I’ll cancel. She can use Rachel at Daylynn Designs. I’m so sorry, Lillie.”
I exhaled a long breath. “Well, you didn’t know.” I picked up the bottle of wine and poured myself another glass. “Did you like her?”
Hannah looked away. She always did such a perfect, subtle cat’s eye. It was a talent.
“You liked her,” I said. It was an accusation.
“I didn’t know, Lillie. I’ll hate her from now on, okay?”
“Good. She’s an amoral slut.” Slut shaming. Me, a champion for women and their bodies. “Strike that. Brad is an amoral slut.”
“I always thought you two were so . . . solid.”
“Yeah, me too.” I took another sip of wine.
“You’ve been sitting on this for all these weeks, Lils?”
“Mom knows.”
“Mom?” She was rightfully stunned.
“Free legal advice.”
“Ah. That makes sense.” She drank some wine and ate a cracker with cheese, much more gracefully than I had. When she was done chewing, she wiped her mouth delicately, her red lipstick staying in place. Truly Beatrice’s prodigy, as our stepmother, the former model, always looked camera ready. “What can I do, Lillie?”