“Stressed about what?” I say blankly, and Krista erupts.
“What do you think? I already told you! Money. Like I say, there’s no gold in this house.”
“But I don’t understand,” I say, feeling as though I’m going a bit mad. “I don’t understand. You said it had been a great year for Dad’s investments at dinner last night! You said he was swimming in profits!” Abruptly, I realize I’ve given myself away. “I was hiding under the console table,” I add awkwardly. “In fact…I’ve kind of been at the party the whole time.”
“What?” Dad gapes at me, then gives a sudden snort, which I think might be laughter. “Oh, Effie.”
“You were under the console table?” says Krista sharply.
“Before dinner too,” I add. “When you were…dressing the table.”
And undressing yourself, I message her silently. From the snap in Krista’s eyes, I can tell she’s understood.
“Might have figured you’d sneak yourself in,” she says coldly. “I should sue that bouncer. He was supposed to keep crashers out.”
“Well, he couldn’t keep me out. And I heard you at dinner saying how great Dad’s year had been. How he’d made a stack. Didn’t she, Dad?” I appeal to him.
“Krista tries to boost my ego,” says Dad, wincing. “She means well, but…”
“Whose business is it?” says Krista defiantly. “Put your best face on, that’s what I say. Spread a little party dust. Why not let everyone think your dad’s on great form. Better than telling the truth, ruining everyone’s evening.”
“So…what’s the truth?” I say, looking from Dad to Krista.
“Things have been tricky, ever since the divorce,” says Dad slowly. “And Krista…Krista has tried to help.”
“Much thanks I get.” Krista folds her arms. “Much bloody thanks I get.”
My head is spinning in confusion. I keep looking from Krista—vibrant, colorful, prickling with indignation—to Dad, who’s a bit gray and worn out in comparison.
Have I misjudged Krista? Have we all misjudged Krista? But no. No. My mind rebels. She didn’t invite me to the party, remember? She threw her drink over me, remember?
“Effie,” Dad says, his voice grave. “Did you really refuse to come to the party simply because you didn’t approve of my choice of partner?”
“No!” I say, stung. “No, of course not! OK, so Krista and I don’t get on. But I wouldn’t not come to a party because of that. It was the invitation. The anti-invitation.”
Dad sighs. “Darling, Krista explained she made a mistake. Everyone can make a mistake—”
“It wasn’t a mistake,” I say, feeling fresh hurt. “It was deliberate. And…I assumed it was from you too,” I add in a smaller voice. “I assumed you didn’t want me to come.”
“What?” Dad sounds scandalized. “How could you think that?”
I stare back, almost exploding with frustration.
“Come on, Dad. You’ve been blanking me for weeks. The day after the kitchen row, I left you that voicemail, but you didn’t even reply. Then you send me some awful email about post redirection. I was like…OK. I get it. Dad doesn’t want to talk. Fine. We won’t talk.”
“But I asked you out to lunch!” Dad retorts, his brow creased in consternation. “I asked you to lunch, Effie. You didn’t reply.”
“What?” I gape at him.
“I suggested lunch. When I sent you the hamper. And I never got a voicemail from you.”
I stare at him, aghast. Does he think I’m lying?
“I left that voicemail the very next day,” I say, breathing fast. “The very next day. And what do you mean, ‘hamper’？ I never got any hamper.”
“It was from Fortnum’s.” Dad looks confused. “A little peace offering. Effie, you must have got it.”
“Dad, I think I would know if I’d had a hamper from Fortnum’s,” I say shakily. “I think I might have noticed.”
“But we sent it! At least, Krista sent it,” he amends. “I was very preoccupied, and Krista insisted on ordering it, to save me time…” He turns to Krista, and when he sees her brazen, defensive expression, his look changes from disbelief to horror. “Krista?” he says with an ominous quietness.
“I forgot, OK?” says Krista. “I had a lot on! Anyway, a hamper from Fortnum’s, Tone? What nonsense! You couldn’t afford a hamper from Fortnum’s!”