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After a big family dinner, I retreated to my own house on the property to get some space from the noise and activity before having to do it all over again the following day at the shower.
I changed into pajama pants and an ancient hoodie and wandered into the kitchen to poke through the fridge for something to eat. My caretaker always did a great job of stocking the place when I visited, and sure enough, there was a dish of hearty pasta waiting for me.
I threw it in the microwave just as the doorbell rang.
When I opened the door, my friend Lolo breezed in as if it hadn’t been at least a year since the last time we saw each other.
“Oh! Thank god, darling. Marigold told me you’d be here this weekend, and I thought, ‘Perfect! Oscar’s home. Just the distraction I need.’ Now, shove over. I’m fit to be tied and thirsty as fuck. Tell me you have rosé.” He threw air-kisses in my general direction before flitting off down the hall.
I followed him into the kitchen. For some reason, Lolo had fallen in love with my Vermont house the year before and took any excuse to visit whether I was there or not.
“I’m sure I do. How are you? What are you doing in Vermont? Where’s your other half?” I couldn’t have known the name of Lolo’s flavor of the week, but I definitely knew there would be one. There always was. Lolo was like an opera singer, at his best with a spotlight and an audience of fans.
He waved slender fingers at me before crouching down to peer into the glass-front wine fridge. “Pish. I don’t need a man. I’ve decided I’m on a cum cleanse.”
I moved over to the cabinet where the wineglasses lived and pulled down two stemless ones. With Lolo’s expressive hands, there was no sense in risking a spill.
“Probably a good idea,” I said. “Maybe pair that cleanse with some bloodwork just to set a baseline for your next set of escapades.”
“Mm. I have my eye on someone for the next chapter of my life. It’s why I’m here in Vermont, actually. And he’s the monogamous type.” This was interesting enough to raise both of my eyebrows but he waved the topic away before I could ask questions. “Enough about me, what’s new with you? Your younger sister’s getting married, I heard. Tell me they haven’t roped you in for a best man job.”
“Stepsister. And not this time, no.” I took the bottle from him and poured us each a glass of rosé. “Her wedding shower’s tomorrow. Tonight was their big family dinner.”
“Their dinner?” He narrowed his eyes. “Oscar, precious, hasn’t your mom been remarried to Birch for, like, a decade?”
“Fifteen years,” I corrected. I took a sip of wine, then swirled my glass just to watch the light reflect off the surface. “This year’s their crystal anniversary.”
“So at a certain point, don’t you just stop calling them step?”
I blinked up at him. “It’s legally and factually accurate.”
“Hmm.” When the microwave dinged, Lolo pulled my pasta dish out and set it on the counter. “Ew, no. Where are your crudités? Mama needs something a little lighter tonight. A lovely cheese straw or perhaps a seasoned pretzel.”
He started searching through the large pantry, muttering disappointment until he finally made a happy sound and reappeared with a bag of pretzels in his hands. “Can’t go wrong with Dots. Honey, are you sure you want to eat that much cheese? Because we’re not getting any younger, you know.”
I finished serving myself a heaping portion of the pasta into a bowl and grabbed a fork before plunking it down on the kitchen table and taking the seat next to where he was perched. “I’m starving.”
“Starving, when you just came from dinner?” Lolo’s eyes widened. “Oh, have your family become fruitarians or something? I dated a guy like that once. ‘Watermelon for dinner again, Bryce? No, no, it’s great! So delicious and nutritious and… watery!’” He chomped a pretzel thoughtfully. “Always felt a bit like I was cheating on him when I’d hit the Thai place on my way home.”
I snorted. “They’re not fruitarians. It’s just that Flower Family dinners are… boisterous,” I decided. “Ask Rose to pass the potatoes, and suddenly, every eye turns like you’re a gazelle who wandered into a lions’ den, and the whole crew yells at once. ‘I didn’t know Oscar loved potatoes!’ ‘Oscar, why have you never mentioned that potatoes are your favorite food?’ ‘Here, Oscar, have my potatoes.’ ‘Hey, Oscar, I’m going to set you up with a potato farmer I know. You guys would be perfect for one another.’” I forked up a bite of pasta. “It’s perhaps the one situation in my life where I’ve decided it’s best not to call attention to myself.”
Lolo laughed, then quickly sobered. “Wait, you’re serious? You’re sitting there hungry because you won’t let them share? That’s not the Oscar I know and love. Not that I’m a great expert on all things family, darling, but it certainly seems they like you?—”
“Of course. I’m very likable.” I winked, and Lolo rolled his eyes. “I like them too. We get along fine. I knew them all when they were children, for heaven’s sake. But it’s different now that my mother is their mother. I don’t want anyone to feel pressured to… to do, or be, or feel, or say the right things. Including me.”
He stared at me with his mouth open, pretzel dust coating his lips. “Oscar. Sweetheart. Babykins?—”
“And I’m not sitting around hungry, clearly.” I took another large bite of pasta and chewed with satisfaction. “Now, pour us some more wine and tell me what you’ve been up to.”
I needed the distraction. Dealing with my family made me feel unsettled, and the last thing I wanted was to cave and contact Hugh in a moment of weakness.
Lolo started telling me about a recent stint traveling around the Mediterranean consulting with a “silver Daddy” on the necessary refurbishments for the interior of his yacht. I listened with half an ear while also trying to figure out a strategy for surviving Hyacinth’s wedding shower the next day.
As usual, Lolo was content to talk at me with minimal response necessary from me except nods and a few mmhm’s. So when my phone rang after a while, he simply kept talking, unconcerned. But when I glanced at the screen, I did a double take and blinked repeatedly before I could force my brain to believe what I saw.
Hugh.
Seeing his name was the most wonderful gift and the worst sort of temptation all rolled into one, but in the end, there wasn’t a single doubt about whether I would pick up. If Hugh called, I would always answer.
