Page 65 of The Lipstick Flip

“He would have made a very enthusiastic Nazi,” Noah said.

I laughed, but I said, “Hey, at least he’s helping.”

Noah nodded, but he was looking at his phone.

“What?” I asked.

And for a split second, I thought, He has a date.

But Noah said, “The pianist isn’t here.”

“What pianist?”

“I hired a pianist.” The fight-me set to his jaw was back. “It’s a nice touch, Howie. The house tour is supposed to be a multisensory experience.”

And yeah, it probably was. But when Noah started saying things like that, it made me hate those people on HGTV.

“It’s fine—” I began. But Noah was already tapping furiously at his phone.

“How long are we going to be here?” Marty asked as he joined us. “I’m bored.”

“You can leave whenever you want,” Noah said without looking up from his phone. “Leave right now.”

“Do you have anything else to drink besides cider and beer?”

“Stay out of the fridge!”

The question of drinks made me think of Tracy, and I said, “Let me check something really quickly.”

I found her in the kitchen, and she almost got the flask back into her purse before I saw it.

“Howie,” she said, and she sounded like she was a few inches deeper than she’d been at the start of the party. “This is all so wonderful—”

“Thanks, Tracy. You play piano, right?” And then, because this was Tracy, and she technically was still my mother-in-law, and sometimes, when you’re tied up with another person like that, you get trapped playing the stupidest roles, I leaned on the counter, grinned at her, and said, “Remember that hole-in-the-wall in Vegas? There you were, looking like a million bucks, and me just a lounge lizard who wasn’t brave enough to say two words to you.”

Tracy laughed. “You’re so silly.”

“Would you mind playing a little something until the pianist arrives?”

“Oh, I couldn’t, Howie. I’m so out of practice. I don’t even know what I’d play.”

“Whatever you want, beautiful.”

“I can’t. You’re making me nervous.”

“Well, I guess I could ask Marty—”

“I’ll do it!” A blush was rising in her cheeks, and she beamed at me. “But only because you’re my favorite son-in-law.”

And that was how Tracy ended up at the piano, running her fingers over the keys as she sang in a surprisingly sweet alto, “Jingle Bell Rock.”

When I got back to Marty and Noah, Noah gave me a lopsided smile I couldn’t read.

“Great,” Marty said. “We’re going to be here all night.”

“You know what—” Noah said.

“Ice,” I said.