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P.S. Let’s go out tonight.
Finn,
Will you keep it wrapped up?
–Eva
Eva,
Yes, both my cock and my issues.
–Finn
Finn,
Come over.
–Eva
P.S. I’m holding this quarter from our bet hostage.
Chapter Eighteen
Eva
Leo’s house looks like a castle, with rolling hills and a stone facade. There are even turrets. I arrive a few hours before the party armed with decorations and a large amount of cupcakes that are filled with colored frosting. So far only Leo, Haley, and myself know the gender of the baby. It will be a surprise to everyone else when they bite into the cupcakes that are topped with little books made out of fondant. The Very Hungry Caterpillar. The Giving Tree. Goodnight Moon. Books you read to children. Books Leo and Haley will read to their baby.
And in the middle there’s pink frosting, to indicate a girl.
The house is already decked with balloon sculptures. The artist has been here for hours working on her installations, which feature pieces from the same books. A green and red caterpillar, a cow jumping over the moon.
I wave at her briefly before heading to the kitchen. Leo’s regular chefs are handling the hors d’oeuvres, but I want to make sure they’re doing okay.
And then I hear my mother’s voice. Crap. She must have shown up early.
I take a hard left turn into the sitting area, where I find my mother facing off with Leo.
“We have to cancel,” he’s saying. “She’s tired. She won’t admit it, but I can tell.”
“Everyone’s already coming,” my mother says, her voice shrill in a way that heralds a Category 5 hurricane. “My sister. Anita Barclay. Rosamund O’Connors.”
“Then tell them not to come.”
“It’s too late for that,” my mother says, half pleading. “We’re going to look ridiculous if we cancel now.”
Leo looks incensed. “So you’re more concerned with appearances than the health of your first grandchild? Jesus fucking Christ, Mother.”
“Leo,” I say, my voice sharp enough for him to notice.
His dark glance communicates everything about the situation—his frustration, his impatience. His fear for the wife and unborn child he loves. “What?”
“I need to speak with you. Privately. Now.”
He reluctantly steps into another room with me. “I know you’re the resident peacemaker, but don’t tell me you’re buying that bullshit. It’s not your job to help our mother remain the social butterfly of Bishop’s Landing, no matter how much guilt she lays on you.”
The venom in his face takes me aback. “Leo. It’s me.”
He glares at me for another few seconds before dropping his head. “Jesus.”
