Lilah took another sip and felt the alcohol go directly to her bones. The nagging ache in her right Achilles tendon from overtraining seemed to magically disappear.
Mimi smacked her half-empty glass on the counter. The ice rattled. “So, let’s get back to the really important things. Like Justin Bigelow. How does he look? Still incredible?”
Lilah took another slow sip and leaned her elbow against the center island. She used her other hand to brace herself from taking an inelegant nosedive into the fruit bowl containing an artful display of limes, lemons and pomegranates.
Pomegranates? Lilah couldn’t help thinking. What real person has pomegranates in their fruit bowl? The answer came to her quickly. She was not among “real” people.
She decided to hold off on her drink. And instead narrowed her eyes, trying to picture Justin driving his little sports car, the windows open to the breeze, the light dancing off the polished wood steering wheel and the tips of his clipped curls. “What can I say? He looked like a god—all sun-kissed and good enough to eat.” She sighed.
“You make him sound like a Florida orange.”
Lilah stared at her. “Vitamin C was the last thing on my mind when he picked me up earlier today.”
Mimi rubbed her chin. “You know, I always wondered how he got into Grantham. I mean, I know he was a terrific athlete, captain of the lightweight crew, right?”
“Uh-huh.” Lilah eyed her drink and went for another sip. Why not? She wasn’t driving.
Mimi, way ahead of her, drained what was left of hers and took that as a cue to make another. She held up the bottle of gin to Lilah.
She shook her head. “I’m not there yet.”
“I am.” Mimi fixed herself another drink. “Somehow I kind of figured that he got special dispensation being a faculty kid,” she said, her back to Lilah. “I mean, it wasn’t as if I ever heard him engage in an intellectual discussion.”
“No, that’s not true. I remember staying up late one night in his and Stephen’s suite. I was haranguing him about how the French Impressionists were overhyped, and that it was their German counterparts who really deserved the attention. He might not have known his Monets from Manets, but we had a real conversation and he made me think.”
“And what did Stephen say?”
Lilah waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, he wasn’t there, as usual—debating or editing or something.” She frowned in thought. “No, Justin wasn’t dumb, not by a long shot. It’s just that for some reason he liked to give the impression that he never studied. I don’t know why. And I’m pretty sure he was a double major—economics and music. So how dumb could he be?”
“Cheers.” Mimi clinked her refreshed glass against Lilah’s. They both took healthy sips. “So maybe I’m wrong. It’s just I always pictured him as this sexy golden retriever—great hair, sunny personality, always willing to roll over and expose his privates—adding a brain to the equation kind of dulls the fantasy.”
Lilah laughed so hard the liquid squirted out her nostrils.
“So he’s remained gorgeous.”
If Mimi only knew how gorgeous, Lilah thought and reflexively put the cool glass to her lips.
“But what else? Did you find out what’s happened to him since college? Wasn’t he working to make the national team or something?” Mimi asked.
Lilah removed her glass and blinked at it, surprised that somehow she’d managed to finish it. “What’s he been up to? Well, let me tell you, you’ll never, ever guess.” She leaned forward with her chin to emphasize her words, grabbing the edge of the countertop at the last minute.
“A challenge.” Mimi closed her eyes. “What is he doing? What does your typical ex–Ivy Leaguer do once he lands in the real world? Let’s see. Investment banker?”
Lilah coughed. “Did I say Justin was typical?”
Mimi opened her eyes wide. “Lawyer?”
Lilah rolled her eyes. “Where are your vaunted investigative reporter instincts?”
“Pole dancer?”
Lilah laughed. “An interesting career choice, but no.”
“I don’t know. Dog trainer? I’m running out of ideas here.”
“Told you you’d never guess.” She raised an eyebrow. “He teaches kindergarten.”
“You’re kidding me. Mr. Sexy Labrador teaches little kids?”
The door to the mudroom off the kitchen opened. A high-pitched squeal and hushing adult tones could be heard. Then a gauzy pink tutu came whirling through the kitchen.
Lilah looked baffled as a young girl wearing a rhinestone tiara—at least, Lilah hoped it was rhinestone—with the word Princess spelled out in large loopy letters on the front of her leotard twirled around them, anointing them with a feathered wand as she did so.
Lilah looked askance at Mimi. “I take it this is not the amazing transformation that Press has undergone over the years?”
Mimi shook her head. “No, this is not Press. Lilah, allow me to introduce my six-year-old half sister, Brigid.” Mimi cocked her head to the mudroom. The sound of steps grew nearer. “And my newest stepmother, Brigid’s mom, Noreen. Noreen, this is Lilah Evans, who’s being honored at Reunions.”
Noreen was a striking woman with a shock of tamed red hair and pale skin with the texture of clotted cream. She circled the island, transferring the BMW key fob to her left hand, and held out her right. The nails had a perfect French manicure. “Of course. What an honor to have you here. I’ve followed your work closely ever since I saw Mimi’s story on you on television.” With her drawn-out vowels and slightly singsong cadence, her voice betrayed the remnants of an Irish accent.
“I’m trying to interest Conrad in giving money to your organization, and in fact, I’d love to talk to you about organizing a run here in Grantham.” She deposited her oversize Prada bag on the counter. “I know all the women in my book group and Pilates class would love to participate, and since I’m active in the PTA at Brigid’s school, I’m sure I can generate interest from other moms.”
Brigid meanwhile continued to twirl around the room, stopping periodically to touch various objects, including the bottle of gin and exclaim, “I hereby pronounce you a knight of the realm.”
Lilah looked at the woman who, on close inspection, was somewhat older than she. Whatever else the birth of a child had affected, it didn’t appear to have altered her twenty-two-inch waist, judging from the way her wide leather belt cinched the top of her pencil skirt. Normally, Lilah would have jumped to conclusions and immediately hated Noreen—her obvious self-indulgence, her unabashed display of wealth. Lilah had never seen a canary-yellow diamond before, and Noreen’s was hard to miss. And she should have hated her on principle because she was Mimi’s stepmother, and Mimi always hated her stepmothers.
But she couldn’t. Not when Noreen stuck out her hand and shook Lilah’s
