by S. A. Wolfe
“Ah, hell,” Peyton says softly.
The house becomes louder and more congested as all our friends arrive at once. They must have all decided to leave their homes at the exact time and take their five-minute caravan through town as the grand Hera entourage.
Imogene lets out a loud squeal and runs to hug Cooper because they’ve been separated for a mere three hours. I roll my eyes.
“The townies are here,” Peyton says. “You really think they have a problem with you and me? Whatever Imogene suspects has already been blabbed to Jess. And Carson, and Emma, and Lauren. You get the picture. Don’t forget Lois. Doesn’t she own an actual bullhorn?”
I laugh. He knows how to pacify my anxiety with easy banter. I could get used to this.
That thought is interrupted by a commotion at the front door as Harmony and Finn walk through. Suddenly, all of Peyton’s attention is on his son, and he beams with pride.
Peyton walks Finn around the room and introduces him to every cousin, uncle, aunt, and of course, his grandfather. Harmony walks alongside like a bodyguard, making small talk with the familiar people from her Brooklyn past and smiling graciously at the new faces from Hera. If Harmony had any misgivings about bringing Peyton into her son’s life, they must be gone.
The seniors, Archie, Emily, Lois, and Eleanor, do a fine job of welcoming them into the Hera enclave. They look like sweet old townspeople, but they’re really smooth-talking publicity reps, talking up Peyton and praising his business acumen and family relationships.
People help themselves to the buffet and scatter about the living room and kitchen, eating and talking while Aleska and I retrieve their dirty dishes and fetch fresh beverages so they don’t have to leave their huddled conversations. I tend to the food and clean, gliding my way around the rooms, keeping busy, but also trying to be invisible.
Peyton makes a few attempts to get me to join him and Finn and whomever they are talking to at the moment, but I manage to beg off. I’ve never felt more like an outsider than I do now.
Harmony watches me with a blank expression, but underneath her cool facade is curiosity and calculating judgment. It oozes from her, and it’s all centered on me. She’s not a fool, and she knows how to protect her own.
I park myself at the sink and do dishes, a task that can keep me occupied for the duration of the party.
“The food was divine,” Eleanor says. She hands me a dirty plate, her chunky gold bracelet clinking against the dish. She and her crew of seniors love pretending as if Hera parties are high society, comparing them to their long-ago party days in New York City. “I wish your mother were here. We’ll have to work on that.”
“Good luck,” I quip.
“You’ll have to be more positive. I think Peyton’s right.”
“Right about what?” I turn off the faucet and brace my hands against the sink.
“He suggested to me, and the others, that we should all plan an intervention for your mother. And we agreed.”
The look on my face must convey my shock that Peyton would be discussing my mother with them or care enough to think he should help.
“Oh, don’t worry, dear. We’ll be gentle with her. Forceful as needed, but gentle so she doesn’t run screaming from the house. But then, it wouldn’t be so bad if that happens. At least she’d finally be outside.”
“And what do we do if she has a screaming panic attack? Put her in the psych ward? Anyway, Aleska doesn’t want to get involved. She’s hoping our mother’s problem will cure itself.”
“Aleska agrees with me.”
“Since when?” It’s aggravating to think these life-altering conversations have been happening without me.
“Since she and I discussed it with Peyton.”
“Wait a minute. Where did this big discussion with Peyton and Aleska, and the rest of the town, happen?”
“After a yoga class. Aleska and I were talking, and Peyton came in to borrow some towels from the spa. Those boys go through too many towels at the gym. They’re always skimming towels from us.”
“Unbelievable. Aleska and Peyton didn’t tell me about this little talk. And they aren’t boys. They’re grown men who like to capitalize on their good looks and charm to get favors.”
Eleanor shrugs. “It works. A handsome, sweaty, shirtless man walks into the yoga studio and a roomful of women stare. It’s delightful. I also think it’s good for business, and it’s not like you and the other pretty women haven’t traded your beauty for free drinks at a bar or extra help from men.”
I sigh and strip off the rubber dish gloves. “And Aleska and Archie and everyone else just happened to be there?”
“Aleska and Lois were taking the class, and Archie and Emily stopped by to see who wanted to go for lunch. We really are the most civilized group in town. Exercise, then a long, leisurely lunch.”
“It’s easy to do when you’re rich and have endless amounts of time. Some of us have to work, Eleanor.”
“Oh, I’m teasing you, honey. You need to start coming back to yoga. We miss seeing your bright smile. It’s been months.”
That’s because my sports bras don’t cover up my scar and I don’t want to have to answer a lot of questions. If I showed up in a turtleneck, it would only invite more curiosity.
“Now, isn’t Finn adorable?” she says, looking off into the living room where Finn is surrounded by everyone. He’s the beautiful little prince holding court.
“Yes, he is. Very cute and very sweet.”
“And his mother is gorgeous,” Eleanor adds.
“Yes, she is.”
“Too bad for that boy that his father isn’t in love with his mother,” Eleanor says, scrutinizing Harmony.
“I doubt Peyton discussed that with you on his sweaty towel run through the studio.”
“No, he didn’t need to. He’s too busy looking at you.”
“Eleanor, please don’t start that rumor.”
“It’s not a rumor if everyone knows you two are running around together.”
“We’re not running around. What does that even mean? We’re not running together.”
Eleanor laughs. It’s bawdy and loud, and heads turn for a moment before going back to their own conversations. “I love when you do that. Honey, it’s so cute.”
“I wish everyone would stop saying that.”
“I didn’t mean running, as in literally running. We all know Peyton goes on those masochistic runs with Dylan. I meant Peyton is spending an awful lot of time with you. I can see everything from my perch at the yoga studio. Our window overlooks Swill, and I see him loading your van for you, which we know he doesn’t have to do. You’ve been doing your own heavy lifting long before he came to town. And I know he’s gone out to help you a few times, catering Adam Knight’s party—wish I had been a fly on that wall—and going shopping with you for supplies. You two have gotten pretty cozy.”
“We have to an extent, but it has its limits, so don’t go spreading rumors, please.”
“Now there’s a tragic word. Limits. It’s right up there with flaccid.” Eleanor’s face distorts in disgust.
“Ew,” I scoff. “I hate when you talk about sex. I know you love drama, but there’s nothing here to see.”
“Ha! There’s plenty. Harmony is watching you like a great white shark circling a defenseless seal.”
“Are you saying I’m the defenseless seal? There’s no battle here, Eleanor. Really, there’s no drama to watch.”
“Harmony can read the room when you and Peyton are in it. Don’t fret, dear.”
“I don’t fret. I don’t even know what that is!” It comes out as a snappish whisper.
“It’s a thorny situation for sure, but it’s not like people haven’t been doing this for years. Raising children in separate households, mothers and fathers splitting and marrying other people.”
“Stop it. I’m not a seal, and I’m not in a relationship with Peyton, And Finn … this is about them. I have nothing to do with their fa
ther-son relationship.”
“Listen, little seal. It’s going to come around to you eventually, and you will have to deal with the great white. I’ve seen this before. It’s a package deal, Peyton and Finn. You’ll have to have some type of dialogue with Harmony, some type of agreed-upon civility to make this transition easy for Finn.”
“Peyton and I are not serious.”
“Oh,” she says flatly. “So it all ends tonight? You and Peyton aren’t going to hang out together anymore? We won’t see you leaving his place early in the morning or in the middle of the night?”
I freeze in mid-gasp, my mouth hanging open.
“Hmm. That’s a good idea if it’s just sex and you two can call it quits without feeling anything for one another.”
I look away and begin wiping down the sink.
“I’ll take your silence as a sign you’re conflicted about this. So, yay, there’s my drama,” Eleanor deadpans.
I hold on to the sink’s edge with one hand and face my tormentor. “I like Peyton. That part is simple. The rest of it isn’t.”
“It is a tricky beast, but not impossible, dear.” She pats my hand. “We’ll discuss this, and your mother, at a better time.”
“Because you want to help me?”
“Because you’re a damn cute seal being circled by the big, scary shark, and I love the drama. And I love you, honey,” she says warmly before leaving me to join the others.
Eleanor stops to say something to Lois, who then peers at me with narrowed eyes and shakes her head. I toss a towel over my shoulder and turn back to my kitchen duties.
“Talia?” a young boy says from behind me.
I’m expecting one of Peyton’s nephews or stepbrothers, one of the children I confuse with one another, but when I turn around, my heart races a little to see Finn looking at me sweetly with those big MacKenzie eyes.
Harmony steps behind him and puts her hands on her son’s shoulders. It’s as though she’s protecting him from me or letting me know he belongs to her, or both.
“Finn,” I say in my best cheery voice.
“Thank you for cooking all this food. I think this was the best party I’ve ever had.”
“You haven’t had the best part. My mother made one of her special cakes for you. It’s a gooey, fudgy chocolate cake. I’m going to bring it out now.” I say this directly to Finn, trying to ignore Harmony’s laser beam eyes doing their best to drill holes into my head. I shouldn’t cast her as the villain, it’s not fair to her, but I can’t help sensing that she hates me.
“I’m so stuffed, but I can always eat chocolate cake!” He laughs.
“How did you know he loves chocolate cake?” Harmony asks.
“Peyton told me,” I add quickly before realizing she was expecting me to volunteer this type of information. She’s calculating how much time Peyton and I spend talking, which means she’s calculating how much time we spend together.
Oh my God, this great white is scaring the hell out of me, and she’s smart like the one in Jaws! I need reinforcements, someone on my side.
Peyton is in the living room, talking to his brother Neil and holding his four-year-old nephew, Griffin, upside down over his shoulder. The boy is squirming and laughing, yet Peyton is talking to Neil, acting as though they don’t notice the boy, which makes Griffin laugh louder.
“Peyton!” I shout. “Cake!” I exclaim, waving my hands in the air. He raises an eyebrow at my bizarre behavior until he notices Harmony. Then he quickly rights his nephew, puts him down gently on his feet, and strides over to me.
“I’ll help you,” he says. “Finn, Talia’s mom makes the best desserts. You’re going to love it.”
I would have had to climb on a chair to reach the top of the fridge where we stored the cake, but Peyton is so tall that he easily slides the large cake board off and places it on the counter. It’s actually three large, thin but potent tortes made to accommodate all the guests.
“Those look good,” Finn says, admiring all the chocolate before him.
Harmony gives me a slight smile; an approval of sorts of my dessert choice but hardly an approval of me.
“I’m going to put them on cake plates, and then I’ll put them out on the buffet table,” I say. I’m in my chef mode, the safety zone where I’m in charge and people like Harmony can’t agitate me.
As I place the third cake on one of my mother’s beautiful, antique cake pedestals, Peyton, without thinking, casually puts his hand on my waist as he’s done many times before.
For a moment, I’m paralyzed, knowing Harmony is watching. I’m being assessed and graded. I move quickly, shaking Peyton’s hand off me to dress the cake platter with fresh flower buds. I catch his expression when it dawns on him what he’s done.
Harmony and Finn carry the cakes over to the buffet table, and the clusters of people move along with them, eager to get their slice of cake.
“You have to be careful,” I scold Peyton in a harsh whisper. “It isn’t appropriate here. You’re having a party for your son … and his mother.”
“I’m sorry you’ve been put in this position where you think you’re competing with Harmony. You’re not. But I’m not sorry for innocently touching you in public, especially when we’re in my own home.”
I put the cake boards in the sink and stand there for a moment, contemplating what I’m doing with Peyton. He’s close enough to my back that the heat from his body radiates around me. His strength and solidity are comforting and make me long for his touch even more.
He exhales slowly and wraps his hand around mine. “This is one of the best—no, it’s the best night I’ve ever had. My son is here for everyone to see, and you’re here to share it with me. I think you know how much I like you … We haven’t talked about it, but I think you feel the same way.”
My fist is lost in his large hand. He squeezes it. I glance out the kitchen window above the sink. It’s pitch dark, so all I can see is the reflection of my face and Peyton with his mouth close to my ear.
“We don’t have to live this secret life,” he says in a voice barely above a whisper. “Besides, it’s apparent we’re bad at keeping secrets.” He chuckles softly, and my body reacts to his seductive, husky voice.
“It’s true.”
“What’s true?”
“We’re bad at keeping secrets.” I look up at him. “And I like you, too. I shouldn’t. But I do.”
His smile reaches the corners of his eyes, and there’s a mischievous glint.
More than anything, I want to stroke the scruff on his cheek and run my hands through his hair while I kiss him.
“Don’t kiss me here,” I demand, judging the gleam in his eye.
“All right. I won’t. But just know that I want to. After everyone leaves, I want you to spend the night.”
“Peyton?” Harmony inquires, and I jump a little too quickly away from Peyton. “Finn has something for you.”
“Great,” he says, following Harmony.
Jess enters the kitchen, juggling Scotty on her hip. “Hello, friend. I miss you. We’ve barely spent any time together over the last few months.”
“I know.” I kiss Scotty’s cheek, then kiss Jess’s, too.
She’s always a little stunned at public displays of affection, while my family’s European ways have always made me a touchy-feely person, which is ironic since I have different rules for Peyton.
“Dinner was delicious, as usual,” Jess says, then cocks her head with a laugh as Scotty yanks her hair and puts a fist of her red tresses in his mouth. “Great.”
“He’s so cute. I want to eat him up.”
“Talia,” Peyton says as he returns to the kitchen. “Look what Finn gave me.” He hands me a large, leather photo album with Finn’s recent school picture displayed on the cover insert.
I open it up and page slowly through the photos, from Finn’s birth up until present. Harmony and her father are in many of the photos, but many are the type of images only a parent could c
apture; the unscripted candid shots of a child with spaghetti on his head or arched over a diving board, getting up the nerve to take the plunge. Then there are professional shots of Harmony and Finn at the beach, posing and laughing at sunset, or in the photographer’s studio, sitting casually on a wood floor as the natural light emphasizes their beautiful features.
“It was nice of Harmony to put this together for you.” I hand it back. A sudden roar of prickliness toward her stops me from saying something unkind about too many photos that include her and how she looks too posed, too perfect.
“Yeah, I’m sure she did the work. Most nine-year-old boys would make a mess of it.” Peyton looks down at the heavy album in his hands, grateful to have this small bit of history of his son.
“It was very nice of her. It’s a beautiful album.”
“I’m going to put it in my room. I’ll be right back.”
I watch him as he disappears down the hall.
“Hello?”
I turn around and face Jess, still standing in the kitchen holding her baby.
“That was interesting. You two are … sweet together. So sweet you forgot I was here.”
“It’s not as sweet as you think,” I scoff. “Too many complications.”
Jess sighs, switching her chubby baby to her other hip. “I don’t know a single couple who doesn’t have complications. We all bring our own problems to a relationship. It’s impossible not to.”
“Some people have easier relationships. I’d like that for a change.” I cross my arms and lean back against the sink.
Jess settles next to me, and together we assess the talkative crowd.
“Name one couple who’s perfect,” she challenges in a hushed voice.
“Imogene and Cooper,” I reply flatly. “Easy one.”
“Wrong.”
I blink twice, surprised.
“Imogene and Cooper have been going through a rough time. They can’t conceive. And I don’t mean it’s taking a long time and they can try other options. I mean Imogene actually cannot conceive, and it’s very difficult for her to accept it. Cooper would like to move on and adopt, or at least start fostering children.”
