Table for Seven (12 page)

“Jacksonville in two weeks,” Jaime repeated, as though
she were committing it to memory. When in truth, she was reeling from the sudden announcement that Mark would be away for two of the next four weekends. And that she wasn’t even hearing it from Mark himself, but from his ex-wife.

“I HOPE I’M NOT too early,” Audrey said when Fran opened the door on the night of the dinner party. “Wow, you look great! Is that a new dress?”

Fran flushed with pleasure and did a little twirl, showing off her red knit dress. “You like? I was worried it might be too low-cut.”

“No way.” Audrey gave Fran a kiss on the cheek, and held up a foil-covered plate. “I brought blue cheese stuffed dates wrapped in bacon. I thought Leland would like them.”

“You’re sweet. I’m sure he’ll love them,” Fran said, taking the plate from her. “Come back to the kitchen and keep me company while I cook. Do you want some wine?”

“Do you have to ask?” Audrey replied, following her friend back to the kitchen. The Parrishes’ house was small but cozy. Photos of the girls framed in black lined the hallway, a pair of pink sequined flip-flops had been abandoned by the front door, pencil lines marking the girls’ heights decorated the kitchen door frame. Audrey felt a small pang. She had never been one to pine for a baby, had never even been completely convinced that she wanted to be a mother. And she and Ryan hadn’t been anywhere close to starting a family when he died. But now and again, it would hit her how much she might be missing out on.

Audrey tried to shake off these maudlin thoughts.
You’re here to have fun tonight
, she told herself sternly.

She accepted a glass of red wine from Fran and sat down
on one of the bar stools lined up in front of the kitchen counter.

“Can I do anything to help?” Audrey asked.

“No, I’ve got it under control. I just have to finish chopping the chopped salad,” Fran said. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing new,” Audrey said. She studied Fran as she took a sip of wine. “Have you lost weight?”

“A little. I’ve started going to the gym again,” Fran said.

“You look fantastic,” Audrey said.

“Thanks.” Fran smiled at her friend and picked up a large chef’s knife. She began chopping a head of radicchio into a fine dice, stopping occasionally to scoop the chopped lettuce into a large wooden salad bowl. “Do you like the wine? I ran into Coop yesterday at the wine store, and he recommended it.”

“Is Coop a wine connoisseur?” Audrey asked.

Fran nodded. “He’s not one of those guys who go around with their own personal tasting cups and insist on gargling every wine they try. But, yeah, he’s pretty knowledgeable about wine. Food, too.”

“That surprises me,” Audrey said.

“Why?”

“I’m not sure,” Audrey said, with a half-shrug. “I guess I saw him as more of a beer and boats sort of a guy.”

“He is. He’s both, really. I think that’s what makes him so interesting,” Fran said. She dumped the last of the chopped radicchio into the salad bowl and turned her attention to chopping butter lettuce. “You can’t really pigeonhole him.”

Audrey eyed her friend suspiciously. “I thought you weren’t going to try to set me up with Coop,” she said.

Fran looked up from her lettuce-chopping, surprised. “I’m not.”

“Uh-huh. Then why are you talking him up to me?”

“I wasn’t talking him up. I was just making conversation,” Fran said. She seemed flustered and began chopping the lettuce with more vigor than was strictly necessary.

“What’s up with you?” Audrey asked, taking another sip of wine.

“Nothing’s up,” Fran said.

“Hey, Audrey,” Will said, wandering into the room. He was wearing a short-sleeve shirt in a lurid Hawaiian print. He ambled over to give Audrey a kiss on the cheek.

“Hey,” Audrey said, smiling at Will with affection. “No tequila shrimp tonight? I was hoping you’d make your award-winning recipe again.”

“Minus the award part,” Fran said.

“Did you like them last time?” Will asked, looking pleased.

“I loved them,” Audrey said.

“Fran wanted to try out a new menu tonight. I did make the dessert, though. It’s a four-berry tart. The original recipe was for a three-berry tart, but I added blackberries. Because that’s how I roll,” Will said with a modest shrug.

“Wow, you really know how to live on the edge,” Audrey teased. The doorbell rang.

“Can you get that?” Fran asked.

“Sure thing,” Will said. A moment later, he returned with Jaime in tow.

“Hi,” Jaime said brightly. She handed Fran a bottle of white wine with a big red bow tied around the neck.

“Thank you,” Fran said, accepting it and a quick hug. “Where’s Mark?”

“He’s running late as usual. I decided not to wait for him,” Jaime said briefly, and then turned to give Audrey an air kiss. “Hi, there. I don’t want to get lip gloss on you.”

“What’s Mark doing? Work emergency?” Audrey asked, although even as she asked, she couldn’t think of what sort of emergency a commercial litigator would have on a Saturday evening.

“No, he was at the tennis club hitting with Emily, and they lost track of time. I talked to him on my way over here. He’s going to stop at the house, shower, and then he’ll be over,” Jaime said. She glanced at Fran. “He said to send his apologies, and please not to wait for him to eat.”

She spoke lightly, but she looked strained.

“No worries. Leland and Coop aren’t here yet, anyway. Whoops, maybe I spoke too soon,” Fran said, as the doorbell rang again.

“I’ll get it,” Will said. “Will you pour Jaime a glass of wine?”

“Sure thing. Red or white?” Fran asked.

“I’ll start with white, please,” Jaime said.

Fran retrieved a bottle of Chardonnay out of the fridge, as Will ushered Leland and Coop into the now crowded kitchen. Audrey smiled and joined in with the chorus of hellos, although she felt awkward seeing Coop again. He, however, didn’t seem to share her embarrassment. He walked up to her and patted her on the shoulder.

“If it isn’t my gay matchmaker,” Coop said with a grin.

Audrey could feel her cheeks flaming. “I sort of hoped we could pretend that entire evening never happened,” she said.

“Are you kidding? Never,” Coop said.

Will and Fran hustled around, making sure everyone
had a glass of wine—or, in Leland’s case, a scotch on the rocks.

“So what else has Franny told you about me? Is there anything else I need to set the record straight on?” Coop asked. He spoke softly leaning forward, so that his mouth was inches from her ear. Audrey could feel her entire body go warm and boneless.

Am I attracted to him?
she wondered.
Oh, my God, what if I am?

It was a truly terrible thought. It was the last thing she needed in her life. A dog, maybe. A boyfriend, definitely not. Even that word—
boyfriend
—made Audrey feel itchy. She and romance were not a good mix. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t tried—she’d been married, after all. And look how
that
had turned out. She’d chosen a dysfunctional alcoholic as her life partner.

Okay. Don’t Panic
, Audrey told herself. Maybe Coop would reveal some sort of intolerable bad habit—like chewing with his mouth open, or picking at his fingernails at the table—and she’d be so turned off she wouldn’t have to worry about how incredibly aware she suddenly was of his presence.

WILL THOUGHT THE EVENING was going well. Everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. Leland was clearly thrilled to have been seated between Fran and Jaime, and was basking in their joint attention. Audrey and Coop were chatting quietly over their salads, and Will, having seen his friend in action before, could tell Coop was interested. It was harder to tell with Audrey. She’d always kept her emotions contained.

Mark showed up just as they were sitting down at the table, looking fresh from the shower, his hair still damp.

“Hey, man,” Mark said, shaking Will’s hand. “Sorry, I’m late.”

“No problem,” Will said. He glanced at his watch and was surprised to see it was already eight. The two glasses of red wine he’d consumed before dinner had made him pleasantly light-headed.

“Sorry, Fran,” Mark said, leaning down to kiss Fran’s cheek.

“I’m not the one you’re in trouble with,” Fran said, nodding to Jaime.

Will didn’t think Jaime seemed particularly angry. She looked serenely composed, her head tilted to one side as she listened to Leland recount a story of a criminal trial he’d presided over, where the defendant—who was defending himself—had attempted to file a motion entitled “Motion to Request that the Prosecutor Go Fuck Himself.”

“What did you say?” Jaime asked. Mark leaned over to kiss his wife’s cheek. She didn’t turn away, Will noticed, but she also didn’t seem overly enthusiastic to see him.

“I denied the motion on the grounds that what it requested was physically impossible,” Leland said, and everyone laughed.

“Mark, would you like some wine?” Fran asked, as he sat in the empty seat between her and Coop.

“Yes, please,” Mark said. Fran filled his wineglass, while Jaime passed him the salad and a basket of warm rolls infused with rosemary. “I just saw Iris at our house. She was reading Logan a story and acting out all of the characters with different voices. He was mesmerized.”

“She’s glad to have the work. She was saving up for a straightening iron, but I told her she should really put the money toward the new laptop she keeps insisting she needs. She’s coming around to the idea,” Fran said. “Actually, I’m proud of her. I think it’s a sign that she might really be maturing.”

“Laptop? Is that what she told you? And you believed her?” Mark said. He took a sip of the wine. “This is good. What is it?”

Will glanced up, meeting his wife’s eyes.

“What do you mean, is that what she told us?” Will asked.

“Mark,” Jaime said warningly.

“Wasn’t I supposed to say anything?” Mark asked.

“Okay, you two, spill,” Fran said.

Will knew that, like him, his wife was running through a mental list of all of the ways a teenage girl could get into trouble with too much spending money. Drugs. Tattoos. Body piercings.

Mark shrugged. “It’s not such a big deal. She just mentioned she bought some sunglasses today.”

Will relaxed. Sunglasses were infinitely preferable to body piercings. He glanced back at his wife, but she was still frowning.

“What kind of sunglasses?” Fran asked.

“No idea,” Mark said.

Fran looked to Jaime.

“Okay, they were pretty expensive,” Jaime admitted.

“How expensive?” Fran asked.

“She got them at Nordstrom. They’re Oliver Peoples,” Jaime said, as though this explained everything. Will assumed she was talking about a brand, but he’d never heard
of it. One look at his wife, however, told him that she had. Her cheeks had suddenly flushed a dark red, and her eyes were narrowed.

“How much did she spend on them?” Fran asked.

Jaime hesitated. “I really think you should talk to Iris about this. I feel like I’m tattling on her.”

“Seriously, Jaime. How much did she spend?” Fran insisted, using her Sarge voice that Will knew all too well. Jaime might as well give in now, he thought. Resistance was futile.

Jaime looked down at her plate. “I think she said they were around four hundred,” she said.

“Four hundred what? Pesos?” Will asked, blinking with confusion. Sunglasses did not cost four hundred dollars. They cost twenty dollars at Target.

“What? Did you know she was planning on buying them?” Fran exclaimed.

Will was pretty sure that it wasn’t good dinner party etiquette to interrogate your guests about extravagant purchases your daughter bought with the babysitting money they had paid her.

“Hon, why don’t we deal with this later. It’s really something we should be discussing with Iris,” Will said gently.

Fran looked at him, and, after taking a deep breath and visibly unclenching, she nodded.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Jaime. I didn’t mean to jump all over you like that,” Fran said.

“It’s okay,” Jaime said. “I’m already dreading Ava’s teen years, and she’s not quite two.”

“Be afraid. Be very afraid,” Fran said darkly. “Practically overnight, Iris has transformed from the sweetest, most helpful, most courteous girl you would ever meet into a
demon from hell, complete with retractable horns and a forked tongue.”

“She’s always very polite with me, and she’s great with the kids,” Jaime said.

“So, she’s saving the bad attitude for when she’s home? I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or worse,” Fran said.

“It’s better. At least when she’s home, she spends most of her time locked in her room, and only emerges at mealtimes to snarl at us,” Will said.

Fran shook her head. “Four hundred dollars on sunglasses. I’m going to kill her. Then I’m going to make her take them back.”

“Do you have children?” Jaime asked Leland.

He nodded. “Two sons. One is an attorney with the Justice Department. He lives just outside of D.C. with his wife and seventeen-year-old fraternal twins. A boy and a girl,” Leland said proudly. “And my younger son is an architect in Ohio. He’s married, too, but no kids, although I think that’s just a matter of time.”

“I don’t think I could have handled twins,” Fran said. She shot Coop a look. “And don’t make the easy joke, Coop.”

“Why are you picking on me? Mark’s the one smirking,” Coop said. He looked at Audrey, raising one eyebrow. “And just for the record, I’ve never dated twins.”

“And on that note,” Fran said, standing, “I’ll get the main course.”

DESPITE FEELING PLEASANTLY CONTENT from the excellent dinner and accompanying wine, Coop was on edge.

He couldn’t figure Audrey out. Was she interested in him
or not? His opinion on the matter kept vacillating from course to course. Over the salad, she had been chatty and made lots of eye contact. But then she ignored him during the main course, choosing instead to chat with Will about the battle bot he was building. Coop was stuck listening to Mark drone on and on about some upcoming tennis tournament his daughter was playing in, which pretty much cemented Coop’s opinion that Mark was a bore. Just when the evening was starting to feel flat and tedious, and Coop was trying to conjure up a good excuse to leave early, Fran brought out coffee and a mixed berry tart topped with whipped cream.