“I’m okay,” she said calmly and then forced a smile. “Now.”
It would’ve been pretty convincing, if Sadie were anyone else.
Chapter 5
“Mom, this isn’t because you’re sick, right? You’re not going to tell us you’re dying?”
“Oh, for crying out loud.” Anne gestured at Brooke to sit down. She’d managed to get one of the prized back patio booths at Stone and Tide, no small accomplishment on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. “There’s no need for a dramatic entrance. Please sit down.”
Chastened, Brooke sat in the plush booth next to Claire, opposite Anne. As always, the dividing line between mother and daughters felt quietly clear.
“You didn’t say no, by the way.” Brooke touched one of her pearl earrings—the David Yurman studs Anne had given her for her thirtieth birthday—in nervous reflex. Probably checking to make sure it was still there. She’d been doing that since adolescence, always expecting the worst.
Claire turned to her sister, eyebrows raised. “Have you met our mother? Do you think she’d tell us she’s dying over mid-priced chardonnay and pumpkin tortellini?”
“You’re ordering the pumpkin tortellini?” Anne asked automatically.
“See? Status quo. I rest my case.”
Brooke sighed. “Why does everything have to be a joke with you?”
“She isn’t dying, Bee.” Claire turned back to Anne. “You’re not dying. Right?” A tiny voice crack cut into her bossiness. Maybe she’d been worried, too. For once, Claire had arrived on time.
“No, I’m not dying. I’m perfectly healthy, as always. Honestly, do I need to have an ulterior motive for inviting my two beautiful daughters to lunch?”
“Yes,” Brooke said.
“For our entire adult lives,” Claire added.
Below the patio, the ocean waves crashed loudly, as if in agreement.
Great. Five minutes in and they were headed for a train wreck. Anne was already regretting the impulsive invitation she’d texted Claire and Brooke yesterday, soon after she’d calmed down. At the time, it had seemed like a good idea—a way to wash off the embarrassing emotional mess she’d made all over Sadie. What were kids for if you couldn’t rely on them to distract you from yourself? “I’d just like to catch up with you both. Hear how your lives are going. Is that a crime?”
Brooke looked at her watch. “Well, if you’re not dying, then you should both know that I can’t stay for more than an hour. Maverick’s soccer game is at two.”
“And I had to break a date,” Claire announced, “so whatever this actually is, it better be good.”
Surprise crinkled Anne’s forehead without her consent, a good reminder to book her next Botox appointment. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone new.”
“Staying in bed until one in the afternoon and dropping my phone on my face while I try to watch videos of failed public marriage proposals counts as a date. With myself.”
“I see,” Anne deadpanned. “I’m so proud.”
“You always make that very clear, Mom. Thank you.”
The waiter appeared with the bottle of wine Anne had ordered. After the obligatory taste, he spent no time waiting for her approval before filling their glasses.
All three of them drank simultaneously.
“Brooke, how are the kids?” Anne asked politely. “Is Maverick still eating Kleenex? Has the baby—oh, help me out here, what milestones are you supposed to hit by six months?”
“See, she can’t remember your baby’s terrible name either,” Claire stage-whispered to Brooke.
“Kaisley’s eight months old,” Brooke said, “Colton’s the one who used to eat Kleenex, and okay, what the hell, you literally never bring up my kids. What’s going on with you?”
Anne opened her mouth to saynothing, nothing’s going on, everything’s fine, but instead, she blurted out, “Sadie might move to New York.”
Her daughters stared at her, and just then, the waiter reappeared with his tablet and inquisitive expression, clearly about to take their orders.