Chapter Sixteen
Max
From: [email protected]
Date: April 19 - 11:17 am
Subject: Saturday
Hi Lina,
Just following up about the trip tomorrow. A few questions:
(1) Should we drive down together?
(2) What’s the name of the place we’re visiting?
(3) Do I need to bring anything?
It would be great to discuss our strategy about the presentation at some point, which is why I vote yes on Question 1.
Hope you’re well.
Max
From: [email protected]
Date: April 19 - 1:13 pm
Subject: Re: Saturday
Hello Max,
(1) That’s fine, but I’m driving my car there.
(2) Surrey Lane Farm, Raven Hill, VA
(3) I checked the weather forecast, and there might be a passing shower. Since it’s a farm, weatherproof boots would be a good idea. And a change of clothes is always wise (in case the grounds are muddy).
I can pick you up at your place Saturday morning, or you can meet me in College Park and leave your car there. You’d be backtracking if you come my way, though. It’s up to you.
Best,
Lina
I’m typing a reply when Andrew knocks on the door and waltzes in without waiting for my invitation.
“And hello to you, too,” I say without looking up from my screen.
“Hey, got a minute?” he asks, sitting down in a guest chair.
“Let me just finish up this email.”
I type. He waits. There’s no chatting in between. After I hit send, I lean back in my chair and place my clasped hands on the desk. “What’s up?”
“Two things,” he says. “One, the Virginia Real Estate Consortium wants to discuss marketing for the third quarter. Within the next couple of weeks, if possible. When you get a chance, can you send Sammy the days you’re free for lunch?”
I scribble a note to myself to do just that. “On it. What’s the second thing?”
“For the presentations to Rebecca Cartwright, have you thought about what A/V equipment you’re going to need? Will a computer suffice? PowerPoint on a projector screen? Just trying to figure out if we need to make any special requests.”
Is he, now? The equipment he needs is always where it’s supposed to be because I make sure it’s there. Truth is, he’s never concerned himself with these issues before, which immediately puts me on high bullshit alert. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s going on here. My big brother’s snooping and doing a piss-poor job of masking it. “Haven’t given it much thought yet. Lina and I still need to talk about the specifics of the presentation. Right now I’m in the due diligence stage.”
Andrew tips his head back slightly. “Really? The pitch is less than four weeks away. That’s not a lot of time to prepare.”
I shrug. “We’re preparing. Believe me, everything we’re doing will inform the pitch in some way. How’s your guy? Henry, right?”
Andrew nods. “He’s an organizational guru. Scarily put together. I’m excited to show Rebecca what we’ve come up with.”
“I guess that’s why they’re planners. Organization comes easy to them.”
“In Lina’s case, she had other options,” Andrew says, tapping his thigh. “Did you know she was a paralegal before she became a wedding planner? You should ask her about it sometime.” He rises from the chair.
It irritates me that Andrew knows more about Lina than I do. Then I remind myself that he’s Lina’s ex-fiancé. He should know more. That irritates me, too. Wearing a self-satisfied smile, I look up at him. “Maybe I’ll do that. We’re heading to Virginia this weekend. Work-related. I could ask her during the two-hour drive.”
Andrews stiffens, a muscle in his jaw clenching in response to the news.
Fuck. That was uncalled for. I can picture Dean pointing at us now and saying, This. This is what I was talking about, man. I’m ashamed of my small-minded behavior, and I wish I could retract the statement, but that’s not how these things work. As Lina said, there are no do-overs in life. And she’s right. There are only do-betters.
“Anyway,” I say, mentally scrambling to clean up my shit, “we’re looking at a potential wedding venue. I hope we don’t kill each other before we get there.”
His body goes lax again—well, as lax as Andrew will allow it to go—and he rocks back on his heels. “Good luck. You’re probably going to need it.”
He’s so right. But not for the reason he thinks.
* * *
“This is your ride? A ninety-nine Volvo? It’s yellow.”
Lina huffs at me as she tries to jiggle the trunk open. “It’s a 2002, okay? And anyone with a discerning eye can see it’s Maya Gold.” She grits her teeth as she pulls on the latch, until the trunk pops open with a loud kerplunk. “That’s just a minor jam. The car is sound.”
I slip her a wary glance, unsure whether it’s wise to put my belongings in the back of this behemoth masquerading as a vehicle. “I have a decent Acura less than a hundred feet away. It’s not too late to hop in that one instead.”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Listen, car snob, I’m driving, and I drive well in my car. Let’s not alter any variables unnecessarily.” Muttering to herself, she rounds the back of the banana cab and slides into the driver’s seat.
She’s wearing jeans today, and I honestly don’t know if I’ll be able to look at another pair without envisioning Lina in them. Who knew there was such a thing as a denim fetish? She’s paired the pants with a black collared shirt that’s partially tucked into her waistband, resulting in a look that once again throws my perception of her out of whack. This trip is already off to a shaky start, and we haven’t even used an ounce of gasoline yet.
Knowing I need to extend an olive branch to make up for the dig about her car, I climb into the passenger seat and hold up the paper bag and thermos in my hands. “I brought snacks.”
She twists her head in my direction and peers at me, the corners of her glossy lips lifting in a lopsided smirk. “It’s nine in the morning. I think I can hold off on eating until we get to the farm, but if you’re hungry, don’t let me stop you.”
I shrug. “Suit yourself. But give me a minute to get situated.” Then I place the thermos between my legs so I can put on my seatbelt. After strapping myself in, I uncap the thermos and pour coffee into my reusable travel mug. The drink is sweet and creamy and probably has more grams of sugar in it than an entire bottle of maple syrup, but I like it. A lot. “Your mother makes a fantastic cup of coffee.”
She wrinkles her nose but keeps her eyes trained on the road as she eases into traffic. “My mother?”
“Yeah. I stopped by Rio de Wheaton this morning. She gave me cafe and”—I shake the bag—“pão de queijo.”