“Yeah, talking to a caterer. I didn’t book them—they were already taken. Are you saying you didn’t order sandwiches?”
“Of course I didn’t order fucking sandwiches, Palmer,” I yell. “Because you said you were getting a caterer, because you were in charge of food.”
“We don’t have food?” Ford asks.
“I highly doubt you have any room to judge,” Palmer shoots back. “You forgot the party was even happening and completely neglected your responsibilities.” Palmer looks at me, panic in her eyes. “What should we do?”
“Do we even have drinks?”
The doors whip open, and we all turn around to find Mom and Dad standing in the entry, their expressions of excitement quickly falling when they take in the empty, undecorated, and poorly set up space.
Fuck.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
PALMER
“Mom, Dad,” Cooper says, his voice shaky. “You’re, uh, early.”
“Just a few minutes,” Mom says, holding her clutch tightly to her side while Dad presses his hand to her back.
Mom is wearing a beautiful dress that highlights her hourglass figure, and Dad is wearing a suit and tie that looks brand new for the occasion. Like a tidal wave, guilt and embarrassment wash over me as they take in the store, not an ounce of excitement in their expressions, just . . . disappointment.
“We’re still sort of setting up,” Cooper says, reaching for one of the potted plants in the box he brought in and setting it down on the cake table.
“I can see that,” Dad says.
Ford strides up to us. “It’s a rustic sort of event.” Here comes the business spin he’s so good at. “Wanted to represent the store, since it’s a big part of our lives.”
“That it is,” Dad says, the strain in his voice making me start to sweat. “Is there food coming?”
“We have cake,” I say, motioning to the table behind me. “Three kinds.”
“Is there a place for people to sit?” Mom asks. “You know your father will have to sit at some point.”
Shit, she’s right, and all of us realize that at the same time.
“We, uh . . . we can bring an office chair up front,” Cooper says.
“An office chair?” Mom folds her hands together, and I know that body language. She’s not happy. Not even a little.
Oh God, we’ve fucked up so bad.
“Can you . . . give us a second?” I say, holding up my finger, just as a few early guests start to filter in the doors.
“People are here,” Mom says, looking panicked.
“It will be a quick second.” I look at my brothers. “Ford, Cooper. The back. Now.”
“Palmer, this is hardly the time for a conversation with your brothers,” Dad says. “What are we supposed to do with the guests?”
“Say hi to your friends. Mingle. It will be fine.” I shoo them with my hand and then grab my brothers by the arms and march us to the back of the store, to the coffee alcove just out of view from the main floor. When we’re out of earshot, I turn toward them. “What the hell are we going to do? Did you see the looks on their faces?”
Ford pulls on the back of his neck with both hands as he looks up toward the ceiling. “Fuck, this is bad.”
“Really fucking bad,” Cooper adds and then looks out toward the party. “Shit, more people have arrived, and I have no idea how to salvage this.”
“What the hell were you doing, Ford, that prevented you from being here earlier?”
“I was lost in work,” he says, distress in his voice.
“Shocking,” I mutter.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ford asks.
“You’re always lost in work. You think you’re doing this magnificent thing in ‘taking care’ of the family name by running Watchful Wanderers. But you’re so disconnected from the family name you have no idea what’s going on.”
“This coming from the girl who thought Mom and Dad would want a lavender cake,” Cooper says.
“I’m sorry I don’t spend my Friday nights sitting on the couch between Mom and Dad because I don’t have a life. We can’t all be like you, Cooper.”
“Don’t fucking start,” Ford says, stepping in. “We need solutions, not fighting.”
“I don’t know if there’s a solution to this nightmare,” Cooper says. “We don’t have food; the store is a goddamn sardine can with everything just pushed to the side. There’s nowhere to sit. There are no drinks. Basically, we’re holding people captive with three choices of cake. And everything is closing on the island, so we don’t have many options.”
“Can we move it to Mom and Dad’s?” Ford asks.
I shake my head. “They just had a bunch of boxes delivered for packing.” That small detail pains me more than I care to understand right now.
“Fuck,” Ford says again. He turns around, anger rolling off his shoulders. “This wouldn’t be an issue if you two were able to keep your shit together.”
“Excuse me?” I say. “I’m pretty sure you’re the one who fucked up big time, Ford.”
“More than not ordering food?” Cooper asks.
“I thought you were getting sandwiches!” I yell.
“Check the email, sis—you claimed food; this is on you. At least I delivered with centerpieces.”
“And guess who was in charge of rentals?” Ford says, holding up his phone to Cooper. “You were.”
Cooper’s eyes focus on the screen, and his eyebrows shoot up as he realizes he messed up too.
“Don’t forget the fun,” I add. “Pretty sure you said there’d be fun, and if ‘fun’ meant dry and dull like your personality, then you nailed it.”
“We all fucked up,” Ford says. “At least I have a solid reason for dropping the ball.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Oh yeah, and what would that solid reason be for forgetting about your parents’ anniversary party?”
“I broke things off with Larkin, so I’m a little messed up at the moment.”
“This is why you don’t fuck your assistant,” I say, and Ford whips toward me, pausing inches from my face.
“Your incessant chatter and pestering made the fuel that lit the flame last night. But you don’t realize that, do you? You don’t see how your actions affect others.”
“She never has,” Cooper adds.
Both my brothers stare me down, and I take a step back, my mind whirling. “I take responsibility for my actions.”
“Is that so?” Cooper asks, looking so sure of himself that I’m afraid of what might come out of his mouth. “Just like you’re taking responsibility for the food, the food that you know you were supposed to order?”
“That was a miscommunication.”
“Or how about blaming Mom and Dad for moving, when really you just don’t have a place to live?”
How on earth . . .
“Remember I cosigned on your lease with you?” Cooper says. “Yeah, Palmer, your landlord called and said he couldn’t get in touch with you, since you cut him short one hundred dollars of rent before giving up your lease.”