“Do you get anxiety?” she asked.
He nodded. “I do. I used to get it worse, but I take medication for it now. You?”
She nodded. “Yeah. I have Xanax for when it’s really bad, and sometimes it does get really bad. As long as I keep on top of things, it’s manageable, but I don’t do well with surprises.” She took a breath. “I’m easily thrown; I guess you could put it like that. I feel like I don’t have a deep well of calm. I feel like I was lightly misted with calm, and it doesn’t take a lot for it to evaporate.” She grinned. “Not sure this metaphor is going to last all that much longer, either.”
He smiled at her. “My wife has the deep well of calm in our house. She’s like Lake Calm, in fact. I’m more like you.” He shrugged. “Dad was not in any way calm; he revved very high indeed, and then his blood, mixed with the cyanide that runs through Alice’s veins, produced Katherine, who is truly horrible, but also Becky, Peter’s mom, who is the kindest woman on the planet. One more generation down you get Peter and Jennifer, who are awesome in every way, but also Lydia, who’s a total nutjob. Genetics are funny things, right?”
Nina put her hands flat on the tabletop, across from his. “We have similar hands, look.”
“Mine are bigger.”
She looked up at him. “No shit, Sherlock.”
He laughed. “I don’t know why I’m even telling you all this.”
“I’m your sister?”
“Yeah, I guess. And you can’t stop being my sister, even if you know how anxious I get. I . . . I felt like maybe you would understand.” He studied the tabletop.
Andi delivered their coffees. Nina took a sip and wiped the foam off her lip with the back of her sleeve. “Understand why you’re wigged out about suddenly discovering something upsetting about a guy who, let’s face it, had already caused a lot of trouble even before this all came out?”
He nodded.
“Wouldn’t anyone understand? A week or so ago I thought I was the child of a brave, creative, brilliant world traveler and never understood why I was shy, nervous, and basically unwilling to travel outside my zip code. Now I know where some of that came from, but I’ve also inherited potential alcoholism and an inability to remain faithful, so, you know, not exactly a win-win.”
Archie grinned suddenly, and anyone watching them would instantly have known they were related. “Yup, that’s about the size of it. You’ve probably inherited money, too, of course.”
“Unconfirmed. And not if Lydia has her way.”
Archie rolled his eyes. “Lydia’s angry all the time; you’re just today’s focus. It’s a pity, because she’s really brilliant. Brain like a steel trap but, sadly, she mostly uses it for storing up imaginary insults and injuries.”
“That’s awesome. What a lovely family you all are.” Nina arranged a small pile of sugar packets into a tower.
“We all are,” said Archie with a grin. “It’s your family, too.” He stuck out his finger and knocked over her tower of sugar packets.
“Not if I don’t want it to be.” Nina smacked his hand and started rebuilding.
Archie called for the check. “Good luck sticking that cat back in the bag.” He looked at her hands. “You’re single?”
“Very much so. I don’t have time for a boyfriend right now.”
“That’s sad.”
“Is it?” Nina thought about Tom. “I meet people, but no one I want to give up anything for.”
“Your life is so full of excitement and adventure?”
“Are you kidding? I have a weekly book club, a regular movie night, a dedicated physical wellness practice at least one night a week, a cat . . . I am living the dream.”
He laughed and signed the check. “You’re a lucky woman.”
“Yeah. And now I have you lot to contend with. A man would have to be pretty special to squeeze into my life.”
Archie got to his feet and stretched the exact same way Nina usually did. “Well, maybe one of us will introduce you to someone worth canceling book club for.”
Nina followed him out of the café. “I seriously doubt that. You’ve heard the phrase fact is stranger than fiction?”
“Of course.”
“Well, it’s also much less attractive. I’ll stick with my fictional love life, thanks. In both senses of the word.”
Archie stopped on the sidewalk. “I’m parked up there. Do you want a lift home?”
Nina shook her head. “No, thanks, I like walking.”
“Cool, we’ll talk later.” He hugged her, and in that brief embrace she felt a warm, reassuring acceptance. However mean Lydia might be, Archie and Peter were certainly making up for it. She’d never had brothers, obviously, and had never dated a man long enough to reach the point where she could take him for granted, and hug for no reason beyond affection, and she suddenly felt elated to have it in her life now. I have a big brother, she thought again. I am a little sister.
She watched her brother disappear up the street, his walk strangely familiar. She flicked a glance at her watch; great, the yoga class was completely over, so now she could go home, feed the cat, get into her are-they-pajamas-or-are-they-just-comfy-pants, and head to her friend’s house for book club.
Yup. Nina Hill was living the dream.
Fifteen
In which Nina is too organized for her own good.
Thursdays were Nina’s favorite day. After work on Thursdays she had nothing scheduled. Literally, from 6 to 10 P.M. she had written Nothing in her planner. Which actually meant reading, because when she had nothing to do, reading is what she did. Sometimes people tried to get her to do something instead, but she was fiercely defensive of her nothing.
So when she looked up from the pile of books she was reshelving and saw Tom entering the store, her first thought was she couldn’t go out with him that night, because she had nothing to do. Her second thought was that he hadn’t even asked her out, and she had no reason to think he was going to ask her out. Her third thought was that she was apparently getting a little full of herself and needed to pull herself together. And her fourth and final thought in this parade of small thoughts was that he was walking toward her and she should probably say hello.
“Hi there,” she said. He was taller than she remembered. Or she had shrunk, one or the other.
He smiled at her. “Hi.”
“Are you looking for a book?”
He shook his head. “I’m not a book person, remember? I’m not illiterate; I just don’t read much.” He turned up his hands. “Sorry.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Maybe you haven’t found the right kind of book yet.”
“I’m not trying very hard,” he said, easily. “Anyway, I came in to see if maybe you’d like to go out for dinner?” He was impressed with his relaxed, assured tone. There was absolutely no way she could guess he was as nervous as a shortsighted fly at a spider convention. Crushed it.
“Uh . . . sure.” Nice, Nina, way to sound enthusiastic.
OK, well, she doesn’t sound all that interested, but let’s press on. “What day works for you?” He remembered the feeling of her in his arms, the kiss, the invitation . . . It didn’t look like that girl came to work today.