“Why, thank you. Can you grab me that second cooler over there, please?”
He salutes and rolls it over. I pull the creamed spinach out of the fridge, already stored in the slow cooker container, and put it in the bottom of the cooler, and then add three large heads of iceberg lettuce, the tub of homemade ranch dressing and another tub of crispy bacon bits, and a larger tub of popover batter. I made the pie at Lawrence’s house yesterday morning before heading to the airport—it was just easier than trying to transport it—and I’ll make the whipped cream topping and shower it with shards of shaved chocolate just before serving. I also dropped off three large bags of homemade salt-and-pepper potato chips, figuring that even Lawrence can’t eat all of them in one day and that there will hopefully be at least two bags still there when we arrive. Lawrence insisted that he would pick up the oysters himself.
Once the coolers are filled and Shawn has loaded them into my car, I gather up the equipment I’ll need, Shawn dutifully checking each item off the list as I put it in a bag.
“You’re like a general prepping for battle,” he says, looking over my time and action plan for the day.
“Yep. Have to be prepared. You ready?”
“I’m at your service, ma’am.”
“Let’s do this.”
? ? ?
I check myself in the mirror one last time. My black jersey wrap dress hides a multitude of flaws, and more importantly will hide any accidental spatters that might occur while organizing the dinner. I’ve got my hair up in a tight, lacquered chignon so that I don’t accidentally drop any in the food. I’ve been getting pretty good at my makeup with all the practice, and have kept it shimmery and simple tonight. I’m wearing my Christmas necklace from Shawn, my diamond studs, and a pair of black wedge heels that are fancy enough for a party but are also secretly super comfy.
I head downstairs and feed Simca and get my purse organized. Shawn dropped me off a couple of hours ago, after we got everything set up at Lawrence’s, and then he went home in my car to unpack and get ready for tonight, and should be here any moment to fetch me. I’m still nervous about Shawn meeting my mom and Claire, but hopefully with the other people at the table, it won’t be too bad.
I’m just swiping on a layer of gloss when the doorbell rings.
Oof. Never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for me.
Here. We. Go.
? ? ?
Darling, they’re mad for him,” Lawrence says, pinching my tush in the kitchen while I serve up slices of the decadent and silky chocolate cream pie onto flowery china plates.
“Stop that.” I elbow him. Lawrence always gets weirdly handsy when he’s had a lot of champagne, and tonight it has been flowing. But it is more naughty grandfather than truly lascivious. I peek around the corner into the dining room and can’t help but smile. Shawn has my mom on one side, Claire on the other, and whatever story he’s telling has them blushing and giggling like schoolgirls. I was originally mortified that Lawrence placed us apart, but he has a strict “no couples sit together” rule for dinner parties, so I was with him at the other end of the table with Jerry and Todd. Logical, I know. Todd is a major foodie and I suspect secret local James Beard Award voter, although he’ll never cop to it. They are like the culinary Oscars and the voters are all sworn to secrecy. Jerry is just one of those guys who is at ease in any room, so there was plenty of good conversation at our end of the table, and, of course, Lawrence is always a good time. I spent half the time craning my neck around with my ears open to see what was going on at the other end of the table with my boyfriend and my family.
“Everything was delicious, my pet, truly. And don’t you worry about that man of yours, he has them eating out of his hand.”
“He seems to have that effect on people.”
“You look happy, Eloise. Really.”
“I’m tentatively optimistic.”
“Why tentative?”
I lick a bit of cream off my finger after I slide the last piece of pie onto a plate. “Why do you think? It’s too easy, too fun, too perfect. The sex is too good, he makes me laugh too much, he’s charming the bejesus out of my family.”
“How ghastly. Shall I kick him out immediately?”
“You know what I mean.” Because he does.
Lawrence reaches up and places a finger under my chin, turning my head to face his. “Yes, I do. So listen good. Let your guard down. All the way down. Do you think that I of all people would put you in hands that I believed to be dangerous? If you break, you break, and I will make it my mission to put you back together again. But do not follow my very cowardly and bad example, my dear. I’m no role model. I let a deep hurt close me off from love forever, and I’m too old now to open myself back up. But it was a mistake and if I had it to do over, I would let myself get hurt again, even worse, in pursuit of love. Love is all, sweetness. And you deserve it.”
There are tears swimming in his ice blue eyes, and such deep fervor in his voice that it lodges a lump in my throat. “Okay,” I croak.
“Good girl.” He wipes his eyes on a kitchen towel. “Now, for the love of Barbra, can we please eat this pie so that the queens in the other room can begin complaining about how many SoulCycle classes they are going to have to take to make up for tonight’s indulgences?”
“Absolutely.”
He reaches up and kisses my cheek, and we each take two plates of pie and head out to serve the guests.
The pie is gone in a flash, and we’ve barely gotten everyone a refill on champagne when it is time to count down to the New Year.
Ten!
Nine!
Eight!
Seven!
Six!
Five!
Four!
Three!
Two!
One!
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
? ? ?
We all toast and pull the cords on our confetti and streamer poppers, and then Shawn takes me in his arms and kisses me and whispers in my ear, “I believe this will be the best year ever.” And then he lets me go, and goes over to give my mom a twirl, and dips Claire.
My mom comes over to kiss me. “Happy New Year, my wonderful girl. He’s just everything I would have ever picked for you myself, and I can’t tell you how much I like him, for himself and for you.”
“Thanks, Mom, that means a lot.”
“I invited him for dinner this week.”
“Of course you did.”
Claire walks over, fanning herself. “Good Lord, niece, please tell me his daddy is single. Maybe an uncle? Youngish grandfather floating around?”
“Claire,” my mom says, faking serious. “You leave poor Eloise alone.”
“Just kidding, niece of mine. It’s just my little stamp of approval.”
“I know.”
“Your mom invited him for dinner.”
“She told me.”
“I invited him to continue to put that shit-eating grin on your face, or suffer my personal wrath.”
I smack my forehead. My mom shakes her head.
“Good to know.”