Too Good to Be True - Kristan Higgins [131]
I looked down the table at Natalie. She wore a pale blue dress, and her smooth, honey-colored hair was swept up and held with the kind of clip my own hair ate like a Venus flytrap. She looked so happy. Her hand brushed Andrew’s over a roll, and she blushed at the contact. Aw. Then she caught my eye, and I smiled at her, my beautiful sister. She smiled back.
“Grace, where’s Callahan?” she asked abruptly, her head snapping around to look for him. “Is he coming separately?”
Drat. The truth was, I’d been kind of hoping not to have to discuss it. I hadn’t mentioned my breakup to anyone but Margaret. For two reasons. One, I’d been holding on to the hope that Cal might, well, forgive me, realizing that I was the one for him and he couldn’t live without me. And two, I didn’t want to rain on Nattie’s parade. She’d be worried about me, cluck and pat my back and puzzle over how someone could not want to date her big sister. Someone other than Andrew, that was.
Lucky for me, I’d just taken a bite of my oysters, so I grinned and pointed and chewed. And chewed. Chewed a bit more, stalling as the oyster was ground into flavored saliva.
“Who’s Callahan?” asked Mrs. Carson, turning her beady eyes on me.
“Grace is dating someone wonderful,” Mom announced loudly.
“A convict,” Mémé said, then belched. “An Irish convict with big hands. Right, Grace?”
Mr. Carson choked, Mrs. Carson’s slitty eyes grew wider with malicious glee. “Well,” I began.
“He used to be an accountant,” my father said heartily. “Went to Tulane.”
Margaret sighed.
“He’s a handyman, right, Grace?” Mémé bellowed. “Or a gardener. Or a lumberjack. I can’t remember.”
“Or a coal miner. Or a shepherd,” Margaret added, making me snort.
“He’s wonderful,” Mom said firmly, ignoring both her eldest child and Callahan’s criminal past. “So, er, handsome.”
“Oh, he is!” Natalie said, turning her shining eyes to the Carsons. “He and Grace are so good together. You can tell they’re just crazy about each other.”
“He dumped me,” I announced calmly, wiping my mouth. Across the table, Margaret choked on some wine. As she sputtered into her napkin, she gave me a thumbs-up.
“The gardener dumped you? What? What did she say?” Mémé asked. “Why are you mumbling, Grace?”
“Callahan dumped me, Mémé,” I said loudly. “My ethics aren’t up to snuff.”
“The prisoner said that?” Mémé barked.
“Pish!” my mother said. No one else said a word. Natalie looked like I’d clubbed her over the head.
“Thanks, Mom,” I said. “Sorry to say, I think he’s right.”
“Oh, Pudding, no. You’re wonderful,” Dad said. “What does he know, after all? He’s an idiot. An ex-con and an idiot.”
“An ex-con?” Mr. Carson wheezed.
“No, he’s not, Dad. He’s not an idiot, that is. He is an ex-con, Mr. Carson,” I clarified.
“Well,” Mom said, her eyes darting between the Carsons and me, “do you think you might get back with your pediatric surgeon? He was such a nice young man.”
Wow. Amazing how a lie could be so powerful. I looked at Margaret. She looked back, lifted an eyebrow. I turned back to my mother.
“There was no pediatric surgeon, Mom,” I said, enunciating so Mémé could hear. “I made him up.”
You know, it was almost fun, dropping a bomb like that. Almost. Margaret sat back and smiled broadly. “You go, Grace,” she said, and for the first time in a long time, she looked genuinely happy.
I sat up a little straighter, though my heart was thudding so hard I thought I might throw up. My voice shook…but it carried, too. “I pretended to date someone so Natalie and Andrew wouldn’t feel so guilty. And so everyone would stop treating me like I was some sort of abandoned dog covered in sores.”
“Oh, Grace,” Nat whispered.
“What?