Chapter 17: Sixty Glasses

The text from Marguerite came on Friday at noon.

Come anyway, my girl. Saturday at seven, for my birthday. Family is family.

I read it to Nadine across her office desk, and she put down her pen with real joy.

"She's booked us to cater it," Nadine said. "Sixty guests, the tasting menu, in her own garden. She wanted the best for her sixty-second."

"She wanted the Larkspur to be seen at her party."

"Then we'll be seen."

On Saturday I walked up the gravel drive in the green dress, with Kelsey beside me in a black one.

Her hand shook on my arm.

"You don't have to do it," I said.

"Yes, I do." She lifted her chin. "I just want to throw up first."

The garden was full of lanterns and round tables.

Sixty people in cocktail clothes stood with glasses, and I knew every face. Forty-two of them had been tagged in a family chat I would never forget.

Waiters in black waistcoats moved through the crowd, and Nadine stood at the edge of the terrace with a headset and a very red mouth.

She tilted her head at the speaker stack by the stage, then at the phone in her hand.

It was connected.

"Cora!" An aunt came toward me with her arms wide, then saw Kelsey and her smile went uncertain. "And Kelsey. Well."

"Evening," I said.

Marguerite stood at the center of the lawn in blue silk, receiving her guests.

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