Always the Last to Know(69)

She finished her glass of wine and got another before everyone sat down. Sadie had been in charge of the wine tonight, and Juliet had brought a couple of additional bottles, correctly anticipating that her sister wouldn’t bring enough. Not that she was cheap; she just wouldn’t think too hard about how many people were coming.

“How’s the house, Sadie?” she asked brightly as everyone sat down to dinner. “Fallen in the Sound yet?”

“Not yet,” Sadie said. “A few shingles blew off the roof last night, but I plan on getting up there and fixing all that.”

“Please don’t,” Noah said. “Hire someone.”

“I think I’m very handy, actually,” she said. “But thanks for your concern.”

“You’re handy?” Carter asked. Yes, Carter, that was his name. The friendly friend from the city. “Remember when you broke the sink in the teachers’ bathroom because you forgot which way the knobs turned?”

“I have no recollection of that event, no,” Sadie said, grinning. Always getting away with being a ditz and thinking it was charm. Maybe it was. Maybe Juliet should try it.

“Does anyone mind if I breastfeed?” asked Mickey, and, not waiting, pulled up her shirt and attached the baby. “No one is scared of boobs, right? Although I have to say, they do look a little scary these days. No one told me I’d become Joan from Mad Men after popping out this little bruiser. I was a 34-B before Noah knocked me up.” She glanced at Gillian, who looked green. “Sorry. Shit, Gillian, I’m really sorry. You too, Sadie.”

Right. Right. The event planner had been engaged to Noah. The baby was making smacking sounds.

Sadie’s teacher friend smiled. “I love watching a woman breastfeed,” he said. “So natural.”

“Thanks, dude,” Mickey said. “You’re okay.”

Dad, too, was staring at Mickey’s breast. It was hard to miss, but was he looking at it lustfully? And if so, doubly gross, because (a) it belonged to a woman not his wife and (b) it was feeding a baby, so lusting was just icky.

She really had to tell her mother about that other woman. Or she really shouldn’t ever tell her mother. God! How could her father be such an asshole? She hated him . . . except seeing him wobbly and silent and staring at a strange woman’s boob made her both want to curl into a ball and sob or kick him and also have him just die already and let her mother be free.

“Barb, this asparagus is wonderful,” said the event planner. Gillian.

“It is,” Oliver agreed. “You’re a smashing cook, Mum.”

The nicest man in the world was her husband. Time for a little seduction. She slid off her shoe (blessed relief) and reached her foot out to slide up his pant leg. Nothing . . . nothing . . . Could a foot grope? If so, her foot was groping into emptiness. There.

She hooked her toe in his pants and slid it up.

Mickey jumped. Oliver didn’t. Shit. Wrong leg. Mickey gave her a reproachful look over her baby’s head.

“Sorry,” Juliet murmured. “I thought you were my husband.”

“That’s what they all say.”

Okay, so no foot sex or whatever that move was called. More wine was a good idea.

Caro and Ted seemed to be fighting in whispers. Gillian looked wretched. “My mom says you’re amazing at what you do, Gillian,” Juliet said. “How did you get started?”

“Oh, funny story,” Gillian said. “So, it was my mom and dad’s thirty-fifth anniversary, and I thought, why not throw them a big party? And I got the bug! I just love organizing.”

Juliet waited for the funny part, but apparently Gillian was done.

“That is funny. Ha. Ha ha.” Yes. She was a little drunk. Dad was looking at Gillian now. Maybe he was interested in her in his foggy, befuddled state. Like the woman he’d been kissing, Gillian had dark hair.

How many women wished their fathers were dead after seeing them cheating on their moms? CNN should do a poll.

A knock came on the kitchen door.

“Who could that be?” Barb asked, getting up to answer it.

“Elijah the prophet?” Oliver suggested. It was his go-to joke when someone interrupted dinner, and it always made her laugh. No one else got it, apparently, and her laugh sounded too loud in the vacuum.

“Can I help you?” Barb said. “Oh! Hello there!”

It was Janet, the woman from Gaylord whose brother had been down the hall from Dad. She’d been really nice, Juliet remembered, if fashion challenged. Her hair was in two long, gray braids, and she wore overalls over a flannel shirt. “Oh, shit,” she said. “You’re having a party. I’m so sorry. I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d drop in.”

“No, no, come in. Please. Girls, do you remember Janet? How’s your brother, Janet? Have a seat. Would you like some wine?”

“No, thanks. I don’t drink. Hey, Juliet. Sadie. Everyone else.” Her eyes stopped on Dad’s face. “Hey, John. How’s it going, buddy?”

Dad’s mouth hung open for a second, then he burst into a big smile. “You!” he said. “You.”

There was a moment of silence.

“That’s right, Dad,” said Sadie, her voice breathless. “You know her!”

“You sure do,” Janet said, going closer. “How’s my old pal?”