Seven Days of Us(79)

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“Well, this calls for champagne,” said Andrew, once they were all down in the kitchen. He opened the empty fridge, where a bottle of Veuve Clicquot lay on its side.

“To Olivia’s happy news,” he said, filling four flutes. “And to you, Jesse!” They all raised their glasses, and Jesse moved forward to clink, and Emma looked rather startled, and then clinked so enthusiastically she spilled her champagne.

The four of them had a little celebratory picnic, sitting on stools around the island, using the disposable chopsticks and plastic spoons in the bags. There was silent, contented munching and slurping for a while.

“Mmm, this is yummy. Thanks, Jesse,” said Phoebe. She wanted to offer some kind of olive branch, but the thought of actually mentioning the argument yesterday felt too weird. He looked up at her, noodles trailing out of his mouth, which he swiftly sucked in, splattering soy sauce on his white T-shirt. She preferred the soy sauce–splattering Jesse to Uniqlo campaign Jesse, she thought.

“That’s OK. Just wanted to give your mom a break,” he said.

It took a second to see what he meant. Perhaps she’d been a bit too efficient at blocking out cancer thoughts. Or perhaps she’d just been lazy, letting her mum do everything out of habit.

“Yeah, I’ll clear this up, Mummy,” she said. “You should relax.”

“Thanks, sweetie pie,” said her mother. “That would be great. Then I can drive a kit bag straight down to Olivia. It’s all packed.” Phoebe met Andrew’s eyes. Clearly, Emma wasn’t going to be a natural at chilling out.

After dinner, Phoebe and Jesse were left alone in the kitchen. “That was exactly what I felt like,” she said, shoving cartons into the bin. He looked over at her from the sink, where he was dabbing at his T-shirt.

“I needed it, too. Not that Emma isn’t an awesome cook.”

“Sorry about yesterday, by the way,” she said, straightening a tea towel so she could turn away from him.

“Hey, I should be the one apologizing. I should never have stuck my nose in. I was most likely wrong anyway.”

“Don’t worry. Doesn’t matter,” she said truthfully. It was strange how George was already beginning to feel like a part of her past. Maybe the loss was yet to hit her, but somehow she didn’t think so. She looked down at her finger, freed from its ugly ring, and thought of the bill for the Proposal Package. She’d be able to laugh about that one day, she knew. For now, it made her want to tense every muscle in her body.

“Did you hear from him yet?” asked Jesse.

“No. I wouldn’t have expected to.”

“He has to contact you at some point, though, right?” said Jesse. “Don’t you have a ton of each other’s stuff?”

“Not really. He was always funny about me leaving things at his place. And he didn’t even keep a toothbrush here. He had to bring it every time he stayed, in this wash bag with his school name tag inside.”

“Seriously? Jesus.”

“I know. He would have had no idea what to do this morning. Which seems like a pretty big sign he wasn’t marriage material.”

“For sure. Sickness and health and whatnot.”

“For better, for worse . . . How about you, are you seeing anyone?” she asked.

“Not right now. I broke up with someone last year, when I found out my birth mom had passed away. It was kind of similar to what you’re saying. I felt like he couldn’t handle emotional shit. Like I was always emoting for the two of us. And that won’t work, long term.”

“Mmm.” She knew now was her chance and mumbled: “What made you think George was gay, by the way?”

“Nothing specific. I just wondered. But like I said, I was probably wrong.”

“You might not be. I probably just got so angry because I’d sometimes wondered myself. It would explain some stuff.”

“I had the feeling he wasn’t big on communication, right?”

“S’pose so. He was more the strong silent type. Actually just silent. Weak and silent.”

“And you’re not like that. So if he was gay, straight, whatever, you need someone who can talk. Next year’s going to be tough, right? You’re going to have to be there for your mom. You need someone who gets that.”

“True.” She hadn’t thought of this either, she realized, with a jolt of shame. Until yesterday, “next year” in her head had been all about the wedding.

“Anyway, look at you. You’re so beautiful! You could do so much better.”

“Aaaahh. Thanks, Jesse! You’re so American!” She wasn’t sure if it was the champagne, but she reached up and gave him a hug.

“And you’re so bloody British!” he said, in Dick Van Dyke Cockney.

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Once Emma was back, the four of them slumped in front of an old Downton Abbey Christmas special. “I thought I’d just escaped Upstairs Downstairs,” groaned Andrew, but Phoebe noticed how he put his arm around her mother, and kept topping up her mint tea and cracking walnuts for her. It was nice to be back, squashed up on the sofa in the TV room. Watching Maggie Smith glare at a butler, she realized that Weyfield might have the roaring fires and four-posters, but only Emma was truly at ease there. Gloucester Terrace wasn’t special like the Norfolk house, but it was home.