Page 80 of Mismatched

Lydia remains uncommonly quiet, and I notice she’s folding a pile of linen napkins in front of her, shaping them into fans and fastening them with silver napkin rings.

“Anyway, the photographer will be here tomorrow at ten o’clock sharp,” Marion says, as if she hadn’t already sent us a calendar invite. She sniffs. “I hope you brought something appropriate to wear, Lydia.”

“Of course.” Lydia hasn’t looked up from the napkins, and I realize she’s actually folding and smoothing the same one over and over.

I settle onto the stool next to her and place a hand on her thigh, wishing her mother would find something to do so I can check in with my wife. “We’ll stay until noon, Marion, but then we’ll have to leave to catch our flight.”

Marion opens her mouth, no doubt to make some other tedious demand, but before she gets the words out, Celia blusters back into the kitchen with a chubby, bright-eyed baby on her hip.

“Okay! Sorry, quick diaper change and I guess there’ll be one more joining us for dinner.” She smiles at her son and bounces him. He grins back at her, and something squeezes in my chest. I try to catch Lydia’s eye, but she hasn’t looked up from the napkins.

“Wow, he’s gotten so big,” I say.

Celia looks my way, pride beaming on her face.

“My goodness, Celia, don’t hold my grandson so close to the oven.” Marion crosses the room, extending her arms. “Oh Gabey, let Nana rescue you from Mommy.”

Celia untangles his little fingers from the pearls around her neck and hands him over, looking reluctant, but relieved to have a free hand.

I feel useless just sitting here watching her do everything, so I slide off my stool, taking Lydia by the hand. “Lydia and I can help put things on the table if you’re ready to serve.”

“Perfect. Thanks.” Celia rushes around the kitchen, taking multiple pans out of the ovens, and I grab a couple of potholders, taking them from her and placing them at random on the table in the next room. Lydia follows wordlessly with serving spoons and forks for each one. As we finish, Celia pulls a banana out of the fruit bowl in the kitchen and slices it into long fingers. “Adam! Dinner’s ready!”

I follow Marion into the dining room where baby Gabriel has started fussing and squirming in her arms. I’m not a parent yet, but it’s obvious he isn’t happy about something. Finally, he lets out a wail, and Lydia startles, looking pale.

Marion bounces him, frowning at Celia, who’s dragging a fancy wooden high chair to one end of the room. “I don’t know what’s wrong. He must be teething.”

Celia also frowns, looking at her son. Then a look of understanding dawns on her face and she reaches for him. “Mom, your sweater—the sequins are digging into his skin.”

“Oh, don’t be?—”

Celia snatches the baby away, and sure enough, angry red marks are pressed into his bare, chubby thighs. “Why don’t you check everyone’s drinks?” Celia barks at Adam, who wanders in, staring at his phone as she rushes the crying baby out of the room.

Marion presses her lips together as we watch Adam open up a bottle of wine. “Celia seems to be struggling with motherhood,” she says dismissively, removing the foil lids from the dishes on the table. “Perhaps we should start without her.”

The room fills with the scents of turkey, mashed potatoes, and stuffing, and Lydia abruptly covers her nose.

“Zinfandel?” Adam asks, reaching the bottle out between us.

Lydia puts a hand over her glass and I shake my head, sticking to my support plan. “Uh, maybe later, thanks. We’ll stick with water.”

Celia comes back into the room with a happier-looking Gabriel wearing a different outfit. She straps him into his high chair and presents him with the banana slices, which he quickly squishes in his fists.

“Please start, everyone,” she says, taking a seat still wearing her apron.

Silence settles over the room, broken only by a few burbles from Gabe, as plates are passed around and we each take various helpings. Despite her criticism of the food, everything looks delicious, and I can’t help noticing my mother-in-law piles her plate high. Lydia barely takes a spoonful of everything.

“So, Richies, what’s new in Denver?” Adam asks, setting his phone aside.

I turn to my wife, sliding my fingers through hers under the table. This has got to be as good an opening as any to share the news.

“Uh, well...” She clears her throat, then flushes pink. “We had a great first quarter with the second Pooch Park.”

“Oh, awesome news!” Celia says, sounding enthusiastic for the first time since we got here.

I curl my fingers tighter in Lydia’s, wondering what she’s doing, but she won’t meet my eyes. She’s focused on her sister. “Thanks. It’s exciting. We still have so much room for growth.”

“I’m glad to hear the new partnership is going smoothly,” Celia says.

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