Page 79 of Mismatched

“Guest room is this way,” he says, leading the way up a set of floating stairs. “Too bad about your hotel.”

When I look back, my wife is disappearing into the belly of the beast with her sister and mother.

I grab her suitcase and hustle after my brother-in-law, aiming to complete the task and return downstairs as quickly as possible.

“So, how’s the finance world?” Adam asks, sounding more obliged than interested.

“It’s fine. Are your parents not here yet?” I ask, realizing they hadn’t made an appearance downstairs. And if I change the subject, I can avoid getting sucked into a work conversation.

“No.” He scoffs, leading me through a hall past what seems like countless doors and bedrooms. “My little sister graduated Princeton this year, and they promised her a cruise in the Seychelles.”

“Oh.” I raise an eyebrow. “They don’t mind missing Gabriel’s first Thanksgiving?”

He glances at a closed door, then breezes into the bedroom next to it. “He’s seven months old. It’s not like he’ll remember it.”

I follow him into another sparsely furnished room, where he sets down the bag. While my wife and her sister aren’t close, I’ve known Celia long enough that I’m surprised by the decor. She and Adam have only been married about a year, but her last apartment was decorated more country farmhouse than minimalist angles.

I stand in the door, straining to hear what’s going on down in the kitchen, but if Marion’s getting out of hand, it’s happening in hushed tones. Which is all the more worrisome.

“Well, here it is,” Adam says, smoothing his hair in a mirror, despite already resembling a Ken doll. “There’s a bathroom across the hall. Gabe’s room is next door. Hopefully you won’t need earplugs.”

I chuckle, though I can’t tell if he’s joking. “Fatherhood treating you well?” I ask, genuinely curious.

He shrugs, glancing at his phone. “Yeah, it’s great.”

“Where is the little guy?” I ask, realizing I haven’t seen him since we got here.

“Napping.”

As if on cue, a cry sounds from the other side of the wall. Adam immediately slips past me, and I figure he’s going to see to his son. But once he’s out in the hall, he heads for the stairs, not the next-door bedroom.

“Celia, he’s up!” he calls, descending to the living room.

Lydia’s sister rushes up the stairs past me, wearing a splattered red apron as Adam drops lazily into a chair across from a bright-white sofa.

“Help yourself to a beer, Anton,” he says, looking at his phone.

“Sure,” I mutter, grateful for an excuse to leave the room. “I’ll go do that.”

I wander down a short hall, past a beautifully laid formal dining room, and through another door leading into a large open kitchen and second living area. This one is slightly warmer and softer, albeit still sparsely furnished. Lydia is seated at the breakfast bar, hugging the counter like a shield. Marion leans casually by the sink, still balancing her champagne flute in one hand.

“Smells delicious in here,” I say.

Marion smiles, her eyes narrowing. “Yes, we were just talking about that.”

Lydia glances at me, her expression already resembling a cornered animal. I move closer, wishing I hadn’t let myself get pulled away.

“Anything I can do to help?” I ask.

Marion gives a derisive chuckle. “Not when everything’s heat and serve.”

I look around the room again, noting several foil pans laid out on the counter.

“I’m sorry you two flew all this way for... Whole Foods.” She sniffs. “If I’d known?—”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I say. “Seems like Celia’s got her hands full.”

“Yes.” My mother-in-law clucks, draining her glass.

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