Page 25 of Unmatched

“Are you sure? You’ve worked late a lot this week.”

For just a second, she seems to pause. “I have.” Then she shakes her head, pours my smoothie into a to-go cup, and puts the drink in my hand. “Just catching up on some things for the new location. I’m definitely overdue for an evening out.”

Her phone rings, and she wanders out of the room to take the call, which, from the sound of it, is an employee out sick. I stand where my feet are planted, heart thudding, trying to decide if it’s my own guilt nagging at me or if something’s truly off.

Maybe she’s just . . . trying?

A little burst of warmth spreads through me, probably quicker than I should allow. A week ago, I couldn’t even talk to her about a vacation, and now she’s ready for a party at the drop of a hat. I’m not sure what’s changed, but it’s easier not to think about it. Because this feels like the Lydia I miss. The one who used to love any excuse to dress up, who I love to see dressed up. And the more time we spend together, the less I want to open Unmatched.

“Sounds good.” I slip my shoes on and toss a ball to Heartthrob. And before I lose my nerve, duck in to kiss her cheek. “See you tonight.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

“So, over here, we ran into an issue with electrical,” my contractor Mark says, pointing out a tangle of wires protruding from the ceiling. “All of this needs to be upgraded. But there’s another problem that isn’t actually inside the building. I think it’s the line from the pole. So we’re going to have to talk to the city about that.”

“How long will that take?” I ask, wrinkling my nose.

He looks at me like I cracked a joke. “They’ll get to us when they feel like it.”

“Okay, but after that, everything else is in place? When can you guys start the finish work?”

“Drywall will go in pretty quickly. We’ll get that done in about a week. But we can’t even start that until the wiring is resolved.”

I let out a breath, reminding myself to inhale again. “Keep me posted.”

One of Mark’s guys calls him over, and at the same moment, my phone rings. I duck out the back door into what will eventually be a large outdoor play yard full of Astroturf, ramps, tunnels, and wading pools. Only right now it looks like a big muddy mess.

I swipe to answer the call and nearly drop the phone into a dirty puddle when I see the screen. Celia is trying to video chat. I’ve been so preoccupied worrying about my business and my marriage that I completely forgot to congratulate my sister on giving birth. I smooth my hair quickly, then raise the screen to my face.

“Celia, hi! It’s a boy!” These idiotic words leave my lips before I can think. I had meant to say something along the lines of Congrats! I’m so excited to have a nephew! I might be a terrible sister, but I plan to be an excellent aunt! But apparently my voice had other ideas.

“Yes, yes he is,” she says coolly, not bothering to point out how stupid I sound. “I thought you might want to meet Gabriel Edward Cohen.”

She angles the camera down to a sleeping, wrinkled little face in her arms. I hate to admit that most infants look the same to me, but I try to make the appropriate “awwww” sounds and say something about how tiny he is the way other people gush over babies.

Then I pause, my brain backing up a few seconds. “Wait, Gabriel Edward? You named him after Dad?”

“Uh, no—not really,” Celia says abruptly. “Adam's family has a tradition of naming babies after both grandparents, but obviously we’re going to call him Gabriel, after Adam's dad.”

Even so, color me stunned. My memories of Dad are pretty foggy. He left before I turned five, but Celia was ten, and if there’s one person in the world who hates Edward Stanton as much as Mom does, it’s her.

“Well, um...he seems sweet no matter what you call him. I’ll have to come out for a visit after I get my second daycare up and running.”

“Oh, how are things going with that?” she asks, peering closer at the phone like she’s trying to see where I’m standing. Quickly, I angle myself so her only view is the brick wall behind me and not the mess of construction. “I thought you were hoping to launch in the spring?”

“No.” I grit my teeth. “Everything’s going great. We should hopefully still open by June.”

She arches a well-manicured eyebrow, which draws my attention to the fact that she looks stunning, as always. Her skin is flawless, her blonde hair styled. Definitely not the picture of a brand-new mom. She doesn’t even look tired. “Well, you know Lydia, if you ever need to chat about?—”

“I’m good!” I interrupt, because the last thing I want is for my sister to start life coaching me. The only thing worse would be if Mom was here to join in. “And actually, I was just about to pop a gift for little Gabriel Edward in the mail, so I had better run. I’ll try to make it out for Thanksgiving.”

“You and Anton both, I hope.”

“Yes! Both of us. Definitely,” I say, as if my blood wasn’t already boiling without having to think about my husband. “Enjoy motherhood. It looks good on you!”

“Bye—”

I end the call before she can finish her farewell and drum my fingers on the dirty bricks, trying not to envision a perfect holiday spread at her house in November. The table set like a magazine, her family in matching outfits, our mother doting on Baby Gabriel. And me there...alone?

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