Page 62 of Ticket to You

“You knowexactlywhat I mean. First, you invite a woman—no, apparentlywomen,plural—to come here tonight, knowing damn well that I was going to be bringing Ophelia. Then she has the grace to ignore your blatant matchmaking efforts long enough to introduce herself, and you ignore her?” I run both hands through my hair in exasperation.

“I just want what’s best for you, Adam.”

“That’s—” I cut myself off and take a slow, shaky breath. “I don’t have time for this. I have two days left with Ophelia before I leave for three months. And I don’t want to waste my evening having yet another argument with you about my life choices. And I certainly won’t waste time here if Ophelia isn’t welcome. Soplease, be welcoming. For me?”

Mom sighs. “I’ll try.”

“Youwill. Or we will leave. Understood?”

After seeing the way Mom treated Ophelia, I can hardly look at her, so I walk back into the great room, making a straight line for Ophelia.

* * *

As much asI want to spend the evening at Ophelia’s side, everyone is here to see me, and she encourages me to make my rounds. Multiple times, I overhear whispers, most of them about Ophelia working in fashion or being from Oklahoma, neither of which I expected to be the preeminent topic of the evening. I guess when the neighborhood has a lapse in divorce and affair rumors, they get desperate for gossip. Whenever I hear someone making a snide comment, I eye them down. I’ve always been known as the stone-cold, serious Abrams child, so one icy glare is enough to silence anyone here.

The party is mostly full of my milquetoast extended family and my parents’ friends—not exactly the people I would choose to spend the evening with. To add insult to injury, three more women introduce themselves periodically throughout the night. Each time one does, they give me the same spiel about my mother suggesting they come to meet me, and each time I proudly point Ophelia out in the crowd and promise the women that any effort made for me would be in vain.

Thankfully, Dad and Eloise stay with Ophelia during the party, introducing her to the kindest neighbors and friends in attendance. Whenever the trio nears Mom, Eloise reroutes them away.

As the night finally dies down and the guests trickle out, my immediate family makes up the bulk of the crowd. Ophelia sits on an armchair across from my brothers, who are in a line on the white linen couch. I immediately rush over, leaning against the arm of Ophelia’s chair. Surely, my brothers will test her as they do everyone to see how she handles their trademark sarcasm and our token Abrams-family dry humor.

“Tell me, Ophelia,” my oldest brother, Joel, says, taking a long sip of his whiskey, “what is it like being afashionwriter?” He cocks an eyebrow up, amused just by his question.

“I’m a journalist,” she reminds him pointedly, and I smile. “It’s wonderful. I started the travel section atAtelier Today, so now I get to spend most of my time on the road, visiting countless countries and studying diverse fashion. Thankfully, I have some freedom with my topics, so they vary. One month, I might write about streetwear in Japan and the uptick in fast fashion the next. I just love appreciating beautiful things and beautiful stories.”

“Sounds like hard-hitting stuff,” Jude, my middle sibling, says dryly.

I almost tell Jude to back off, but Ophelia’s expression stops me.

She purses her lips to hide her smile. “Though not nearly as hard-hitting as dentistry, I’m sure.”

Jude’s eyes widen a bit, but then he breaks into a laugh. Soon, my other brothers join in. Ophelia quickly catches on to their razzing and falls in line, taking jokes well and firing them back quickly. Thanks to her wittiness, three more family members have warmed up to her. I knew they would. How could they not?

At one point, Micah points at Ophelia’s pink rubber watch, grinning. “What is that? Rolex? Patek Philippe?”

Ophelia holds her wrist up proudly, tilting it around so my siblings can all see it. “Your brother got it for me for my birthday.”

“Ofcoursehe did,” Eloise says, shaking her head in disbelief.

“Hope you didn’t break the bank there, Adam,” Jude laughs.

Ophelia slaps Jude’s shoulder playfully. “Make jokes at me all you want. I’ll still love this watch.”

“Love is blindness,” Jude mutters, winking at me.

Eloise and my brothers have so much fun talking with Ophelia, it’s nearly midnight before they get up to leave—which means it’s almost five in the morning in London where we’d gotten up the day before. Even holding up my head right now takes a push of effort.

“We’ll see you in the morning, Ophelia,” Joel says, pulling her in for a hug. She tenses at first, looking surprised by the affection, but seems to warm up to it.

“You aren’t spending the night?” Ophelia asks.

“No, it’ll just be you, Adam, and Naomi,” Joel says. “The rest of us live close by.”

Micah and Jude each give Ophelia a half hug, creating an Ophelia sandwich between them. They’ve known her for mere hours, but they smile at her like she’s an old friend.

When it’s Dad’s turn to leave, he too hugs Ophelia. I can only see part of her face, but her grin is visible, peeking out from behind his woolen knit sweater.

33

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