Page 70 of A Very Happy Easter

“Oh really? Oops.” Polly giggled. “That doesn’t seem like very many. I mean, what if you run out halfway through?”

I sagged back against the wall. Damn, I’d been desperately hoping the mountains of eggs were a mistake. And I couldn’t sound ungrateful because I wanted Polly to donate again next year, albeit on a much more modest scale.

“We’ve planned the day based on five hundred eggs. You’re sure you don’t want the extras back?”

“Gosh, no. We’re using them as a tax write-off.”

Of course. “I guess I could distribute some to local women’s shelters.”

“Great idea. Encourage everyone to post on their socials, okay? Hashtag Easter, hashtag Crabtree.”

“Few people fleeing from domestic violence are posting on social media.”

“Oh yeah, shit. Well, I hope they enjoy the chocolate. I upgraded you to the luxury eggs. I know you said small ones, but even poor people deserve a treat, don’t they?”

Don’t throw the phone, Edie. Polly was one of my oldest friends, and I did love her, but when she said things like that, I wanted to flip her off a bridge. Unfortunately, her father and grandfather were two of the most bigoted men I’d ever met, so she’d grown up in a household filled with casual prejudices.

“Rewind that sentence and try it again without the ‘poor people’ part.”

“Crap, I forgot.”

“Grandma Elizabeth will be turning in her grave.”

Grandma Elizabeth had been the first person to call Polly out on her isms, when she was eleven or twelve. Polly had used a slur in front of her, and boy, did she get a lecture. With Grandma gone, it was down to me to issue the reminders.

“Sorry. I’ve been so stressed about the engagement party, and the wedding too.”

No excuses.

“Everyone deserves a treat.” Okay, not quite everyone. The only way the bastard who fire-bombed Heath’s building deserved an Easter egg was if the truck carrying them backed over him. Preferably more than once. “If you single out the less well-off within earshot of your socials, you’ll lose fifty thousand followers overnight. And I’m sorry the engagement party has you stressed—is there any particular aspect?”

If there was an issue with the flowers, or the decor, or Polly’s dress, I could offer to help—in between brainstorming how to get five and a half thousand excess Easter eggs out of my house, obviously—but wasn’t the wedding coordinator on top of that?

There was a long moment of silence. “Oh, just the groom.”

“The groom?”

Wasn’t the happy couple a key part of any wedding?

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. It’ll be totally fine.” Was Polly trying to convince me or herself? “Everybody says what a great match we are. I mean, I’m the Chocolate Queen, and Spencer’s cooking show has really taken off this year. We have nearly two million followers between us.”

“You’re having second thoughts?”

“Mother says everyone gets wedding jitters. Don’t they?”

“Honestly, I’m the wrong person to answer that question. Why do you feel that way? Did Spencer do something to upset you?”

“That’s just it; he hasn’t. Not really. I mean, I saw a couple of messages on his phone, and they seemed a bit…flirty? But he said the girl was a potential collab partner, and he was only being friendly. That’s normal, right? Forget I said anything—I’m probably being silly.”

Was it normal? I had no idea. Heath had given me his passcode so I could install the Krave Coffee app for him, but I hadn’t snooped through his private communications.

“If you want to talk, I’m always here.”

“You’re a gem, babes. Oh, Cynthia’s calling me. Ciao, bella.”

Good grief. I slid down the wall until I was sitting on the floor, grateful to have found one tiny space that wasn’t covered in egg boxes. Why me?

I touched the fingers of my right hand against the fingers of my left in turn, imagining Heath’s voice instructing me. Pinkie to thumb, Edie. Breathe. Could be worse; could be Christmas trees.

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