Page 104 of Seven Days in June

There was something so decadent about stuffing your face with tarts and bacon while dressed like an influencer. Their brunch was always an event. But today, having a special guest star cast a shimmering quality over the day.

Eva felt so light and heady, she was almost levitating. Because of Shane, of course, but also because of the emergency pain shot she’d administered that morning. It had rained all night, and she’d gasped awake in agony. Pain did not go with her dress. Praise be for gummies and prefilled syringes.

Eva and Audre had shown up slightly early. Shane wasn’t there yet, which was perfect. Using her calligraphy skills, Audre had carefully created dainty little place cards and prix-fixe menus for each of them. It was a surprise, the perfect touch for what would be a perfect brunch.

They chatted while they waited.

“…and Ophelia keeps begging me to go to sleepaway camp with her, but I really don’t want to. Why do people camp? On principle, I don’t believe in sleeping outside.”

“You know I don’t get it, either.” Eva loathed camping and suspected that Audre had picked up that line from her. For a second, she was hit with vague guilt for discouraging her kid from trying new experiences.

Fuck it, she thought.

“Camping is arrogant,” said Eva. “The forest is filled with undomesticated wildlife out there living happy, peaceful lives. How dare we assume that we’re welcome in their home? It’s like if a bear broke into our apartment like, ‘It’d be a fun experience to live here for a week.’”

“Ophelia said I was being bougie,” said Audre, perusing the ornately designed menu. “Should I get truffled dauphine potatoes?”

“Bougie? Ophelia’s parents are multimillionaires!” She nibbled on a madeleine. “Wealthy Brooklynites always want you to think they’re struggling. Ophelia’s family drives a 2001 Ford Focus.”

“To their Bridgehampton mansion! I know, theirony!” Audre giggled, loving the grown-up gossip sesh with her mom.

“And yes, get the truffled potatoes,” Eva announced with supreme decadence. “You deserve it after coming in first place in your art competition.”

Eva was fiercely proud of her baby. Out of the entire upper school, seventh through twelfth grade, Audre’s portrait of Lizette had won the top prize of the year. Which meant she had landed an internship at the Brooklyn Museum the following school year.

“Did you really think it was that good?” Audre looked uncharacteristically bashful.

“It was breathtaking, my bé,” said Eva, eyes softening. “I know we’ve had a tough time this week. But you know I love you more than anything, right? I’ll always be proud of you. You’re my best thing.”

“Mommy! I can’t get mushy on an empty stomach.” Audre hid her face behind a linen napkin. “But I love you, too. Now, what are you ordering?”

“The crab cakes, to start. When Shane comes, we’ll get entrées.”

Actually, crab cakes are a no, she thought.I have to fit into a leather minidress for the Litties. The awards ceremony was later that evening, at 9 p.m.—and her dress was unforgiving.

Eva would never say this out loud to Audre. Bad self-image modeling.

Blowing on her lavender-lilac tea, Eva perused the menu again. And then she heard the bell over the front door twinkle through the space. Shane!

She jerked her head up so fast, her glasses bounced on her nose. It wasn’t him, but rather a touristy-looking senior couple.

Ridiculous. She had to calm down; she wasperspiring. And she kept checking her hair in her spoon (she’d piled her curls atop her head, in a dreamy upsweep). This was ridiculous. Shane had seen her in various states of undress several times over the past week. Why was she acting like a nervous spinster before her first date?

She needed to chill. And she would, when she saw Shane. It was only five minutes past their 10:00 a.m. reservation time; he’d be there soon.

Meanwhile, Audre was scrolling through her phone, looking at gossip accounts on Instagram.

“Mom, if you could date any man in Hollywood, who would it be?”

“From today or previous eras?” Eva grabbed another madeleine from their basket and nibbled away.

“Today,” said Audre.

“Hmm. Lakeith Stanfield. And honestly, I’d take either Hemsworth.”

With a gust of warm air, the front door flung open again. Eva glanced up in anticipation. It wasn’t Shane. A model and her lapdog. And her stomach sank, just a tad.

“How about you?” Nonchalantly, Eva checked the time on her phone—10:13.

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