To Sir, with Love

But on closer inspection, I realize the woman’s eyes aren’t just blue. They’re aqua blue, albeit a good deal more friendly than her son’s. And while Sebastian doesn’t particularly resemble his father, the elder Mr. Cooper has the same Ivy League airs and command of the room.

Belatedly, I realize that if these are Sebastian Andrews’s parents, that makes them Vanessa and Gary Andrews, CEO and CFO of the company, respectively. I am annoyed to have to admit I’d stereotyped them by imagining them to be cool and aloof, instead of the type to cheerfully discuss shoes with a stranger.

“Thanks for pushing the schedule back for a late lunch,” he says, and I glance at Noel, realizing that when he’d said Mr. Andrews had been able to move some things around, he’d pushed back lunch with his parents. To meet with… me?

It’s nearly as puzzling as Carlos’s flowers on his reception desk.

“Not a problem!” his mom says. “Will Genevieve be joining us?” I’m starting to ease around her to make my exit, but she looks my way once again. “Sebastian’s girlfriend would go absolutely bonkers for your shoes.”

Genevieve. The name fits her.

I smile politely. “I believe it. I don’t think I’ve ever spoken about anything with as much affection as she had when she found a pair of over-the-knee dove-gray boots.”

“Oh, you’ve met her!” Vanessa seems delighted. “Did Sebastian ever tell you how he and Genevieve met?”

I really don’t want to know, but the way Sebastian shoves his hands into his pockets and scowls means he doesn’t want me to hear it either.

I glance his way and grin innocently. “He’s never said! But I love a good story.”

“Well,” his mother continues. “Gen’s mom and I were sorority sisters back in the day, and we became the best of friends. Roommates, maids of honor, the whole deal. We even got pregnant at the same time. Genevieve was born just six days before Sebastian, and in the same hospital. We burped them together, changed them together. They were basically betrothed from birth. We never would have pushed them together if they weren’t interested, of course, but you can imagine our delight when they hit puberty…”

“I got most of my gray hairs during that decade,” Mr. Cooper says, running a hand through his thick head of salt-and-pepper hair that’s a much lighter shade of brown than his son’s.

“That’s adorable,” I gush with a wide grin at Sebastian. “My sister and brother-in-law are high school sweethearts. They’ve been married twenty-one years.”

“You hear that?” Vanessa says playfully, raising her voice and glancing at her son. “Married.”

She drags out the word for emphasis in a way that makes me think it’s not the first time they’ve had that conversation, and while I can’t say I’m not a little curious about the situation, my exit is well overdue.

“Well, I’ll let you get to your lunch,” I say, lifting my hand for a little farewell wave. “It was nice to meet you!”

“Oh, I didn’t get your name, you of the fabulous shoes.”

“This is Gracie Cooper,” Sebastian cuts in.

Vanessa Andrews’s eyes flicker with something that looks like regret, telling me she knows exactly who I am and why I’m here, but I can’t seem to hate her for it.

Maybe because all my hatred has been used up on her son.

“Well, it was lovely to meet you, Gracie.”

“Same.” I smile at her and her husband and wave at Noel.

I ignore Sebastian completely.

To Sir, with polite curiosity,

Do you have any pets? On paper, I’m a dog person. I love all that open affection and loyalty, the excitement they show when you walk in the door. And yet I have a cat. His name is Cannoli, he’s completely indifferent to me, and I love him so. What do you think that’s about?

Lady

* * *

My dear Lady,

Perhaps it’s because the cat is so indifferent that you love him so. There’s something irritatingly irresistible about someone who won’t give you the time of day…

Yours with armchair psychology,

Sir

Nine

As it turns out, Lily hadn’t been exaggerating about Alec’s busy schedule, because Wednesday dinner at May’s got pushed out to Sunday.

“I thought you were going vegetarian,” I say to May, picking up a little wheel of bacon-wrapped ricotta topped with chives and nibbling the salty deliciousness.

She pauses in stirring a pitcher of her legendary martinis. “Why would you think that?”

“Why else would you use eggplant in lasagna instead of beef?”

Her cocktail spoon resumes its stirring. “Because it’s damned delicious.”

May is wearing a printed wrap dress with bright red poppies and enormous grapefruit-slice earrings that somehow manage to look exactly right in her lime-green kitchen. She lives on Eighty-First and Madison in the stately, if dated, prewar apartment she bought with her second husband, and fourth Great Love, who’d died of a heart attack at age forty-seven.

May has had a lot of Great Loves, and while I still firmly adhere to my belief in One True Love, I can’t deny that I’m grateful my dad was her seventh Great Love, because it brought her into my life.