To Sir, with Love

“Any fun plans for the weekend?” I ask, trying to get a little spark out of her.

“Not really. I’ve got a few things to do around the house.”

“You and Alec should go somewhere,” I say casually, continuing to straighten the glasses. “What about the Hamptons? Off-season you shouldn’t have trouble finding a place. Or even just a day trip up to the Hudson Valley to one of the farmer’s markets?”

She stops pulling glasses out, and there’s genuine confusion on her face, as though I’ve just suggested she shave her head or take up needlework.

I think about May’s assessment: they’ve forgotten how to be in love.

I’m afraid she’s right, and I have no idea what to do about it. I probably shouldn’t do anything about it. It’s not my relationship, and it’s not my business.

Yet when I think of Lily and Alec, I don’t see them as they’ve been recently—tired. Tense. I see them on their prom night. The morning after they’d gotten engaged. Their wedding day. The day they bought their place.

I believe in my very core that theirs is a happily-ever-after ending. They’ve just hit the poison-apple stage of their story.

She looks down and reaches for the base of another glass, and I gently touch the back of her hand. “Lil, what’s going on?”

I hear her swallow, then see her long eyelashes bat repeatedly against her cheeks, and I know she’s blinking away tears.

“We have faulty junk,” she says on a watery voice.

I let out a startled laugh. “What?”

She discreetly uses her sleeve to dab at her nose. “IVF didn’t take. The fertility specialist told us a couple months ago that while it wasn’t impossible for us to conceive, we may want to consider alternative methods of starting a family.”

“Oh, Lily.” I immediately move to hug her, but she gives a quick shake of her head. I know she’s trying desperately to hold it together, so instead I squeeze her arm.

“I thought I’d made peace with it. We talked about a surrogate, adoption, but then we just sort of… stopped talking.”

“Why, do you think?”

She squeezes her eyes shut. “I’m so mad at him. I wanted to start a family years ago, but he kept saying he wanted to build his career first. At the time, I loved him all the more for it. Both because he wanted to make sure he could support me and a baby, and because he said he wanted to put in the long hours then so that when we started a family, he could be the sort of dad who was around. And of course, you always hear that women’s fertility decreases as they age, but I just… I really thought it would happen for us.”

“Maybe it still can. Or like you said, there are other ways to become a mom, and you’d make such a great one.”

“I know,” she says with such Lily-like confidence I smile in spite of the heartache I feel for my sister—and for Alec too.

“Have you guys thought about therapy?”

She snorts. “He’d have to actually be around for that. I’ve been distant—I’ll admit that. But his way of dealing with it is to work more than ever. Now we hardly see each other, and when we do, there’s just this… distance.”

Lily sighs. “I don’t know what to do, Gracie. I genuinely don’t. Maybe you’re the smart one, steering clear of men. Why do they have to be so difficult?”

For some reason, my first thought is Sebastian Andrews. Difficult doesn’t begin to explain the man. Or what I feel when I’m around him.

To say nothing of the mysterious Sir.

Both of whom are taken.

Difficult indeed.

“You know I’m here. If you want to talk,” I say softly.

“I know,” she says, pulling me in for a hug. “I forget sometimes that my little sister no longer needs my help to put her hair in a bun for ballet class and can actually be a pretty good listener.”

We wrap our arms around each other, and I squeeze her tight. “What are the chances you could help me with my hair just one more time?”

She pulls back and gives me a critical once-over that doesn’t bother me as much as it usually might, because it means that for now, at least, her attention is on something other than her heartache. “You’re not wearing that, right?”

I do a sexy sway in my frumpy clothes and tennis shoes. “Of course I am. A journalist is covering the tasting tonight. What if they want my picture to go with the article? I must look my best!”

She shakes her head, and I push her to the back of the store and into the small staff bathroom, pulling the garment bag off the small hook on the door. I hear her turn on the small space heater, then unzip the bag and let out an un-Lily-like squeal, “Oh, I love this dress! I haven’t seen you wear it in forever.”