The Boyfriend (The Boss 7)

Susan shrugged and slid her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, an unambiguous “no hugging” signal. “I ended up in town.”

“I’m glad you did,” I said as we went into the kitchen.

The combination kitchen and dining room was as big as the entire living room, but here there was no open loft overhead. The slanted roof had two long skylights and a small chandelier made out of deer antlers—a popular decor choice in the area—hung over the big dining table. Molly had set out paper plates and paper towels for napkins; I felt right at home with that setup.

“Molly, we have company. You could have gotten some real dishes out,” Sasha said, laughing a little in embarrassment.

I shook my head. “Don’t do that on my account. I’m a big fan of dishes you don’t have to wash.”

“I’m sure things are a lot different when you have someone else washing the dishes,” Susan said, and I couldn’t tell if it was a dig at me or what.

Susan didn’t like me. I’d just come to accept that as fact. A big part of that not liking me stemmed from our disastrous first dinner together. Susan’s husband had been openly resentful of our money, and Susan had been uncomfortable herself. It had set the tone for all of our interactions after that.

The fact that she’d made it clear she was only interested in my kidney, and nothing else, hadn’t helped at all.

We took pizza and breadsticks from the boxes in the center of the table, and Molly got us red plastic cups for pop. When we were all seated, Sasha asked, “So, Sophie. What have you been up to these days?”

I was glad I’d just taken a bite so I could consider my answer while I chewed. Anything I’d been “up to” probably wasn’t anything they’d appreciate me sharing at the dinner table. And nobody wanted to hear about how I’d bought a yacht or run off to Venice with my boyfriend, anyway.

I swallowed and said, “Well, we’ve been pretty busy with my mom’s wedding.”

Not really. But they didn’t know that. And weddings were a topic everyone was reasonably neutral on.

“Congratulations to your mother,” Sasha said with a smile. “How exciting for her.”

“She’s never been married before,” I went on. “So, we’re really going all out.”

“Is she getting married at the Plaza?” Molly asked, her face lighting up. “That’s where everyone rich gets married in New York.”

“Molly!” Susan said, horrified at the mention of money.

“No, she’s getting married at my house on Long Island.” I tended to say “Long Island” instead of “Sagaponack” or “The Hamptons” because it didn’t sound quite so snobby. “But I got married at the Plaza.”

“Can I see pictures?” Molly asked. “Do you have any on your phone?”

“Do I have my wedding pictures on my phone?” I reached for it in my back pocket.

Sasha made an “ah-ah” noise as I did. “No phones at the table.”

“Oh, sorry,” I said sheepishly.

“Mom. She’s not a child,” Susan said with a roll of her eyes. “You’ll have to excuse my mother, Sophie. She’s been anti-cellphone ever since Renee got caught playing some maze game on her flip phone in tenth-grade biology.”

“I promise I’ll show you sometime,” I told Molly. Heck, I’d let her see the video if she wanted when she came to our house.

“It’s too bad we couldn’t go to your wedding,” Molly said, taking a bite of a breadstick. She finished her statement around it. “We didn’t find out about you until after.”

That wasn’t true. Molly and Susan hadn’t found out about me until after her father had died, but Sasha had known for a long time.

“Well, you should invite me to your wedding, then, to make up for it,” I said with a smile to mask the feeling of my rib cage being crushed.

I loved my family. I loved my mother. But sitting in the kitchen with the Tangen family, knowing that they’d had many meals just like this one as one big, loving unit, made it really hard to keep my pizza down. I was in my father’s house, but he’d never been my father. Would he have even wanted me there now, when he’d never wanted me before?

After dinner, Susan stepped outside for a cigarette. I went with her with the excuse that I could use fresh air to help the pizza settle. She didn’t argue, but she didn’t seem thrilled, either.

I sat beside her on the wide porch steps. “This place is gorgeous.”

“Not what you were expecting?” She took a drag off her cigarette and blew it out, staring across the clearing. “You probably thought you were coming to a trailer or something.”

“What’s wrong with trailers?” I asked. “I grew up in a trailer. I mean, not like a nice, new trailer. They make them so fancy now. But it was fine. And I was way too poor then to ever think about looking down on anyone now.”