On Common Ground. Tracy Kelleher
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automatic ice maker made a racket when she pressed one glass and then the other against the lever. “I mean, really, a girl could start to feel rejected,” she shouted over it.
Lilah waited for her to finish. “I haven’t looked at my information packet yet. It’s in my knapsack. But like I already told you, I’ll be running around doing my official best, so I figure it’ll be more convenient.”
Mimi poured in the tonic water and added a lime before handing Lilah her drink. “Cheers.”
They clinked glasses. Lilah took a sip, and then coughed. “Whoa. I’m barely standing as it is. After drinking this, I’m not sure I’ll make it to dinner.”
“Not to worry. I already placed an order for takeaway. I thought we’d trip the light fantastic and dine on our favorite Grantham food.” Mimi smiled slyly.
Lilah blinked. “Don’t tell me. Hoagies from Hoagie Palace?” She patted her heart.
Mimi tipped her glass and gulped a generous mouthful. “What else? I ordered a tuna melt for you and a Cheese Steak-Fried Egg Special for me with extra mozzarella cheese sticks and hot sauce. And did I mention the two orders of fries with Ranch dressing?”
“Please, you’re killing me—and that’s before all the cholesterol.”
“Not only that. I bribed Press to pick it all up. I say, what are half brothers for after all, if not to run errands? Plus, I figure that if we’re totally blitzed when it’s time for you to crash, he can give you a lift back to campus.”
“I wouldn’t want to put him out. I can always call a taxi or, really, walk from here. What is it to campus? Half a mile? A mile at most? Heck, I could run that in under five minutes.” The mammoth, yellow stucco house was located on Singleton Street, one of the main arteries leading into town from the west—the fancy side of town. White pillars flanked the front portico. Twelve-foot-high rhododendrons lined the circular drive. The Historical Society of Grantham held their gala under a tent in the gardens every spring.
“Walk? Oh, please. Drink some more.” She followed her own advice.
Lilah took another sip and felt the alcohol go directly to her bones. The nagging ache in her right Achilles tendon from overtraining seemed to magically disappear.
Mimi smacked her half-empty glass on the counter. The ice rattled. “So, let’s get back to the really important things. Like Justin Bigelow. How does he look? Still incredible?”
Lilah took another slow sip and leaned her elbow against the center island. She used her other hand to brace herself from taking an inelegant nosedive into the fruit bowl containing an artful display of limes, lemons and pomegranates.
Pomegranates? Lilah couldn’t help thinking. What real person has pomegranates in their fruit bowl? The answer came to her quickly. She was not among “real” people.
She decided to hold off on her drink. And instead narrowed her eyes, trying to picture Justin driving his little sports car, the windows open to the breeze, the light dancing off the polished wood steering wheel and the tips of his clipped curls. “What can I say? He looked like a god—all sun-kissed and good enough to eat.” She sighed.
“You make him sound like a Florida orange.”
Lilah stared at her. “Vitamin C was the last thing on my mind when he picked me up earlier today.”
Mimi rubbed her chin. “You know, I always wondered how he got into Grantham. I mean, I know he was a terrific athlete, captain of the lightweight crew, right?”
“Uh-huh.” Lilah eyed her drink and went for another sip. Why not? She wasn’t driving.
Mimi, way ahead of her, drained what was left of hers and took that as a cue to make another. She held up the bottle of gin to Lilah.
She shook her head. “I’m not there yet.”
“I am.” Mimi fixed herself another drink. “Somehow I kind of figured that he got special dispensation being a faculty kid,” she said, her back to Lilah. “I mean, it wasn’t as if I ever heard him engage in an intellectual discussion.”
“No, that’s not true. I remember staying up late one night in his and Stephen’s suite. I was haranguing him about how the French Impressionists were overhyped, and that it was their German counterparts who really deserved the attention. He might not have known his Monets from Manets, but we had a real conversation and he made me think.”
“And what did Stephen say?”
Lilah waved her hand dismissively. “Oh, he wasn’t there, as usual—debating or editing or something.” She frowned in thought. “No, Justin wasn’t dumb, not by a long shot. It’s just that for some reason he liked to give the impression that he never studied. I don’t know why. And I’m pretty sure he was a double major—economics and music. So how dumb could he be?”
“Cheers.” Mimi clinked her refreshed glass against Lilah’s. They both took healthy sips. “So maybe I’m wrong. It’s just I always pictured him as this sexy golden retriever—great hair, sunny personality, always willing to roll over and expose his privates—adding a brain to the equation kind of dulls the fantasy.”
Lilah laughed so hard the liquid squirted out her nostrils.
“So he’s remained gorgeous.”
If Mimi only knew how gorgeous, Lilah thought and reflexively put the cool glass to her lips.
“But what else? Did you find out what’s happened to him since college? Wasn’t he working to make the national team or something?” Mimi asked.
Lilah removed her glass and blinked at it, surprised that somehow she’d managed to finish it. “What’s he been up to? Well, let me tell you, you’ll never, ever guess.” She leaned forward with her chin to emphasize her words, grabbing the edge of the countertop at the last minute.
“A challenge.” Mimi closed her eyes. “What is he doing? What does your typical ex–Ivy Leaguer do once he lands in the real world? Let’s see. Investment banker?”
Lilah coughed. “Did I say Justin was typical?”
Mimi opened her eyes wide. “Lawyer?”
Lilah rolled her eyes. “Where are your vaunted investigative reporter instincts?”
“Pole dancer?”
Lilah laughed. “An interesting career choice, but no.”
“I don’t know. Dog trainer? I’m running out of ideas here.”
“Told you you’d never guess.” She raised an eyebrow. “He teaches kindergarten.”
“You’re kidding me. Mr. Sexy Labrador teaches little kids?”
The door to the mudroom off the kitchen opened. A high-pitched squeal and hushing adult tones could be heard. Then a gauzy pink tutu came whirling through the kitchen.
Lilah looked baffled as a young girl wearing a rhinestone tiara—at least, Lilah hoped it was rhinestone—with the word Princess spelled out in large loopy letters on the front of her leotard twirled around them, anointing them with a feathered wand as she did so.
Lilah looked askance at Mimi. “I take it this is not the amazing transformation that Press has undergone over the years?”
Mimi shook her head. “No, this is not Press. Lilah, allow me to introduce my six-year-old half sister, Brigid.” Mimi cocked her head to the mudroom. The sound of steps grew nearer. “And my newest stepmother, Brigid’s mom, Noreen. Noreen, this is Lilah Evans, who’s being honored at Reunions.”
Noreen was a striking woman with a shock of tamed red hair and pale skin with the texture of clotted cream. She circled the island, transferring the BMW key fob to her left hand, and held out her right. The nails had a perfect French manicure. “Of course. What an honor