Page 59 of At First Smile

“Ah! There is nothing like staying at home,

for real comfort.”

~Jane Austen, Emma

“Explain this to me like I’m four,” Viet said, one dark brow arched. “You’ll go to your hometown for a week for your cousin’s wedding, fly back here, and then fly back again for another week for your uncle’s fiftieth? All within the same month? Do I have that right?”

Willa ran a manicured finger around the rim of her glass. “Why don’t you just stay in New York the entire time?”

“I can’t take a month off!” Elle scoffed.

Eleanor “Elle” Davidson regretted her rare decision to leave her downtown L.A. office before seven to make happy hour with her friends, Viet Vo and Willa Andrews. Their badgering was akin to the Spanish Inquisition. Only with more rosé and less physical torture.

“Aren’t you the boss?” Willa signaled the server to bring another round.

“Yes.” Elle looked around as if Sloan-Whitney, the healthcare system she worked at, had secret HR spies at the bar. She bent closer and whispered, “I’m the boss bitch.” And there it was… She was officially tipsy.

“Yes, queen!” Willa snapped her fingers.

“I may lose my feminist card for that one.”

“More importantly, aren’t you the National Director of Virtual Medicine? If anyone should be able to work remotely, it should be you.” Viet tipped his glass toward Elle.

Willa shimmied and raised her hands in the air. “Brilliant! Would you Airbnb your place? My cousin is a visiting nurse and needs a short-term rental in August. I can guarantee he’s very clean.”

“What?” Elle tried to blink away the rosé fuzziness.

“Your cousin Ned? Yes, please! He’s hot, despite his old man name.” A pale blush swept across Viet’s face.

“You’re a married man.” She tsked and then turned to Elle with a wink. “But Ned is single and hetero-leaning.”

Like a modern-day version of Jane Austen’s Emma Woodhouse, Willa was ever the matchmaker. Just like Emma, she was bad at it. Really Bad. Over the years, Elle had been subjected to a string of Willa curated meet-cutes. None of which were cute.

“I do love that Ned is a boy nurse.” Elle batted her hazel eyes, the rosé warmth spreading across her limbs.

“He prefers man nurse.”

“And what a man!” Viet raised his Old Fashion.

“Thank goodness he’s my cousin by marriage or this would feel a little Lannister Family Rules to me,” Willa joked.

“Back to my opening thesis. Elle, it makes sense. You’ve been trying to get your headquarters to be more open to remote work. You could pilot it.” Like the highly paid corporate lawyer that he was, Viet laid out his argument.

“You just want to use your spare key to catch Ned in his underpants.” Elle aimed her now empty glass at Viet.

“I think Willa may be more apt to do that as she mentions how they aren’t related by blood each time his name comes up.” Viet waggled his finger at Willa, who flipped him off in response.

“Besides, you hate flying. When we went to London last summer, you needed three glasses of wine to get on the plane. You especially hate non-direct flights. Don’t you have to take two flights and a wagon train to get to Perry, New York?” Willa mocked.

It was unoriginal, but Elle gave her the finger.

“Also, Uncle Pete,” Viet murmured, playing his trump card.

Damn it. Elle closed her eyes. Guilt churned in her belly.

Her best friend of eighteen years knew Elle better than anyone. Even if he didn’t know all of her. Who did, after all?

He knew how important her surrogate family of Uncle Pete, his wife Janet, and their son Tobey were to Elle. A simple silver framed photo of Elle in a cap and gown beside a grinning Pete and Janet, while a smirking Tobey gave her bunny ears, was the lone family picture displayed in her condo.

Pete, Janet, and Tobey were far too important to Elle to be dealt the last fourteen years of bad excuses that she used to not visit. They deserved better.

“Ok,” she whispered her defeat.

“Hand me your phone.” Viet held his hand out, palm up.

“ Why ?”

Viet’s forehead puckered. “Eleanor Marie Davidson.”

“Oh, you got full-named.” Willa laughed, sipping the fresh cocktail that had poofed into existence without Elle noticing.

Perhaps, the wine fairy would bring Elle a fresh glass to numb the dread of being forty minutes from the nearest cocktail bar for a month. More importantly, to dull the anxiety about being in a town where painful phantoms haunted each corner. How much rosé could she pack in her luggage?

“Fine,” she muttered and dropped her phone into Viet’s hand.

“I’m texting Uncle Pete to tell him the news.”

“Wait, I need to get my boss to sign off.” Elle reached for the phone.

But Viet was faster. “You’re a boss bitch. You’ll make it happen.”

“Fine.” She puffed out a breath. “Willa, let Ned know he can stay at my place.”

“Oh, I texted him five minutes ago. He’s pumped.”

“What if Viet’s emotional terrorism hadn’t worked?”

“Plan B was for you to fall in love with Ned via close proximity.”

“You read too many romance novels.” Elle took Willa’s drink from her and sipped.

Stupid alcohol . She narrowed her eyes at the cocktail, scrunched her nose, and handed it back. It was the three glasses of rosé’s fault that she was doing this. At least, that’s what she’d tell herself.

“No such thing! I’ve had some of my best orgasms thanks to Denise Williams.” She fanned herself with the card-stock menu.

“Anyways, I’ll find you a dream Airbnb to live in while you’re in Perry-dise.

I wonder if I can find one with a hot farmer waiting for a city girl to melt his pants off with her steamy sass! ”

“Check the filter options,” Viet deadpanned.

“This will be more like a Stephen King novel, only Carrie returns to get doused with even more buckets of blood.” Elle rested her head on the table, its cool smooth surface sobered her to what a terrible idea this was.

“Except in this version Carrie returns as a badass healthcare executive with killer fashion sense and a hot bod.” Viet placed Elle’s phone beside her head.

“Totes! Also, you style your hair way better than in high school.”

Face pinched, Elle raised her head. “Why did I show you my senior yearbook?”

“It will be fine.” Viet covered Elle’s hand with his, warmth seeping through her. “You’re going home.”

Only she wasn’t going home. She was going back to where she’d grown up.