Page 10 of Just a Plot Twist (Tate Brothers #7)

Claire

“Nothing gold or silver, because that’s the previous major anniversaries’ colors,” Grandma says, her lips pulled tightly together like she’s chewing through a lemon rind.

We’re at the same kitchen table we sat at all those years that she lived here with me, Grandpa, and Sophie.

For all that can be said about Grandma’s lack of warmth and her maniacal insistence that I use coasters and placemats and all the formal things, I have to hand it to her for uprooting her life.

She wanted her granddaughters to stay in the only home they’d ever known. Not every grandparent would do that.

It was a sacrifice for them. There was lots of talk about what they gave up: the freedom to go where they wanted when they wanted to, my grandfather’s desire to run for mayor of Boulder, and a thinly veiled air of resentment that was more felt than articulated.

Still, I like to think maybe living in their daughter Marie’s house gave them some comfort, too.

After I graduated, they went back to their life in Boulder, but I didn’t mind. That meant Sophie and I had the place to ourselves, and except for when I was away in Fort Collins attending CSU, it’s been my home ever since.

And now Grandma is going over the big extravaganza she and the event center’s planner have put together for my grandparents’ sixtieth wedding anniversary. I want to help, even though my mind is on other things. Like my throbbing, tight ankle. And how Benson Kilpack now knows how much I weigh.

Okay. He probably doesn’t know my exact weight. Unless he’s one of those people who wins big at county fairs by guessing what people weigh. Was that really a thing? That seems so…barbaric.

He probably couldn’t guess my exact weight. Not that I know, either. I don’t get on the scale much. But he’s felt how heavy I am. And he’s basically touched my butt.

I will never recover from the mortification.

“So, when you say nothing silver or gold, does that include silverware? Like, should I find some other kind of cutlery?” I’ve got to get back to the task at hand.

Earlier in the day, my grandparents and I, along with Sophie, Oliver, baby Elizabeth, and Wilford, their huge Bernese Mountain Dog, celebrated my mom’s heavenly birthday with her favorite strawberry cake.

Like every year, my grandparents get teary-eyed when we sing “Happy Birthday.” They still miss their daughter, of course.

They also brought me chicken noodle soup and a bunch of reusable ice packs for my ankle .

Sweet of them, but I need some shut-eye. I have to go into work tomorrow with guns a blazing. Can’t have Rich McClain, or anyone, thinking I’m weak and ill-prepared for the city manager position now that I have this bum ankle.

Grandma gives me a withering look. “Non-silver cutlery? Of course not, Claire.”

She sighs deeply and then scowls at a tuft of Wilford’s coarse fur on her sleeve. She removes it with a scoff.

“Sophie and that dog of hers,” she mutters. “I’m so glad you don’t have a dog.” Without a glance in my direction, she returns again to her fancy notebook full of details of her anniversary celebration.

All this year, she’s been asking Grandpa for his opinions on this and that, but he doesn’t have any.

He doesn’t want a big party, but since he talked her into a cruise for their fiftieth, he begrudgingly agreed to a traditional celebration for this one.

With a string quartet. And all the friends they’ve made in their eighty years of life. And a fully catered spread.

“I mean no gold or silver decorations. As the sixtieth, everything must be diamond white. It’s tradition. A non-negotiable.” She turns her head and leans back. “Did you hear that, Vernon? Both the traditional and the modern gift for being married sixty years is—”

“Diamonds.” On the sofa, Grandpa’s eyes hold a bit of a twinkle, despite the glare, as he pauses the news station to meet my grandma’s gaze. “You’ve been telling me that for the last ten years, ever since our fiftieth. I’ve got things under control, Patricia.”

She holds up both palms. “Okay, okay. I don’t want you to forget. ”

Grandpa wouldn’t forget something that big. If I had to guess, I’d say he probably bought her some lovely diamond jewelry long ago and has it hidden away in some safe deposit box somewhere.

“Why aren’t you having this extravaganza in Boulder?” I ask her.

She looks at me like I’m slow. Maybe I’m just distracted, but I can’t tell her why.

“Because, Claire, I don’t like any of the venues in Boulder.

The colonial style of our venue is nice, it’s large enough for all our guests, and it’s halfway in between Boulder and Longdale.

We did make friends in the thirteen years we lived here.

Besides, this location is easier for you and Sophie. ”

“That is nice. Anyway, back to the decorations,” I say. Except I’m a little distracted by these texts that have started coming in from Benson Kilpack.

The man who knows how much I weigh.

I’m not overweight, but I do have curves, and in light of my allergies to the gym and my workplace stress these past few years, it’s no surprise that I haven’t exactly been Miss Fitness of America lately.

Grandma purses her carefully lined lips as she makes sure I’m paying attention to her and not on my phone.

“Everything will be white. All the décor, diamond white. And much of the food will be white. Including your favorite, mini coconut cream pies. It’s all high-end, Claire.

Of course, we’ll have some brightly colored vegetables and a few macarons on the tables, which will provide a nice contrast. But the overall aura is—

“White,” I supply. “Got it.”

She pores over her notes, reading them aloud. “I don’t want to forget anything,” she says .

The venue is taking care of the catering and white roses and gardenias, but we’re doing the décor. And I still have to go to several stores to gather the last of what we couldn’t order online.

I owe my life to her and Grandpa. It’ll be nice to celebrate them.

If that means tracking down honeycomb-shaped hanging topiaries at a party supply store in Denver, I’ll do it.

We discuss the venue and guest list before Grandma neatly removes several sheets of paper from her notebook.

“Here,” she says, handing the tidy stack to me.

Like Attila the Hun handing over his favorite sword.

“I’ve made you an abbreviated set of notes so you don’t forget anything.

I would be devastated if things weren’t perfect. ”

I swallow hard. No pressure.

“And please don’t ask anything of Sophie.” Grandma frowns. “She’s got too much on her plate as is.”

“So do I,” I can’t help adding. “You know Inez? The city manager? She’s about ready to pop with twins, so a lot of her responsibilities have fallen to me. I have a lot to do.”

“About ready to—” Grandma stops short and shudders. “Really, Claire, must you be so crass?”

“Sorry,” I mumble, then brighten. “But don’t worry, the extravaganza is going to be perfect.”

“It will.” Grandma’s eyes shine brightly. She’s like a grumpy Miss Manners—complete with the disaffecting, royal air. And Grandpa is just Grandpa—former military. Rigid and refined. A would-be politician, like one of those generals who run for office.

I get another text from Benson. He took a selfie with the dog he’s taking care of. It’s adorable. They both are .

Benson’s more handsome than adorable, but you get my drift.

My grandma disapproves of my phone etiquette right now, thus the little huff. I look up.

She stands. “Now that you’ve peeled your eyes away from that mobile device, I need to say one more thing.”

“Two more things,” Grandpa amends. He turns off the television and comes to stand next to his wife. They’re rigid, like they’re facing a battle. Atilla the Hun and…whoever his partner in crime was.

I can only blink.

“Yes, two things. First of all, the swans?” In the depths of her eyes, she’s searching my very soul, pleading out a pleasing answer from me.

“It’s expensive to order swans, Grandma.”

She tilts her head back and looks at the ceiling. Grandpa goes still, as if he’s bracing himself for the fallout.

“We’ve discussed the price,” she says. “I told you it didn’t matter.”

Once upon a time, prices did matter to them, which is why they had such a hard time when they lost the wind-powered energy field bid to Sebastian Tate.

My grandparents had put their whole souls into acquiring the land and permits to build a wind farm near Longdale Lake, but Sebastian and Oliver wouldn’t have it.

The Tates managed to convince the powers that be to sell them the land instead.

Vernon and Patricia Hanson are savvy businesspeople, and they managed to turn things around. You can’t keep the Hansons down for long.

That doesn’t mean they’re going to fully forgive the Tates. That’s never going to happen.

The swans have been a thing. The venue’s party planner refused to order them, saying something about how they can’t personally deal with live animals onsite.

When Sophie heard about Grandma’s outlandish request, she shamed me for even entertaining the thought.

“Swans are terrifying!” She moaned. “You don’t have to bend over backwards for something this ridiculous, Claire. ”

But I do. She doesn’t understand it, but I have to help my grandparents, if I can.

I offer a reassuring smile. “I ordered the swans. And they’ll be at the venue at six o’clock sharp. I was hoping you’d change your mind. You never know what a pair of swans will do.”

“The risks are what makes it exciting!” Grandma croons and Grandpa rolls his eyes.

“It’s the deepest desire of my heart to have them there,” she says.

She gathers her fists together against her chest. “I was nervous to ask you for fear you hadn’t done it.

But I’m relieved you have. It will be magical. ”