Page 26 of Old Money

I get to the restaurant twenty minutes early, but Susannah is already there.

She waves to get my attention—as if I could miss her sitting at that table, smack in the center of the room.

I wave back and sidle through the crowded restaurant, the whole place so boisterous with chitchat it sounds like one big birthday party.

Adelina’s , I growl at myself. What the hell was I thinking?

I wasn’t, really. I’d been caught completely off guard yesterday, when Susannah texted: Just circling back about lunch!

Two weeks had passed since that strange moment in the parking lot, and I hadn’t heard from her.

I’d started to worry—she’d been so insistent, squeezing my hand—and then her text appeared.

I’d written back immediately: Tomorrow? Adelina’s?

It was the first restaurant that that came to mind, and now I realize why.

I was probably seventeen the last time I was here. And I was definitely with Susannah.

“I just can’t believe it,” Susannah marvels, surveying the room. “It looks exactly the same.”

Growing up, Adelina’s was the special-occasion restaurant, reserved for major milestones: graduations, big birthdays, the day I finally got my license after failing the road test twice.

There were nicer, more culinary, restaurants in town, but Adelina’s had a dressy, festive vibe, with its gilded chandeliers and cushy velvet chairs.

It also had an outrageous chocolate lava cake—a dessert I’d believed Adelina’s invented.

Even after I learned it was a ’90s restaurant staple, I maintained that Adelina’s was the finest—well worth the forty-minute wait.

“Smells the same too,” I reply, taking my seat, suddenly overcome with the scent of sautéed garlic, browned butter and the charred edges of last night’s steak au poivre—a trio so familiar that it stuns me like a spell.

“They haven’t changed the menu! Look, the ham salad. Remember?”

She reaches over, tapping on the menu in front of me, and the light catches the gleaming, gray diamond on her finger.

I nod and sit back, the nostalgic haze clearing.

I glance over, taking in the rest of Susannah’s prim new look: her hair is freshly blown out and barretted.

She’s dressed a notch too formally, in a creamy shift and pale yellow jacket.

I’m not positive, but I think she’s even wearing pantyhose.

This is not Susannah Joyce, with the big hair and vicious laugh. This is the future Mrs. Patrick Yates.

I have a thousand questions for her: Why did you come back early? Why did you want to see me so badly? Above all: What the hell happened? But I’m not asking questions today. Today was her idea. I need to be listening when she tells me why.

“I already ordered the lava cake,” she says. “Well, two.”

I feel my own surprised smile.

“I was worried they’d run out!” she says with a big shrug, her fingers splayed cartoonishly—a flash of the old her.

I let myself laugh. And, with hesitancy, she does too. The knot in my chest slackens as the both of us break down in quiet hysterics.

And for thirty miraculous minutes, everything’s fine.

It’s very close to fun. We both order the house salad: a pile of iceberg lettuce, delivered with a gravy boat of tangy, pink dressing and silver bowl of garlic bread.

My stomach is still too anxious for me to eat much, but the rest of me is having a surprisingly great time.

We chat. We swap memories from Adelina’s, and talk about how weird it is that the village still doesn’t even have a Starbucks.

We sidestep the touchy subject of family, and other than that, it’s oddly comfortable. Then, Susannah forgets herself.

“How’s work these days?” she asks.

“At the club? It’s fine. It’s—”

“Right,” she says, touching her fingertips to her forehead. “I meant, before you— I forgot for a second. We just saw you there.”

Both of us stare at the table, the sound of that “we” setting in like a storm. And that’s the end of lunch.

“Susannah,” I murmur. “We don’t have to tiptoe around him. All right?”

“I was just trying to be sensitive.”

“I know,” I say evenly. “But what’s the point, right? I’d rather we just talk about it honestly.”

Susannah looks panicked—a wholly unfamiliar expression on her face. When did she get so fragile ?

“I’m not saying, you know—‘show me the dress!’ ” I continue. “But if he comes up? We can’t avoid the subject all summer. Susannah, I’m working at your wedding venue.”

She coughs out a laugh.

“Fine,” she nods at the table. “Fair. No tiptoeing.”

“I know that’s how we’re supposed to behave, here in ‘the Briar.’ ”

I roll my eyes and mime a snooty laugh.

“What?” Susannah tilts her head, confused.

Shit. Shit, what is wrong with me?

“Nothing, just this—” I think fast. “It’s this stupid thing Jamie says. It’s a joke.”

She raises her eyebrows, but, like a gift from God, the lava cakes arrive before she can respond.

“Wow,” she declares, eyes fluttering.

“Seriously,” I say, lifting my spoon. “So, we’ve covered work on my end. Jamie Hotdog is my boss, et cetera. Your turn.”

Susannah nudges her cake, feigning relaxation.

“Um, good. Great, in fact,” she says to the plate. “All those years I spent trying to climb the ladder—I never realized how satisfying a job could be.”

I try to say something nice, but I can’t even dredge up a platitude.

“I love it, is the truth,” Susannah says. “I mean, it’s not forever. But it’s great for now.”

She glances over with a bashful smile. The old Susannah was ambitious and proud, and now she’s all apology. Anger flashes through me as I think about how small and flat and meek he’s made her. And she allowed him to.

“Are you thinking of moving on?”

“No, I mean after kids,” she says. “We’d like to start soon.”

The words come out in a startling rush as though she’s been holding them in.

“Oh,” I mumble, numb and horrified. “Uh-huh.”

“Yes, that’s the plan,” she continues, still in that odd, propulsive way. “I’m going to step back.”

“Stop working, you mean.”

Now I hear the pressure in my own voice. We’re not yelling at each other, just speaking very firmly.

“People do it, Alice,” Susannah says, her voice twanging with restrained defensiveness as she loses her grip on it. “People raise their children.”

“ Excuse me?”

I scoff—a loud, disgusted scoff—and both of us glance around the restaurant, checking to see if anyone’s noticed the fight breaking out in the middle of the room.

“Alice, please don’t do this.”

“Do what, Susannah?” I hiss. “What am I doing?”

The urge to shout is so intense it aches like a cramp in my throat.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t have said anything,” she cedes in a crisp, polite tone. “About anything.”

“Why not?” I’m shaky with rage, more adrenaline in my veins than blood. “ ‘People do it,’ right? Totally normal choices you’ve made.”

Susannah props her elbow on the table with a clumsy bang, dropping her forehead into her hand.

“I don’t know why I thought this would go differently.”

My breath comes out in choppy laughter.

“Me neither!”

Susannah looks around again—embarrassed now, by me.

“Look, Alice, this is not what I came here to do. I apologize, okay? I know this is sensitive.”

The word hits like ice water.

“Sensitive,” I repeat. “Susannah, you are engaged to a murderer. You are talking about having children with a murderer.”

On the edge of my vision, our server approaches, then quickly changes direction. Susannah and I are still as statues, almost head-to-head.

“Alice,” she says, nearly inaudible now. “You don’t know wh—”

“Yes, I do, Susannah. I know exactly what I’m talking about. You know I do.”

Then, another miracle: Susannah crumples inward, a hand covering her face. A tear free-falls into her lap, and then another. My anger dissolves, and I realize this is it—this is my window. I reach through it.

“Susannah,” I say, reaching for her other hand. “Tell me. What is happening?”

“That’s not what...” she whimpers, a ragged inhale cutting her off.

“What? What is it?” I squeeze her hand, willing her to squeeze back. “Please, I want to help.”

“Stop.” She sits up, shaking her hand out of mine. “Enough.”

Susannah breathes in, composing herself. She dabs her face discreetly with her napkin, then tucks it back in her lap.

“He forgives you. Okay?” She looks me in the eye, resolute and calm again. “That’s what I came here to tell you. He forgives you.”