Sunday night, Cate glanced sideways at Stella, stabbing a stiff Carolina shrimp with her fork. Ever since the sleepover, Stella had been acting like a total princess: breezing around the town house like she owned the place, “accidentally” unpacking her clothes in the hall closet designated for Cate’s shoes, finishing the last eggs Norwegian their chef Greta had cooked specifically for Cate.
On top of everything, this morning she’d found Lulu’s creature using her velvet couch as a scratching post. Couldn’t they build it a doghouse out in the backyard or something?
Across the round table, Winston’s arm was wrapped around Emma’s shoulder. Cate inhaled, the sharp smell of basil pistou stinging her nose. After dinner she was going to tell her dad that Stella had tried to steal all of her friends. Of course Cate didn’t want to do it, but someone had to let her dad know he couldn’t just throw four girls in a house together and expect them all to play nice.
It had only been one weekend, but the Childses’ departure was long overdue. Surely the thrill of dating a supermodel would wear off soon, and her dad would move on—and the British Invasion would move out.
Emma smoothed down the lapel of Winston’s Etro suit. It was pin-striped, which his guy at Barneys assured him was “slimming,” but it just made him look like a preppy mobster.
Just then a cell phone blared techno music so loud Cate half expected people to bust out glow sticks and start raving. At the table next to them, a woman with thinning gray hair looked up from the roasted duck breast she was pretending to eat and stared at the girls disapprovingly.
Winston glanced around the table. “No cell phones, girls. Ordinarily I wouldn’t mind, but tonight is our first dinner as a fa—”
Cate cringed. He had stopped himself, but she knew he’d been going to say family. She looked at Lola, who was slumped in her chair, poking at her crab cake. Andie was looking for split ends—she hadn’t said two words all night. Right, Cate thought, one big happy family.
Emma threaded her arm through Winston’s and squeezed.
“Sorry,” Stella said, pulling her iPhone from her blue Lauren Merkin clutch. “It’s Bridget—just a minute?”
Stella read the message and giggled, then covered her mouth with her hand. “She’s too funny,” she whispered to Cate, shooting her a smug smile. “She wants to know if you have a unibrow—she doesn’t know anyone who took so long to get their first snog.”
Cate bit the end off her shrimp and swallowed hard.
Emma glanced up from her chilled fennel soup. “You all right, girls?” she asked, looking from Cate to Stella. In the soft light of the restaurant, her flawless skin glowed.
“Yes, Mum,” Stella said, wrapping her arm around Cate’s chair and plastering on a fake grin. “We’re great.”
Emma glanced at Lola, who was now dissecting her crab cake as though it might contain buried treasure. “Lola,” she coaxed, playing with the silver chain on her neck, “you’re awfully quiet. Are you still feeling jet-lagged?”
“Yes,” Lola said, glancing around the table at Cate, Stella, and Andie. “That must be it….” She stuck her fork into the crab cake so that it stood up straight. Behind her, two waiters in crisp white shirts strode past.
“Well, you’ll get a proper sleep tonight and be all rested up for school tomorrow.”
“Cate, tell them something fun about Ashton,” Winston prompted, looking to her for support.
Cate leaned back as a blond guy who was too cute to be just a waiter—clearly a wannabe actor—cleared her shrimp tails. “It’s good,” she said flatly.
The waiter reached around Lola to grab her plate. Lola leaned back, her napkin sliding off her lap. She reached down to get it and hit her head on the corner of Stella’s chair. “Ow!” she cried.
“Are you all right?” her mom asked, resting a hand on Lola’s thin leg.
“I’m fine,” she grumbled, readjusting her hair so it covered her ears.
Two waiters circled the table, dropping off plates of swordfish à la plancha, rib eye with sautéed porcinis, and pan-seared sea scallops. Winston clinked his fork against his crystal champagne glass.
“Dad,” Cate hissed, looking around the crowded restaurant. A couple and their teenage son turned away from their dinner to look at them. The boy, in a navy blazer, stared at Winston, then at the girls. Cate sank a little lower in her burgundy velvet chair.
“Girls, we have an announcement,” he said, bringing Emma’s hand to his lips and kissing it twice. “I am so glad we’re all here, together, in New York. Emma and I spent the summer talking about this and planning this, and now it’s finally happened. These last couple days have been incredible.”
Cate coughed loudly—incredible wasn’t quite the word she would have used.
Stella sneered at Cate.
Andie rolled her eyes.
And Lola let out a shuddering sigh.
Emma tugged at the chain around her neck and smiled at the girls. “It’s lovely that you’re all getting along so well. You’re already treating each other like family—like sisters.”
Cate felt like a fish bone had gotten caught in her throat. Stella was not her sister—not even close. She was a fungus. A bacteria. A leech she needed to have removed. Andie might be annoying, but she was relatively harmless.
Emma unclasped the chain from around her neck and something heavy slid into her palm. “I didn’t feel right wearing it until we told you girls.” She smiled.
“We’re engaged!” Winston blurted out. Emma laughed playfully and opened her hand, revealing a glittery ring with a diamond the size of a gobstopper. It looked like something out of a twenty-five-cent machine—too big to be real.
As Winston slipped it on Emma’s finger, Cate felt like she was watching some bad romantic comedy. This wasn’t her father. That wasn’t Emma’s ring. And this definitely wasn’t her life.
Cate touched the coral Fendi pashmina around her shoulders—her mother’s pashmina. Sometimes it felt like Cate was the only one who remembered her.
“Now, Emma, I have a surprise for you,” Winston said. “I spoke with Gloria Rubenstein—that wedding planner you loved. And she said there’s an opening at the boathouse in Central Park…next Sunday.”
“Sunday!” Emma let out a small, surprised laugh.
Cate’s stomach lurched, like she was in a cab that had stopped short at a light. She turned to Stella, who was biting her lip so hard it looked like she might draw blood.
“I know it’s soon,” Winston explained, “but I can’t wait a year to marry you—I don’t even want to wait a month.” A waitress near the door was ignoring her tables, hugging a stainless steel water pitcher to her chest, waiting to hear Emma’s response. “What do you think?”
Cate glanced at Lola, who was covering her mouth with her bony hand.
“I think that’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard,” Emma replied, wiping the tears from her face. The waitress set the steel pitcher down on a table and clapped until the manager, a thin man with an unusually large head, rushed over and whispered something in her ear.
Emma wrapped her thin arms around Winston’s side, a tear falling down each cheek. Cate felt like she might cry too.
“Girls,” Emma explained, looking around the table, “I know it might seem fast, but we’ve been thinking about this since we met. We both just sort of knew everything was right.”
Stella pushed a bloated scallop around her plate with her fork, annoyed. If Winston and her mum “just knew” something, they certainly hadn’t bothered to tell anyone else.
“And now here we all are.” Emma looked at Winston, a dreamy expression on her face that Cate wished she could Photoshop off.
Winston matched Emma’s expression and Stella had to cough to keep from gagging. “We’re hiring a wedding planner, of course, but we’d love for you girls to get involved, too,” he said. “Stella, since you’re such a fashion guru, why don’t you pick out the bridesmaid dresses for you and the girls?”
Cate felt like Winston had thrown his tumbler of ice-cold Pellegrino in her face. Stella was the fashion guru?
Emma tucked a golden strand of hair behind her ear. “Andie, maybe you could help me pick out the flowers for the tables, and Lola, you could help decide on the band.”
Andie straightened up in her chair and offered Emma a small smile.
Cate rolled her eyes. If Emma Childs had asked Andie to wash the kitchen floor with her tongue, she would have jumped at the opportunity.
“And Cate,” Winston added, “you could do a tasting at Greene Street Bakery and pick out the perfect cake for us.”
Cate gripped the seat of her chair, digging her manicured nails into the silk fabric. She hated desserts—and had ever since she ate her first chocolate chip cookie. Had her dad totally forgotten? She touched the Fendi pashmina again, a knot creeping up the back of her throat.
“Cate?” Winston prompted.
“That…sounds great.” Cate tried hard to smile. Lola was chewing nervously on a piece of her hair, and Stella was biting her nail. Andie had dissected her scallop into ten tiny pieces. Nobody was looking at anyone else.
So it was official. Their parents were officially getting married. Stella and Lola Childs were officially residents of the Upper East Side. And Cate’s life…was officially over.