“Coffee till cocktails!” She laughs.
Charlotte throws her a polite smile and takes a sip. The wine is in fact delicious, much better than the glass of grocery store chardonnay she poured for herself while she was getting ready.
“It’s great,” she says, aware of Dayna’s eyes on her as she lowers the glass.
“Yes,” Dayna says. “It is. Too bad for Finch that I like it so much. We have to have it shipped by the case from California.”
Finch raises his eyebrows in an amused way and holds up a hand, rubbing his thumb and fingers together. “Every goddamn thing she likes is expensive!” He goes to his wife and wraps his arms around her shoulders, craning his neck to kiss her cheek. “She’s worth it, though!” Charlotte sneaks a look at Jason, sure he finds this whole display as over the top as she does, but his eyes are locked on Tucker across the room, his expression stony. When he finally turns back to them, their eyes meet, and she can see it all over his face. For all of his pronouncements this morning about her overreacting about Tucker’s Instagram, he doesn’t like the kid either.
Finch releases his wife, pats the side of her hip, and she giggles. “Come on,” he says to Jason, waving him toward the doors that lead out onto the patio. “Let me show you my new toy!”
As the doors close behind them, Dayna makes an exasperated face. “We have a pizza oven out there, a smoker, two grills, a rotisserie, but he’s never gotten as excited about anything as that damn Kegerator!”
“A Kegerator?” Charlotte says. She hasn’t heard of anyone having one since she was in grad school and the Georgia Tech students who lived across the street installed one in their kitchen. She remembers the sour smell of it when she stopped in on their parties, the sticky feel of the linoleum floor under the soles of her shoes.
“Yes,” Dayna says, leaning against the edge of the kitchen island and plucking a slice of cucumber from the overflowing tray of crudités in the center. “I finally relented and got it for him for his birthday last month. Not that a forty-eight-year-old man needs a Kegerator, but guys are impossible to shop for, aren’t they?”
“Sure.” Charlotte nods, thinking to herself that she and Jason gave up on birthday and anniversary presents years ago, instead putting the funds toward household things like landscaping, a new HVAC system. At first this felt like responsible adulting, but now it kind of feels like one more aspect of their relationship that they maybe shouldn’t have let go of so easily, like date nights, or kissing each other hello and goodbye at the beginning and end of the day.
“I mean, he’d prefer a new Tesla,” Dayna says. “But . . .” She flits her hand to her side. “Tucker, come here!” she says, calling to where he and Birdie are talking low beside the windows. “You two come eat some of this, chat with your mothers.” She smiles at Charlotte.
Tucker pulls out a stool from under the counter for Birdie and then sits beside her. He digs his hand into a pile of cubed cheese and deposits the cheese on a cocktail napkin printed with tiny navy crabs, the greedy gesture reminding Charlotte of her three nephews. Birdie takes a water cracker and nibbles on the edge.
Charlotte watches Tucker, noticing the smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks, seeing the adorable little boy he must have been not so long ago. When she first met him at school, picking up Birdie after that basketball game, he’d leaned in the passenger-side window and introduced himself to her just after closing the door for Birdie. Charlotte had watched him for a moment after he walked away, noting that though he was shorter than the others in the group of friends he was with, she could tell from the way he carried himself that he was the alpha. She could always pinpoint this with her students; it was in the way that they talked (excessively loud, to be sure everyone heard them) and the casual, assured gait.
“So how is your weekend? How is tennis going, Birdie?” Dayna says.
“Great!” Birdie nods politely, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “Our coach is super nice.”
“You’re the only freshman on the varsity team, I hear?” Dayna says.
“Not only that, but she started practicing with them when she was still in middle school,” Tucker says, looking slyly sideways at Birdie and nudging her in the waist. “She’s their best player.”
Birdie smiles. “Tucker . . .”
Charlotte purses her lips. She never sees Birdie like this, so demure, so modest, and she understands that her daughter is nervous—this is a first for all of them—but she still doesn’t like how Birdie seems to be making herself small.
“Birdie picked up a tennis racket for the first time when she was three, when we were at Jason’s parents’ place in the Outer Banks,” she says.
“Oh, they have a house there?” Dayna asks.
“Just a little condo,” Charlotte says. “In one of those little golf communities.”
“We have a house in Duck.” Dayna laughs. “Right on the water. I told Finchy that was a huge mistake, what with the hurricanes, but—” She crosses her fingers. “We’ve been lucky so far. Honestly, it wouldn’t really matter. We never get there. We prefer to spend the summer out west, at our place in Jackson Hole. Then, of course, last summer we were in the Seychelles. And before that, it was Tulum.” She rolls her eyes.
The insanity of it all, Charlotte thinks, grinning at her host. Poor thing. “Anyhow,” she says, clearing her throat. “We were in North Carolina and we’d brought Birdie to the court with a tote bag full of toys to keep her occupied while Jason and I played—nothing serious, just messing around—but tennis was all she wanted. We spent the rest of the vacation on the courts. She didn’t want ice cream, mini golf, anything. Just tennis. And it’s pretty much been like that ever since.” She reaches out to smooth the back of Birdie’s hair but when she does it, her daughter dips her head out of the way.
“Fabulous!” Dayna says, draining her wineglass. She walks to where the bottle is chilling in an ice bucket across the room. “You want more?” she says.
Charlotte eyes her glass and is surprised to see it’s nearly empty. She didn’t realize how fast she’d been drinking. “Sure,” she says. “Why not?”
“Well, tennis is a sport you can play forever,” Dayna says. “And the outfits are so cute!” She looks Birdie over and then turns to Charlotte. “Where did she play before high school? Are you guys at Washington Golf?” she says, referencing the country club up the road.
“No.”
“Congressional?” She tilts her head, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Army Navy?”
“We just go to Overlee,” Charlotte says, referencing the pool club that Jason’s family has belonged to since he was a kid.
“Oh.” Dayna frowns.
“I just always played through the county,” Birdie pipes up, her eyes meeting Charlotte’s. “At Tuckahoe Park or the courts at Yorktown or wherever.”
“Well, if you’re good, you’re good,” Dayna says with a shrug. “I mean, just look at Serena Williams and her sister and where they came from.” She makes a face like she’s just smelled something awful. “I’m from California, and trust me . . .”