She nods. "And you are?"
"I'm Jacqueline."
In a minute that my name leaves my lips, I can see it in her face that she recognizes me. She introduces her husband, Lincoln, Dante's brother who is much harder to read.
After we exchange pleasantries, I look for an opportunity to head upstairs. No only am I dripping wet, the air conditioning is also chilling me to my bone.
"If you don't mind, I'm going to take a shower and I'll be down in just a few minutes,” I finally say.
"Yeah, of course. Take your time!” Marguerite yells after me as I head upstairs.
I make the shower as quick as possible, washing my hair. I want to dry it, but I decide that it will be better to get down there sooner rather than later.
I do apply a little bit of makeup to spruce myself up and put on the same exact summer dress that I've been wearing since last night, since I don’t have any other options.
I check my look in the mirror. It's a beautiful, ornate antique standing mirror in the corner of the bedroom, which I didn’t notice last night. Everything about this bedroom is luxurious. There’s a beautiful view of the backyard and the pool, linen sheets that feel like a cloud, and a gray slate-colored headboard to match.
The colors are painted a cool cream color and there's a painting of a seashell right across the way near the big bay window. The room looks like a luxury boutique five-star hotel, in the best sense.
Running my fingers through my wet hair, I hesitate again debating whether I should dry it to look more presentable, but again, decide against it.
No, they know that I slept over and we went swimming. There's no need to put on airs.
When I get downstairs, I find Dante sitting in the breakfast nook with Marguerite and Lincoln, chowing down on pancakes and waffles.
"Hey, you're here," he says, getting up and giving me a big warm hug. Keeping his arm draped over my shoulder, he introduces me to his family.
"We've actually already met," I say, waving to them again.
Marguerite has a big smile on her face, beaming from ear to ear. I don't know what he told her about us, but I have a sense that it was something good.
I sit down next to Dante. Marguerite is across from me and Lincoln's in the middle with his head buried in his phone. "Sorry, I just have to send out this email,” he mumbles.
Marguerite rolls her eyes. But when she sees me looking, she just shrugs and laughs it off. "Workaholic, you know?"
I nod. “So, where did the waffles come from?" I ask.
"Dante just made them,” Marguerite says.
“Really? That fast?”
He nods. I look at the kitchen and see the remnants of a busy morning in the sink. I grab one, lather it with a generous amount of syrup, and take a bite. The fresh dough and the little squares wake up my senses.
"Wow," I mumble, taking another big bite.
He smiles.
When I cut myself another slice, Dante reaches over and wipes a little bit of syrup from the corner of my lips. And just like that, with a few motions, I feel like I'm part of the family and we're just having another casual breakfast at home.
I ask Marguerite about her baby, congratulating them on the great news. She smiles and tells me how sick she has been, but it seems to finally have made the turn.
I ask them how long they've been together and what she does for a living. And she wows me with a few stories from the ER. All I really know about medicine is what I've seen on Grey's Anatomy and to meet someone who works and lives that life every day is kind of awe inspiring.
She asks about my work and my thesis, and I tell her that I'm about to graduate and start looking for work. Neither of them mention how difficult it will be to find a good paying job in the news industry and I appreciate the fact.
Overall, breakfast is a success. We get to know each other a little bit and everything is pleasant. Afterward, I offer to clean up and Marguerite stays behind to help. The guys go out on the porch.
"It's so nice to meet you," she says, putting her hand on mine as I wash the dishes. "Oh, you don't have to wash it by hand. We have a dishwasher."
I look in the sink. I'm about halfway done.
"It's fine. It won't take very long.” I shrug and she smiles even wider.
"You know, if anyone would have told me that you'd be the kind of girl that Dante brought home for the first time, well, I wouldn't believe it."
"Really? Why is that?"
"He was always such a permanent bachelor, I thought it would stay that way forever. It never occurred to me that he'd end up with someone like you."
The phrase end up escapes her lips and hangs in the air between us. It warms me from the inside out.
"Sorry, I don't mean to put pressure on you,” Marguerite says. "I know how it is."
"You do?" I raise an eyebrow. "Seems like you've been together with one person for a long time."
She laughs. "Yeah. So maybe I don’t know, but I don't want to pressure you either way."
"Thanks. I appreciate that.” I nod.
After drying my hands, we go out onto the back patio and join the guys. They're talking business and politics and Marguerite quickly changes the topic to our plans for today.
As the three of them talk amongst themselves, I glance down on my phone and suddenly remember that I have a date with Allison for which I’m half an hour late.
"Shit," I say under my breath.
"What's wrong?"
"Shit, shit, shit.”
17
Jacqueline
I run out of the house and down the steps. Dante catches up with me right outside his car when I realize that I don't have a way to get to town.
"Can you give me a ride?”
"Yes, what's going on?"
He runs back to grab his keys and hands me my bag. We jump into the BMW and speed off.
"Allison. I'm staying with her. We made plans to meet up at the French crepe café on Main Street somewhere. She was so angry at me for not texting her about where I was last night. And this was my way of making it up to her and I stood her up. I just forgot.” My voice trembles. “I don't even know how this happened. We went swimming and I totally was going to come back, get changed, and go see her. And then I ran into your brother and Marguerite and it just flew out of my head."
I feel myself ranting, and he just puts his hand on mine.
"It's going to be okay. She'll understand. We'll find her. She'll be mad. Buy her some lunch. Try to make amends."
"You don't understand. She's just, when she gets upset, she feels like she's been betrayed." I shake my head. "I've seen her friends come and go. She'd get close to someone for a while and then that person will be out of her life, never to be heard from again."
We drive down Main Street with its little boutiques with expensive bottles and knickknacks. Parents are walking with strollers, their older kids running ahead of them, a smile plastered on everyone's face.
Dante finds a spot by the street and parks.
I run into the café, even though at this point, I'm forty-five minutes late. Allison's nowhere to be found.