I stared at her. “Did you make all this today?”
She shrugged. “It’s not a big deal. I didn’t want my mom to have to cook after working such a long day, so I snuck over here this afternoon to put things together. Plus, I enjoy it. I really haven’t gotten to cook for a large group in a while. I’d forgotten how much I like doing it. Help yourself.”
“Thanks.” I picked up an empty plate from the island and began to fill it. “And yes, a glass of wine sounds great.”
“It’s been nice to be home, but I’m actually getting a little antsy to have my own space. My own kitchen.” She took two glasses down and filled them from the bottle of nebbiolo on the island. “I’m going to look at a few places next week.”
“Oh yeah? Where are they?”
As she described the houses she was interested in, we finished filling our plates and took them into the dining room, where her kids and parents were already eating, along with April. I greeted everyone and took the seat Sylvia indicated for me, which was next to her and across from Whitney. While we ate, her parents and sister weighed in on which homes and locations they thought might be best for her, and the kids pleaded for the one with the most land so they could have animals.
“My dad never let us have pets,” Keaton told me.
“Do you have a dog?” Whitney asked.
“I don’t,” I told her. “My, uh, wife was allergic.”
“You have a wife?” She looked surprised.
“I did. But we’re not together anymore. I mean, we’re divorced.”
“Oh.” Whitney’s eyes moved back and forth between Sylvia and me, and I suddenly felt uncomfortable.
“Then you should totally get a dog now,” Keaton said.
“Do you have kids?” Whitney asked.
I shook my head. “Just nieces and nephews, but they all live in other states.”
“Do you see them a lot?” Keaton asked.
“Not as much as I’d like,” I admitted, tugging my collar away from my neck. I was suddenly warm beneath my clothing. Whitney was staring at me pretty hard.
Not that I blamed her. She was old enough to wonder who the hell this guy was that her mother kept bringing home to dinner. I had to remind myself that we weren’t really doing anything wrong . . . were we?
“All ready for tomorrow night, April?” Sylvia asked.
“Almost.” April took a sip of wine. “As long as the head chef doesn’t throw a tantrum and none of my servers call in sick, I think we’re good. The kids were a huge help today.”
“Good.” Sylvia beamed at her children. “They’re ready and willing to work tomorrow too. Oh, Mom, will you be okay at reception without me tomorrow? Chloe needs my help again in the tasting room.”
“Sure, sweetheart. That’s fine.”
“Henry has been teaching me about the winemaking process here,” Sylvia went on as she lifted her glass. “It’s so fascinating.”
“Is that what you do?” Whitney asked. “Make the wine here?”
“Yes,” I told her.
“Do you live close?”
“I live in Hadley Harbor. Not too far.”
“Did you go to high school with my mom?” Her questions were coming faster now. My leg had a nervous twitch beneath the table.
“No, I grew up on a farm in Iowa.”
“Henry originally went away to school to be a doctor,” said Sylvia. “He likes science just like you do, Keaton.”
“Really?” Her son looked at me with interest.
I nodded, grateful for the opportunity to shift the conversation away from me. “I hear you got a telescope for Christmas.”
“Yeah, but I can’t figure out how to set it up.”
“How about I take a look after dinner and see if I can help?”
He pushed his glasses up his nose and grinned. “That would be great.”
After that, conversation centered mostly on the New Year’s Eve party, their upcoming ski trip and what the conditions on the mountain would be like, and plans for a big retirement party for John in the spring, which would coincide with Cloverleigh’s fortieth anniversary. Whitney stopped studying me and mostly stared at her plate, but every now and again I couldn’t help noticing her watching the way Sylvia smiled at me, or put her hand on my arm, or paid me a compliment. Despite how delicious I found all the food, it was a little hard to eat under such intense scrutiny. I could practically hear the wheels turning in Whitney’s head.
Eventually, I set down my fork. “Everything was delicious. Thanks so much for inviting me to eat with you guys.”
“You’re always welcome here, Henry.” Daphne smiled at me, and then at her daughter. “But this was all Sylvia.”
“It was nothing.” Sylvia rose to her feet and started collecting plates. “I’ll get the dishes if you guys want to get started on the telescope.”
“Yes!” Keaton threw his napkin onto the table. “I’ll show him where it is.”
Although the directions that came with the telescope were terrible, I managed to get it set up in under an hour. Keaton was desperate to take it outside and test it out, and since it had stopped snowing, we piled on our winter stuff and brought it out onto the patio, which was blanketed in white.
My knowledge of astronomy was decent because my grandfather had always been interested, and he had taught my brothers and me about the major constellations when we were young. Later, I’d studied it a little at Cornell. I’d forgotten much of it, but Keaton didn’t seem to care—he was eager to hunt for anything I suggested might be visible tonight, and asked a ton of smart, curious questions about each star or planet I pointed out.
Sylvia joined us a couple minutes later.
“Is it working?” she asked, sliding the glass door shut behind her before shuffling through the snow in her unlaced boots.
“Yes!” Keaton shouted. “And Henry says I might be able to see an interstellar comet!”
“Wow.” She laughed, her breath escaping in little white puffs, and looked at me. “Is this true?”
“It’s true. Some guy discovered it in August and it’s supposed to be closest to Earth this month. They call it the Christmas Comet.”
“And how do you know this?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I’m part science nerd, remember?”
“And he showed me where to find . . .” Keaton looked at me for guidance. “Pegasus?”
“Perseus,” I corrected.
“Perseus,” he repeated. “Come and look, Mom. I’ll tell you where it is.”
Sylvia bent forward and looked through the lens. “Okay, what am I looking for?”
“First, you find the stars that make the W,” he told her, repeating what I’d said. “Can you see them?”
“Yes,” she said after a moment.
“That’s . . .” Again Keaton looked at me.
“Cassiopeia,” I said.
“Cassiopeia,” he echoed, his breath thick and white in the frigid night air. “Now look below the left part of the zig-zag. Can you see a cluster of stars there?”