Daybreak in Sandbridge

Chapter 3-3

Home was several hundred miles south, an apartment over a beachside diner, every space brimming with warmth and love. Home was the man at his side, who had to be intimidated as f**k—Andy always forgot how big the house was, and that had been when he’d been coming back to it every few months—but was here anyway, holding tight to Andy’s hand and smiling bravely.

But it was hard to walk through the door and not call it “home,” even if it had never been half so welcoming as the place he lived or the people he loved now. Just a house, he reminded himself. His parents’ house. Soon to be his mother’s alone.

And that was another complicated knot of emotions and thoughts that Andy had been trying not to deal with for the last several days. He swallowed it back down, yet again. “I’ll give you the tour in a bit,” he promised Scooter. “Should go say hi to Mom first.” He looked toward the front parlor. The door was open only about a quarter of the way: Mom was engineering a Moment, apparently.

Andy suppressed a sigh and walked into it—if he didn’t let her have her Moment, then he was risking a Scene instead. And he was here to play nice, at least for now. He tapped lightly on the cracked door and pushed it open. “Mom?”

Eleanor Howard had aged. Of course she had; it had been seven years since he’d seen her last. But Andy had to pause to take in the differences. Her dress was a newer fashion; Mom was always an absolute pink, as far as that went, but the pearls were the same, a simple double strand. She fluttered her hand over her heart as she looked up. She got to her feet with a trembling smile that settled as she took a step forward. Her hair, always a pale, platinum blonde, was streaked with finest silver and her eyes had a thin web of wrinkles at the corners. She wore ridiculously terrible shoes; high-heeled, pointy-toed things that would be uncomfortable for a woman half her age.

“Andrew?” She held out a hand to him, decorated and weighed down with rings, and a platinum watch that he’d never seen before. “My darling!” Andy hadn’t been darling since he was five years old, but whatever. He was indulging the Moment.

He took her hand and let her draw him to her for an embrace. Not a proper hug—that might wrinkle the expensive fabric—but when Andy put his hands on her shoulders, she was trembling nonetheless. “It’s good to see you again,” he said. He bent—bent, and that was distinctly strange, because he hadn’t yet topped her height when he’d seen her last—to let her kiss his cheeks. “Mom, let me introduce my fiancé, Scoo—uh, Winston Stahl.” He stepped to the side and invited Scooter closer with a smile. “My mom,” he said, feeling like an i***t, because of course Scooter knew that already, but if he didn’t keep to the proper manners, she’d be upset. At least Scooter knew about mothers who expected formal manners long gone out of style. “Eleanor Howard.”

Scooter straightened to his full height and pulled out what he sometimes called his lemonade-and-teacakes manners, the sort he used with friends of his own parents. The etiquette Andy had learned was for high society, and Scooter’s was Southern, quaint and old-fashioned and somehow tragically elegant. If Andy wasn’t standing in the same room with his mother, he might have been turned on. “Ma’am,” he said, taking just the ends of Eleanor’s fingers in a light hold, then letting go. “It’s an honor. Thank you very much for allowing me to take advantage of your hospitality in this time of your family’s troubles. I hope you’re well?”

Eleanor blinked, then glanced at Andy with one eyebrow delicately raised. “Of course, Mr. Stahl, we’re delighted to have you here,” she said in a tone that meant anything but. “I do as well as can be expected. Andrew, I’ve arranged to…em-hem, have your friend housed in the goldenrod guest room. Your father is usually a little better in the evenings, perhaps you could pay your visit to him at five?” She fluttered her hand again and fidgeted with the watch on her wrist before giving Andy an absent smile. “Oh, and I invited a few families over, to celebrate your return home. Dinner’s at eight.”

Oh, Christ. “Mom,” Andy protested, “we came to see you and Dad.” He didn’t trip over that; he was very proud. “We didn’t exactly pack our dinner jackets. Just who’s coming?” Depending on who they were, “a few families” would eat Scooter for an appetizer and not even bother to spit out the bones.

“There are shops, darling,” she chided gently. “And no one, really, just an intimate little dinner. The St. Vincents, of course, and the Spruces, and Wesley’s anxious to welcome you home, too, so the Rutledges will be coming as well.”

Andy checked the clock on the mantle—there was just time to get them suitable clothing and have it—minimally—tailored. The Spruces and the Rutledges wouldn’t particularly care if he and Scooter showed up in their jeans and T-shirts, but the St. Vincents had been fashion pioneers for three generations. He sighed. “I’ll need to borrow Kenny, then,” he said, “and your credit card.”

Eleanor huffed; it was not as obvious as it would be for anyone else, just a sigh that was the tiniest bit deeper than normal. “Your card is on your dresser, dear. But by all means, take Kenny. I shall be needed with the cook for some time, as soon as she’s back from the markets, so we can finalize the menu. Something blue, I think, dear. You always did look nice in blue.” She flicked her gaze at Scooter and then seemed to look right through him as if he wasn’t even there. “And Veronica’s coming, you always liked Veronica. Very sweet young woman, very sharp. She’s been looking forward to seeing you again, I know.”

Andy did not roll his eyes directly at his mother, but it was a close thing. Their parents had been trying to pair Andy and Veronica off since they had been about six. So much for hoping that already being engaged would be at all a deterrent. At least he did like Veronica. Scooter would like her, too, and that was a boon. “I’m looking forward to seeing her, too,” he said neutrally. “And I bow to your wisdom in colors; blue it is. Scooter looks gorgeous in blue.” That might have been a little too pointed, but his mother would never stoop so low as to call him on it in front of a guest.

Needing to shop was an excuse to bow out, so he made his farewells and all but dragged Scooter out of the parlor. “A dinner party? What the f**k,” he sighed. He glanced up at Scooter. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can get out of it, but you can claim to be sick or something.”

Scooter took a deep breath, eyes wider than normal as he took in the elaborate decor of just the hallway. “If…if you don’t think I’ll embarrass you in front of your mom’s friends—”

“Oh, God no!” Andy said. “More like the opposite. They’re all…Well, not all, but.” He sagged a little, then turned to face Scooter squarely. “Honey, I love you, and I’m proud to tell anyone and everyone that. I just…I know it’s a lot.” He winced. “I definitely should’ve given you more of an idea what to expect.”

Scooter looked around again, gaze resting on a hideous painting with a gilded frame. “I…don’t think it would’ve helped, really.” He chewed his lip for a moment, then, in tones that imitated Kat when she was in a high dudgeon, “I can speak Ukrainian all evening and pretend that English is a distant second language.” While Kat complained about his accent from time to time, when he was pretending to be Ukrainian, Scooter sounded very convincing to anyone who hadn’t been born to the language.

Andy had to grin at that. “That would be pretty funny.” He dropped his head to Scooter’s shoulder. “I love you, like, a ridiculous amount. You know that, right?”

Scooter ran a hand through Andy’s hair. “I really hope so.”