Robin Constantine - The Promise of Amazing

“Congrats?” I said.

“You don’t sound happy for me,” she said, pouting.

“Okay, rewind. . . . That’s incredible news! Pete must be over the moon.”

Her face brightened at the mention of Pete.

“I know it sounds crazy, but he is over the moon. We both are. It’s not ideal, I know, but whenever I worry about how things will go, I realize there’s this little piece of us growing inside me, and it’s just so . . .” She fell back on the bed, golden hair splayed out behind her, and finished with a breathy sigh. “. . . sexy.”

“Sexy?” I asked, leaning back on my elbows. “I don’t think you should mention that when you break the news.”

She traced small circles on her belly with the tips of her fingers. “How do you think Ruth and Jimmy are going to react?”

I wanted to say the magic words my sister longed to hear, but really? How was I supposed to know how our parents would react? Brooke was twenty-one, living with Pete, and almost finished with her first semester at Georgetown Law; my father was thrilled at the thought of another lawyer in the family. Whenever he spoke to anyone about Brooke upholding the tradition, he all but gushed. Knocked up and in her first semester might not be gushworthy, but I think she already knew that.

“Fly off the handle? Shit a two-ton brick? What other cliché can we come up with for a nuclear meltdown? When do you plan on telling them?”

“I don’t know. I really don’t want to spring this on them with all that’s going on with the Camelot, but I’ll be showing by Christmas, and I think that would be sort of worse, don’t you?”

“What’s going on with the Camelot?”

Her eyebrows drew together as she rolled onto her side to face me. “You can’t tell me you don’t know. Business is down, and that’s a prime piece of real estate. Mom has been fielding offers for years, but I think now she might be listening.”

I hadn’t thought it was possible to be more shocked after my sister’s announcement.

“But . . . we’re busy.”

“Not really, Wrennie. When I worked, there were back-to-back weddings every weekend. Now there’s one or two at the most, right? And what about today? One sitting for the buffet. Last year there were three.”

“Did Mom tell you this?” I asked.

“No one has to tell me anything. The writing’s on the wall. Don’t get so upset. Your weekends can be your own again. No more white, starched shirts with grease stains, no more obnoxious guests, no more having to jump in and save people from choking,” she said, tugging a strand of my hair.

And just like that, Grayson in all his term-paper-pimp glory exploded back into my thoughts, practically sitting on the edge of my bed behind Brooke, his dark eyes saying, Tell her about me . I bit my lip.

“That was pretty amazing, squirt.”

I met the guy, Brooke. He’s charming and scary and so freakin’ hot, I can’t stop thinking about him and the sexy way the top button of his Henley tee was undone .

“What can I say? All in a day’s work,” I answered with a shrug.

“Just think, next Thanksgiving can be normal . . . at home, like in all those holiday songs. Not eating buffet leftovers after serving all day.”

“C’mon, it’s not that bad, Brooke. I kind of like it. You know, I was even thinking maybe one day . . .” I paused. This would be the first time I said it out loud to a member of my family, and while it seemed like a small announcement compared to bringing a new life into the world, well, it was mine . “I could run it. Maybe go to school for business or hospitality or something like that.”

Brooke sat up so quickly, I thought she might slide off the bed.

“Oh, God, no. You don’t want that.”

“Maybe I do,” I answered, slightly put off by her quick and emphatic rejection.

She shook her head. “The best thing you could do is get away from here. Sure, go study business, or hospitality, or whatever you want, but do not plan on staying to run the Camelot. It’s a sinking ship, Wren.”

All I’d wanted was a little spark of support. A Hey, that’s not a bad idea, Wren! Now the thought seemed ridiculous.

“Yeah, because getting away from here has worked so well for you,” I said, patting her tummy.

She put her hand over mine, her eyes serious again.

“So you’ll support me on this? I just need to know you have my back, in case, well, in case it all goes really bad.”

Brooke had never spoken to me quite like this. And I’d never seen her this unsure. I was usually the one going to her for help or just basking in her enchanting Brookeness.

“How is it going to go bad? It’s not like they can ground you,” I said. “And they love Pete.”

“I know, I just . . . their support means a lot. Yours too, squirt,” she said, tucking my hair behind my ear. She sniffed, pressed my hand to her belly again.

“So this means you’re gonna get fat,” I said, pulling my hand away.

“Gee, Wren, thanks!” Her eyes grew round as she gave my arm a pinch. “You know that only means one thing.”

“What?”

She got up to leave and reached for the door. “I’m picking the biggest, gooiest cinnamon roll.”

I shot up. “Um, no you’re not!”

“Catch me,” she said, disappearing before I could even make it to the doorway.

The Camelot Thanksgiving buffet ran smoothly. I kept looking for warning signs of Brooke’s ominous words that it was a sinking ship . All I saw was the Caswell clan working together—well, I was working; Brooke spent a lot of time reconnecting with Eben and Josh, still green from his Thanksgiving Eve bender with his home-from-college buds, trying his best not to puke in the mashed potatoes. Everyone, even my dad, who rolled up his Brooks Brothers sleeves to help plate the sides for the buffet table, was happy, buzzing, joking. No doom and gloom. Nothing out of place to make me think we were in any sort of trouble. Brooke had to be wrong.

Being busy made the afternoon go quickly, and soon enough, the five of us were alone and gathered around a table in the empty banquet hall, a little tired but full of the meal Chef Hank had prepared for us.

My mother raised her glass of sauv blanc. “You don’t know how happy it makes me to see you all together.”

“Aw, shucks, Mom, any time you want me to quit school and be your permanent child, say the word, I’m all over it,” Josh said, grinning.

“Please no, I’m finally getting some much-needed peace,” my father kidded.

“What, Wrennie doesn’t throw any wild parties?”

“Hey, look what the wind blew in,” my mother said, raising her glass toward the door.

I turned to see a rather disheveled Pete, as if he’d literally been windblown, walking toward our table. Brooke got up and threw her arms around him. My stomach lurched.

Pete shrugged off his coat and hooked it over a chair at the adjacent table. “Hey, Wren,” he said, smoothing down his hair and taking the seat across from me.

With his dark, unruly curls and green eyes, Pete was exceptionally handsome, but he was so goofy once you got to know him that his good looks became less intimidating. I wondered if he knew that I knew he’d knocked up my sister. One thing was for sure: Between Brooke and Pete, this kid was going to be drop-dead gorgeous.

“How was your Thanksgiving? Your parents must have been thrilled you made it home,” my mother said, beaming.

Pete chuckled, but it was guarded. He folded his hands and glanced at Brooke. And then the world moved frame by frame.

I could feel the tremor of what was about to happen but was powerless to act on it. Please, please, Brooke, not now.