Elin Hilderbrand - 28 Summers

“Fifi didn’t want to fly,” Leland says irritably. “She wanted to ‘experience the journey over water.’”

“I can see that, I guess,” Mallory says. No sooner does Fiella sign an autograph for one person than another girl appears in her place and Mallory wonders if Leland has to deal with this everywhere they go and also if they’re ever going to make it off the dock and back to the Blazer.

Eventually Leland has to wedge herself into the crowd and yank Fiella free, causing a bit of a scuffle.

“Personal space!” Leland shouts at a perky blond girl in a Tarheels T-shirt who’s holding a paperback copy of Shimmy Shimmy . “We’re on vacation!”

Still the girl thrusts the book at Fiella, and still Fiella seems happy to sign it. Then she eases out of the crowd like she’s slipping off a silk robe and offers her hand and a radiant smile to Mallory. “Sorry about that,” she says. “I’m Fifi and you’re Mallory. I know because I’ve seen all the photographs of you and Lee from growing up. I couldn’t be happier to meet you.” Her voice makes Mallory shiver. Fiella—Fifi—has the slightest French Creole accent. The woman is majestic; she is royalty. Mallory can see why Leland fell in love with her.

“Honestly, I’m sick of it,” Leland says on their way through the parking lot. “They sat on the boat ogling you for two hours but they only screwed up the courage to approach you as we were disembarking? ”

“They’re harmless,” Fifi says, waving away Leland’s complaints. “Plus they pay the bills. Anyway, look at this charming place! Aren’t we just the luckiest creatures on earth. Thank you, Mallory, for inviting us.” They come upon the Blazer, freshly washed and waxed and vacuumed for their arrival. “Oh, is this our chariot?”

“Please,” Leland says. “Talk like a normal person.”

It’s fun entertaining houseguests when one of them is as enthusiastic as Fiella Roget. Fifi sits in the front of the Blazer while Leland rides in back with the luggage; when Mallory peers in the rearview mirror, she sees Lee glowering, a look Mallory knows only too well. Still, she assumes it must be humbling, and maybe even demoralizing, to have a famous girlfriend—especially for someone like Leland, who is used to being the center of attention. But surely Leland has grown accustomed to her role. She and Fiella have been together for over two years.

Fifi pulls a clothbound journal out of her leather satchel and starts scribbling things down even as the Blazer bounces over the ruts in the no-name road.

“Stop!” Fifi cries. Mallory hits the brakes, thinking Fifi is uncomfortable or she’s forgotten something back on the wharf, but Fifi jumps out of the car, runs to the banks of the pond, picks a fuchsia blossom off a rugosa bush, and inhales the scent.

“Look at this, Lee!” Fifi cries out, holding her hands over her head. She seems to be hugging the entirety of the landscape—the flat blue mirror of the pond, the electric green of the surrounding reeds, the pink and white explosion of the rugosa rose.

“It’s called nature,” Leland says. She does not look amused.

At the cottage, Fifi spends a long moment taking in the vista of the beach and ocean, then she turns her attention to every detail inside. Mallory has done a proper spring cleaning. She bought a new duvet and sheets for the bigger guest room. There’s a crystal pitcher and glasses on one nightstand and a bouquet of wild irises on the other. Over the winter, Mallory had her sole bathroom renovated; now there’s clean white subway tile, a new vanity instead of the pedestal sink with the rust stain that was impossible to get out, and a new toilet with a slow-closing lid—such a luxury! Mallory kept the porcelain claw-foot tub because her contractor Bob (who has such a thick New England accent that Mallory thinks of him as “Bawb”) said that it was in good shape and would be hell to replace. Mallory got some new throw pillows to soften up the unyielding green tweed sofa and she placed a jar of shells and beach glass on the coffee table next to Cary Hazlegrove’s book of Nantucket photographs. She bought Russian River chardonnay for Leland and a bottle of Bombay Sapphire for Fiella, who drinks only gin over ice. Mallory made a layered fruit salad and baked Sarah Chase’s orange-rosemary muffins, which she’ll serve for breakfast with homemade honey butter.

Fifi exclaims over the cottage, the shells, the narrow harvest table, the bowl of peaches, plums, nectarines, and apricots—and then the wall of books.

“My God,” she says. “I’m never leaving.”

Leland emerges from the bathroom. Mallory gives her friend a hug and whispers, “I’m glad you’re here. I’m happy to see you.”

Leland pulls away, and her expression says it all: Leland is suffering. Fiella takes up all the oxygen in every room.

“Tim Winton, The Riders ?” Fifi says, pulling the book off the shelf. “I’ve been desperate to read this!”

Mallory nearly snatches the book from Fifi’s hand. It was Jake’s Christmas present to her this past year. This is by a man too. But it’s good anyway. XO, Jake.

“You’re welcome to borrow any books but the four on that shelf,” Mallory says.

“Why?” Leland says. “Are those sacred?”

Fifi replaces The Riders . “I feel the same way about certain books,” she says. “ Song of Solomon. The Bone People. All of my Jamaica Kincaid.” She plucks a book from the shelf below. “The new Mona Simpson! Okay if I borrow this?”

“Yes!” Mallory says. “I loved it.”

“Wine, please,” Leland murmurs.

Mallory mentions that she has tuna steaks marinating and a fresh baguette and fixings for salad. “Or we can go out,” she says. “I’m friends with the bartender at the Blue Bistro and he has a table for us at eight o’clock if we want it. But I didn’t want to assume…” Mallory looks at Leland. “Did you two make other plans?”

“Other plans? ” Fifi says. “Don’t be ridiculous, Mallorita, we came to Nantucket to spend time with you . So that I can get to know you. Of course we’ll stay in; we’ll eat the beautiful meal you prepared and we’ll talk all night and share our deepest secrets.” Fifi takes Mallory’s hand in both of hers and Mallory looks down to see their fingers, dark and lighter, wound together. Mallory is mesmerized, but when she looks over Fifi’s shoulder, she sees Leland rolling her eyes.

They pour wine, snack on the salt-and-pepper cashews that Mallory made earlier in the week.

“When did you learn to cook?” Leland asks. “If memory serves, you couldn’t even operate your Easy-Bake Oven.”

“Stop it, darling,” Fifi says. “You sound like a petulant witch.”

“I taught myself,” Mallory says. “It’s quiet here in the winter.”

They toss a salad, heat the bread, grill the tuna, shake up a vinaigrette. Mallory lights the sole votive candle. They raise their glasses.

“Thank you both for coming,” Mallory says. “I’m so happy you’re here.” As they touch glasses, Mallory realizes this is true. She has barely thought of Jake and Ursula’s rehearsal dinner—which is being held at a pizza parlor called Barnaby’s—at all.

During dinner, Mallory tries to keep the conversation focused on Leland.

“So,” she says. “How are your parents?” What she really wants to know is: How do the Gladstones feel about Leland and Fifi together?

“They’re getting a divorce,” Leland says.

Mallory sets down her fork. “What?”

“My father is sleeping with Sloane Dooley,” Leland says.

It takes Mallory a minute. Sloane Dooley? Fray’s mother, the disco dancer and maybe cocaine addict? “You have got to be kidding me.”