Harry McKenzie frowned. “Lia?” he said. “Lia’s in Los Angeles.”
“Apparently not. Apparently she wants another stab at you.” His mother wrinkled her nose and settled into one of the armchairs in Harry’s second-story living room, in the condo she had bought for him as his graduation present. She was dressed in what was, for a woman like Paulette McKenzie, simple garb: a patterned pastel dress, pearls, and kitten heels. She rubbed at the spot on her finger where her wedding ring used to be. Harry had always wondered if she realized she did that. More so, ever since—well.
“I don’t understand,” Harry said.
“What’s to understand? The girl has finagled her way into house-sitting at the Eastwick’s. Poor Elizabeth Eastwick took pity on the girl’s mother and befriended her a few years ago. And now she’s doing the girl a favor, heaven knows why. It was always such a social-climbing family.”
“You think everyone is a social climber.”
“When you’re in my position, dear, most everyone is,” Paulette said with a sigh. “In any event, you’d better warn Alyssa.”
“Why would Alyssa care?”
“Harry,” Paulette said, with a smug smile. “Of course she would. How would she feel if someone else told her that your ex-girlfriend was hosting the New Year’s Eve party?”
“But Lia isn’t hosting it, is she? She’s just house-sitting. The Eastwicks should have canceled this year, if they were traveling—”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. It was a late trip. You know what happened to them, those horrendous relatives, that poor secretary. Elizabeth and her son deserve some travel. And why cancel the party and lose all of their deposits?”
Harry did not offer a reply.
“Besides,” Paulette said, snuggling into the armchair. Harry’s mind automatically began to search for excuses to usher her out. “Alyssa will definitely want to know. She’s a sweet girl. You shouldn’t blindside her like that.”
“Maybe we won’t go.”
“Harry!”
“What?” he said. “It’s just a party. If Lia makes you that uncomfortable—”
“I never said she made me uncomfortable,” Paulette all but hissed. “I’m thinking of you. Besides, Arthur and I have been planning for this night for a long time, and your brother will be there, and…”
Right. Arthur. Harry rubbed at his jaw. “You know what, Mom?” he said. “I think you’re right. I think I’d better go tell Alyssa.” He rose and grabbed his coat.
“You can’t call her?”
“I think it’d be better to just go over and see her. Break the news that way.”
“Well, all right,” Paulette said, rising and dusting off her dress. “Would you like me to come with you? It’s been ages since I’ve seen Alyssa—I might give her a tip or two. It’s her first St. Clair party, after all.”
Harry bit his lip to refrain from pointing out that his mother had never shown such an interest before in his new girlfriend. It could only be that Alyssa suddenly had a higher stock in comparison to Lia—Lia, the girl who had left him ten years ago at their high school graduation, who had told him she was going to Hollywood to make it as an actress. He had watched movie trailers and show pilots every year, waiting to see her, waiting for her to make good on her promise. Because Lia was the type of girl who could make such dreams happen. Lia was the type of girl who—though not pretty in a standard way, not entitled, not even well-connected—was determined. Was the type of person who meant everything that she said.
But she had never broken out, not in any tangible way that Harry had ever seen. His memory of her now was distant, the raw pain scabbed over. He felt a dull disappointment for her that he did not know how to place.
Because if Lia was back in St. Clair, even temporarily, something had gone wrong.
Did he care? And what in heaven’s name would he do when he saw her?
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