The Checklist by Addie Woolridge (color ebook reader TXT) 📗

as Bernice marched toward the table. Gently nudging her dad forward, Neale appeared wearing something that had only recently belonged to Dylan but was now covered in strategically placed holes and haphazard lace. The whole ensemble was very “Miss Havisham meets the Olsen twins.”

“You must be Nick!” Bernice said, stopping in front of Nicolas’s chair and gazing down at him with her arms wide, waiting for him to stand and hug her.

Nicolas blinked at her for a moment. Slowly getting up, he stretched out a robotic hand. “I go by Nicolas.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Bernice said, still holding out her arms.

“You are Nicolas,” Henry shouted, opening his arms wide and filling up whatever space Bernice’s alto did not manage to reach. Dylan squirmed in her chair, waiting for Nicolas to hug her family. Never mind that Bernice rarely gave hugs, and when she did, they felt like stone-person hugs.

“Hello,” Nicolas said, rotating the hand that Bernice either ignored or didn’t notice toward Henry.

Neale floated around behind them, waving in short jerks, which felt a lot less strange as Dylan watched her parents imitate Christ the Redeemer. Her mother and father spent a lot of time staying in one pose as part of their jobs; their arms weren’t even close to tired. Nicolas glanced at her, and she mouthed, “Hug.” Out of the corner of her eye, Dylan could see the waiter coming over with menus.

As if out of some horrific family nightmare, Henry caught sight of the server and shouted, “Calvin! Good to see you.”

Calvin clearly mistook Henry’s pose as a hug for him and, without missing a beat, embraced Henry, then Bernice and Neale in turn. “Where have you been? Haven’t seen the Delacroix in a while.”

To Dylan’s horror, Calvin’s hug didn’t prompt Henry to give up on Nicolas, who was still standing there staring at the whole family like a deer facing down loud, oddly dressed headlights while they chatted with Calvin. Dylan’s anxiety alarm began screeching in her head as she hopped out of her chair and wrapped her arms around her mother for a granite hug.

“Mom, come sit next to me,” she said when Bernice finally released her from her death grip. Hanging on to her mom’s arm, she pulled Bernice into the nearest chair before calling to Henry, “Dad, let Calvin do his job. Come sit down.”

“Right. Are those for us?” Henry asked, pointing to Calvin’s menus.

“They are. I’ll be back with your coffees.”

Plucking the menus from Calvin’s hand, Henry took to passing them out before having a seat. Once he selected a chair, Neale meandered over to the last chair, next to Nicolas, and sat down.

“We were saying our neighbors are ghastly,” Henry said without preamble or prompting. He looked slightly wonky with his purple glasses perched on the tip of his nose to read the menu.

“Is this the thing with the neighbors?” Nicolas asked Dylan as Calvin reappeared. She nodded briefly and smiled as he rolled his eyes.

“But their son is lovely. Isn’t he, Dylan? Noble profession, teaching is.” Bernice narrowed her squint in a way that suggested she wasn’t just trying to read the menu. Dylan’s heart pounded at the mention of Mike. The last thing this visit needed was Nicolas asking questions about their neighbors. A few small hiccups aside, she liked her life in Texas. She had a good thing going for her. Or mostly good, anyway.

“Mom, he works in a museum.”

“A children’s museum. So he’s an art lover too.” Never one to let a detail get in the way of her point, Bernice added, “And he is getting a PhD.”

“Anyway, his parents are fascists,” Henry added.

As Calvin took orders, Dylan tried to get a pulse on everyone at the table. So far, it seemed like Henry was oblivious to the hug snafu. Neale had probably picked up on it but had already decided not to care. Bernice, on the other hand, would likely take the slight to her grave. Fortunately, she had a fair number of wrongs to keep track of, so Nicolas could bounce back from this with either a few well-placed laughs at her mom’s jokes or a couple of good jokes of his own.

“Nicolas, tell us about yourself. Dylan says you’re an attorney?” Bernice asked as soon as Calvin left the table.

“I practice family law at Grey, Campbell, and Keller. We cater primarily to high–net worth individuals to protect their assets.” Nicolas applied his most winning smile as he said this, pulling his shoulders back and taking a seated power stance.

“What does that mean?” Neale asked, tearing open a sugar packet and dumping half of it onto the table before noticing and shifting to let her coffee cup catch the rest.

“I work primarily on divorces, with the occasional annulment thrown in.”

“That sounds”—Bernice paused, and Dylan could see her mother trying to pick out a convincing lie—“like a very challenging job.”

“Especially if alimony and children are involved. I’ve one client who is working through his third divorce; I swear every wife tries to take him to the cleaners. But that’s why he retains us.” Nicolas smiled around the table, relaxing a little.

“It sounds like this guy is bad at being married. He’d save himself a lot of money if he gave up on the idea altogether,” Henry said, laughing.

“Yes, but then the firm wouldn’t get paid. His bad choices are good for business,” Nicolas chuckled in response.

“Capitalism at its finest.” Neale shook her head, her curls moving with her disgust. Dylan forced a nervous laugh from her throat as Bernice and Henry grimaced at each other.

“You know, Bernice, I was thinking about it on the flight up here—I remember a client had one of your pieces as a point of contention. Both she and her husband loved it. In the end he was willing to take less in the settlement to keep it.” Nicolas smiled again, clearly thinking this was flattery.

“My work was a bargaining chip?” Bernice waved her coffee spoon at Nicolas.

“People use sentimental possessions as leverage