Page 5 of All We Need

AsIturn around, ignoring the amused faces of my family and friends, my fingers brush over my deflating dimples.

The fucking audacity.

CHAPTER TWO

alessandra

ONE MONTH LATER

Deep ruby liquidswirls in my glass, moving precariously closer to the rim with each flick of my wrist.

I’m so mesmerized by the garnet-colored whirlpool,Ialmost miss my phone flashing with an incoming call.Seeingmy mother’s name light up the screen has me smirking.

Reaching over to snatch it from the coffee table,Itap the screen before the call drops. “Youcouldn’t go one day, could you?”

“Pfft.Isit illegal for me to want to speak to you,thisavré mou?”

Hearing my mother use the familiar term of endearment—my treasurewhen translated from her nativeGreek—has a trickle of warmth seeping into my chest.Aftertwo rowdy boys, my mom’s dream to have more children came to a halt following a complicated birth with my middle brother.UntilIcame along a few years later.

“You spoke to me three hours ago.”

“I got bored waiting for your father to stop talking business with his friends,” she retorts sassily.

“You’re always bored.Maybewe should find you a hobby?”

“I had a hobby.Now,Iam a lady of leisure.”Shesighs happily, even thoughIknow retirement is driving her kooky.

There’s shuffling through the phone.She’sprobably traipsing through the hallway of her and my father’s home, draped in an elegant robe and sipping on a full-bodied merlot now that their dinner guests have gone.Glancingdown at my satin robe and glass of red wine,Isnort.Iam my mother’s daughter.

“I didn’t realize being a glamor puss was a hobby,”Itease.

She gasps. “That’san awful word,Alessandra.Shameful.”

“It does not mean—forget it.”Ishake my head, holding in my laugh.Thewoman has been in theStatesfor over four decades, but there are still some phrases that throw her for a loop.I’mglad she’s never lost the lilt in her voice, pitch rising and falling with each syllable. “Howwas the party?”

“Oh, you know.”Idon’t know. “Youwere missed, it wasn’t the same without you.Atleast we will see you atChristmas.”

“You’re still traveling to the cottage tomorrow?”

“Yes.Butif your father starts playing his murder podcasts,I’mdriving myself.”Myparents mostly reside in theirGreystonein theWestVillage, but in lateNovember, they stay at their “cottage” in theHamptonsuntilNewYear.Aseven-bedroom, four-bathroom, fully staffed cottage. “Now, enough about that.Howis it going?”Hervoice lowers, andIpicture her leaning forward as she waits.

I glance around the tiny apartment; my unpacked suitcase and the few boxesIhad shipped fromNewYorksit in the corner.Sincearriving four days ago, the only itemsI’vetaken out are my painting supplies.Thisis home for the next couple of months.Quitethe contrast to my apartment inSoHo.

It’s been a month since my first trip toSuttonBay, a smallfishing town hidden by the towering pine trees ofAcadiaNationalPark.Fourweeks to prepare, yetIfeel more unprepared now thatI’mhere.Mylittle espionage at theFallFaironly feels like yesterday.

My eyes roll so far back in my head whenIthink about meetingDimplesIgo dizzy.Neverhas someone hit on me in such a cliché yet enthusiastic way.Nothingdeterred him.Hedidn’t make me uncomfortable, andIquite enjoyed his performance, butI’mnot here to make friends, especially withBoothSadler.IfIhad known who he was,Iwouldn’t have entertained him for so long.There’stoo much at stake to be getting overly familiar with people here.

Three months.That’show longI’vegiven myself.I’mhere for one reason only: answers.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.”It’snot a question, and there’s no hiding from my mother.

“Is this a mistake?”Iwhisper.I’ma confident, driven woman, andInever make rash decisions.Soupturning my life like this is very out of character.

My wine glass clanks against the coffee table asIplace it down hastily.

“It is your decision, thisavré mou.Iam proud of you for this.AsisPapa.Butremember, if you change your mind and want to come home, that is okay.Youcan join us here.Dowhat is right in your heart and try to turn that big brain of yours off for once.”

“What if they don’t want to know?”Ihate how small my voice sounds.

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