Chapter 14
After feeling empty and cavernous for weeks now, the hotel was suddenly alive and buzzing with excitement with the arrival of Easter weekend. The floral arrangements were more elaborate, the bellmen were moving with a little more pep in their step, and for the first time since I’d been there I couldn’t get a dinner reservation that entire holiday weekend because they were—and these are the words every hotelier lives for—all booked up.
“I love when a hotel feels like it’s bursting at the seams, don’t you?” I sighed, standing at the bottom of the stairs in the lobby with Mrs. Toomey late Friday afternoon, watching car after car pull into the porte cochere. “Families coming from all over the place, deciding to spend their weekend away from home, somewhere they’ll be treated a bit like royalty. Someone makes their bed, someone brings them their paper, someone folds their towels, and who doesn’t love coming home after a long day to find a chocolate on their pillow?”
“I know what you mean,” she said, “especially on these holiday weekends. It’s like having one big extended family all under one roof.
“Whoa, can we help you with that?” Mrs. Toomey said as Archie came around the corner, carrying an enormous egg tree. Wintry branches were crammed into a large vase and littered with eggs painted in springtime colors. It had been a crafting project that some of the evening activity guests had been working on all week, making tiny pinpricks in eggs and blowing out the insides to make the shells empty. They were then decorated with tiny beads, glitter, ribbons, all delicate and beautiful. One more Bryant family tradition carried on for another year.
“This looks great.” I admired the tree, wanting to bat at the eggshells like a cat but knowing that’d be frowned upon. “Where is this ending up?”
“Right . . . here,” Archie said, balancing left and right and finally setting the tree down delicately in the center of the lobby table. “That way the guests can see it when they check in.”
“It looks great, really, better than I expected.”
“You doubted our egg tree?”
“I walked into the lounge one night to find seven old ladies blowing eggs . . . what the hell was I supposed to think?”
Mrs. Toomey smothered a laugh. “I’m just going to go find something to do.”
“We’ll be at full capacity by tonight, I’m sure there’s something to do,” Archie joked, and she swatted at him as she toddled off to terrorize the girls at the front desk. Once she was out of earshot, he looked carefully at me. “Have you been avoiding me the past few days?”
Yes. “Yes.”
“Care to tell me why?”
Because I can’t stop thinking about you. Because you’ve got me all tied up in knots. Because I don’t know how much longer I can go without seeing you naked and underneath me. Because now I’m feeling some feels beyond what I know how to deal with. “I’ve been super busy.”
“Hmm,” he said, not buying it. I looked away, not wanting to meet his gaze. “You don’t look super busy now.”
“I’m slammed, actually. I’ve got a meeting with the guys in room service to make sure they have everything set for the new menu we’re rolling out, I’ve got to talk with Lucy in the greenhouse about bringing up some fresh-cut tulips for the elevator lobby, and I still need to stop by the spa and make sure they have everything they need to roll out the new Spring Awakening package this weekend, and I wanted to check the bookings.”
“Dye some eggs.”
“Excuse me?”
“Dye some eggs. Room service menu is good to go, the tulips are being set out as we speak, and the spa is booked all weekend, they’ve even got a waiting list, I just checked. So come dye eggs with me for the egg hunt.”
“I have a degree in hotel management, work for the best rebranding firm in New England, have turned countless hotels around, and you want me to dye eggs?”
“Based on what you just said, you need some humility. You’ve also come into my hotel, thrown everything up into the air and out on its ear, not to mention driven me half mad with not only that bossy mouth but the incredible sounds you make when I’m kissing that bossy mouth, and now, by God, it’s my turn to make you part of one of the oldest traditions here at Bryant Mountain House. Dye some eggs.”
I thought for a moment. “Okay.”
Twenty minutes later I was sitting at an enormous table in the back corner of the kitchen, surrounded by crates of hard-boiled eggs. “I don’t get it, couldn’t you order these already dyed? Surely there’s a specialty food service that could’ve delivered these.”
“Well sure, but what’s the fun in that?” Archie asked, rolling up his sleeves as he prepared to dip an entire tray into a deep-purple wash.
“Where indeed,” I wondered. I tried to mimic what he was doing with a similar tray and the green color. “Why does this smell like salad dressing?”
“It’s the vinegar.”
“There’s vinegar in egg dye?”
He shook his head. “Are you a communist? Haven’t you ever dyed eggs before?”
My hands shook a little, but I managed to keep my eggs in line. “Yes, I’m a communist. How long do they need to sit in here?”
“Wait a minute, let me get this straight, communism aside. Have you really never dyed eggs before?”
“It’s not really a character flaw, is it?” I asked, arching my brow at him.
“No no, I just can’t . . . well, what the hell did you do before Easter? Or did your parents just surprise you with eggs on Easter morning? I always used to wonder why we dyed them for the bunny to hide, if he was the Easter bunny he could’ve just brought his own eggs.”
“The bunny brought them, yes,” I replied, rolling my shoulders. “Not everyone did the same thing growing up, though, you know?”
“I suppose—every family’s different, right?”
“Mm-hmm.” I looked at his eggs. “So how long do they need to stay in the dye?”
“Depends.”
“Depends on what?”
He looked up at me over the rims of his glasses. “On how deep you want it.”
Ungh. I breathed. Then blushed.
“How deep you want the color, that is.”
I considered. “Pretty deep.”
“I had a feeling.” He looked proud of himself. Hmm.
“Shallow has its benefits, though,” I said innocently. Not taking my eyes off my tray, I tilted my head to the side. “Sometimes just a little bit, just barely inside, like really slow? It can drive a person positively crazy, you know?”
His tray shook slightly.
“I mean, anyone can just thrust it right in there, but when someone can do it really slow? And shallow? Making sure that everything gets covered, not missing a single spot? That’s almost as good as when it’s really deep.”
His tray shook again, this time more than slightly.
I lifted my tray out of the green dye, then bobbed it lightly back under, leaning over as I did, making sure to give him a peek down my shirt. “But that’s just me.”
“Not just you,” he grunted, and I chanced a look at him. His hands were gripping the tray, white knuckles standing out stark against the purple dye. Forearms bunched, shoulders tight, jaw clenched.
His eyes met mine, and I drew in a breath. “I had a feeling,” I whispered, plunging my tray back under the green.
Egg dyeing was fun.
“Okay, so explain this to me like I’m an idiot,” Natalie said as we sipped Bloody Marys from the Sunset Porch.
“Gladly,” I answered.
“You hide the eggs on the side of a mountain.”
“Yes.”
“And then you tell toddlers to go find them.”
“Basically.”
“Won’t they just tumble off into the Catskills?”
I snorted into my cocktail. “They’re not hidden on rock ledges and on top of trees, for God’s sake.”
“I’m just saying, it’s weird.”
“They’ve been doing the egg hunt on this lawn for a hundred years—I think they’ve got this.”
She plucked her celery stick from her drink and gave it a chomp. “It’s not how I planned on spending my Easter, that’s for sure.”
“And how exactly have we ruined your Easter? What else would you have been doing?”
“First of all, it’s a holiday. I like to spend my holidays under the covers and under Oscar. Or over Oscar, depends on how tired he is. Secondly, my mother is livid that I’m not in the city right now, she threatened to call highway patrol and have me bodily brought back home. There’s only one reason I was allowed to leave my island.”
“And what, pray tell, is that reason?”
“You.”
“Me?”
“Yup. When she found out you were up here, actually venturing out of your cave on a holiday, she said mazel and made me promise that if your self-imposed ban on holidays was over I’ll bring you for Thanksgiving this year.”
I chomped on my own celery in answer.
“Oh no, Trudy already called dibs on Thanksgiving,” I heard from over my shoulder, and I turned to see Roxie slipping into a rocking chair next to us. “She said, and I quote, ‘Tell that little shit if she’s going to be spending all this time in Bailey Falls, then she’s required to come to my house for Thanksgiving for the best gravy she’s ever tasted.’ ”
“Well, that’s sweet, but—”
“She also told me to tell you she still thinks you’re low on iron and she wants you to start taking these.” She plunked a bottle of vitamins down on the railing. “You need the color, she says.”
“Oh my God, it’s April! How about we not talk about November yet?” I said, waving at the bartender and ordering a cocktail for Roxie as well. “Please thank your mother, and your mother, for the invites and the pills, but I’m good.”
Both Roxie and Natalie had told me over the years that there was always a standing invitation to their homes on each and every holiday. And each and every holiday I’d thanked them politely, and declined. They knew why, and wisely chose not to press me on it. Frankly, it was all I could do to not fly out of this rocking chair and head for the hills, as it was. Holidays made me nervous at best and a wreck at worst. Holidays were empty for me when I was a child, and as an adult they always felt like just a reminder of those special days I’d missed out on. Can you imagine what it’s like to have to sit through a Christmas party in elementary school, surrounded by kids who were getting everything they wanted under their Christmas tree, when the closest I’d get to any kind of celebration were the stale snickerdoodles I was eating at that very party?
One foster mom had tried her best to do something fun each year. Her drunk husband tried his best to ruin it. Honestly, it just always felt like a waste of a day to me, and I’d made it my practice to avoid holidays whenever I could.
But this year was different. This year I was working over the holiday, at a hotel that was famous for its Easter brunch. And the egg hunt. And those blessed hot cross buns everyone kept going on about. And I had friends in this town, friends who wanted to be with me. So here I sat, on a grand porch in a grand hotel overlooking a grand egg hunt on a lawn set into the grand Catskill Mountains.
The Bloody Mary was excellent. The company was first-rate. And I wondered if any of the kids picking up the purple and green dyed eggs hidden in the grass knew just how verbally stimulating that egg dyeing had been.
I grinned into my drink.
“So where’s Archie? I figured he’d be right here with you, watching the festivities?” Roxie asked.
“With me?” I asked, choking a bit on tomato juice. “No no, he’s down there, supervising the eggs and the toddlers. Natalie is convinced they’re all going to fall off the side.”
“Nonsense, I came up here when I was a kid to look for eggs,” Roxie scoffed.
“You say that now, but what happens when—”
“No one is tumbling off the side of a cliff today, for God’s sake.” I sighed, rolling my eyes.
“Stranger things have happened,” Natalie said, and I stuck my tongue out at her.
“See, he’s right there with— Oh boy.” The three of us looked out onto the lawn and saw Archie and Leo, covered in egg yolk and each holding about thirteen baskets, with Oscar bringing up the rear, wearing the most lopsided bunny ears I’d ever seen. “Jesus, I don’t think I’ve ever seen your guy smile that big.” I laughed, nudging Natalie.
“I have, but usually when I’m about to sit on his—”
“No no.” Roxie shook her head. “I’m literally begging you to not finish that sentence.”
“I’m in full agreement,” I added, fist-bumping Roxie. Natalie let out a huff and went back to her Bloody Mary. The three of us sat there a moment, watching the guys playing with the kids, Archie and Leo still trying to wipe off the egg yolk. Archie looked happy, relaxed, caught up in the moment and fully at ease. I smiled just watching him.
“So how is Archie anyway?”
“Fine. He’s fine,” I replied, my gaze still fixed on him. And as though he could feel me watching him, he turned just then and gave me a small wave. I waved back, my grin growing toothier by the second, just as I could feel Roxie and Natalie’s eyeballs boring holes in the sides of my skull. “I mean, I assume.”
“Yeah, that’s not what I meant,” Natalie said.
“Oh?”
“I meant how is Archie, in the biblical sense?”
I sputtered. “What? Why? What?”
“Smooth, real smooth, Nat,” Roxie muttered.
Natalie sat up in her chair. “Hey, I would’ve said what’s it like to fuck that guy, but it’s Easter, so I made it about the Bible.”
“Now, just wait a minute,” I snapped. “What are you two up to?”
“That’s funny, I was going to ask you the exact same question.” Natalie cackled, leaning back in her chair and almost upending herself.
“We just, that is, me and Natalie, we just wondered . . .” Roxie said, trailing off and waggling her eyebrows.
I let her keep doing it for a moment simply because she looked like she was having some kind of fit. “I’d love for you to just ask your question,” I finally said, putting her out of her misery.
“Are you and Archie up here fluffing the pillows every night or what?” Natalie asked.
“No.”
“No?” they both asked.
“No, we are not fluffing anything.”
“Bullshit,” Roxie said, and I looked at her in surprise. It was usually Natalie I could count on for the bullshit in a china shop attitude. “Bull. Shit.”
“What is it you want me to say, huh?” I asked, staring down into my cocktail. I could feel both of them staring at me, so it made me very interested in my olive.
“That you’ve been making sweet, sweet hotel love since you showed up on his mountaintop,” Roxie said.
“That you’ve been riding him but good since you showed up on his mountaintop,” Natalie added.
“Neither. And that’s the truth.”
Roxie started, “But—”
I cut her off. “There is something going on, yes.” Natalie clapped and almost lost her balance again. “But before anyone starts tap dancing, may I remind you of a few things? One, I’m leaving. Not now, but eventually. Two, I’m leaving because this is my job, and he’s my boss, and I’ll thank you both to stop clapping and rocking back and forth in your chairs, going on and on about sweet love and riding his mountaintop because I work here. Three, his wife died. It’s been a few years, sure, but they were together since time was invented and that’s not something he’s going to get over anytime soon. He still wears his wedding ring, in case you didn’t notice, and how can I compete with that? Four, I positively adore him and he’s the best kisser ever and I want to fuck the ever-loving mountain out of him, and if either of you say anything else I’ll kick you in the colon.” I drained my glass. “And I am positively and one hundred percent fucked.”
“Whoa, just, hang on a second. So something is going on, but you haven’t . . .” Natalie made a very specific motion with her finger.
“No, that hasn’t happened.” I sighed, reaching over and taking Roxie’s Bloody Mary since mine was now empty. “But you guys . . . shit. He’s just . . . shit.”
“Clara, sweetie, I know you don’t like to open up and talk about this stuff, but we’re gonna need some actual words other than shit,” Roxie said.
“Okay, how about these. Awesome. Incredible. Mind-blowing. Frustrating. Pretentious. Obnoxious.” I paused and took a breath. “Freckles.”
“Freckles?” Natalie asked.
I nodded. “Fucking hell, the freckles drive me crazy. I want to count them and then kiss him that many times.”
“Oh my God,” Roxie said, putting her hand over her mouth.
“Don’t,” I warned quietly.
“But Clara, oh my God,” she continued to say through muffling fingers.
“Don’t say it,” I repeated.
“You fucking love this guy,” Natalie said, taking another bite out of her celery.
“Goddammit.” I sighed, leaning back in my rocking chair. “This conversation is over.”
“Like hell it is, because, news flash? That guy fucking loves you back,” Natalie said.
“It doesn’t matter because, wait, what?”
“He totally does.”
I shook my head. “How could you possibly know that?”
“Did you just meet me? Do you have any idea how many men have fallen in love with me over the years? You don’t think I know what a man in love looks like?” She leaned back in her own rocking chair, tugging at a piece of celery stuck in her teeth. “That guy right there loves you. And if you love him, I just don’t get it.”
My mind was reeling. What she said, what both of them said, could I? Could he? Could . . . shit. No. NO! My palms sweaty and my heart beating in my ears, I turned to my friends. “You don’t get it, okay. It can’t happen, it just, don’t you see, it can’t happen.”
Roxie leaned forward, concern in her eyes. “Why can’t this happen, why can’t you have this?”
My throat suddenly felt like it was squeezing shut. “You can’t understand because until Leo came along, you didn’t give a damn about falling in love. You thought it was bullshit, that it was a waste of time, that it was for suckers. And you, Nat, you literally left a trail of men behind you, wasted in love with you as you moved on to the next guy. Now, am I pleased as fucking punch that you’ve found the loves of your lives? Of course, because you deserve it, both of you, I’m so happy for you, but neither one of you ever got fucking left in your life, and you don’t know what that feels like. You don’t, Roxie, because you never took a chance before Leo and you don’t, Natalie, because you made sure you never got in too deep with anyone. So neither of you were ever left behind, thrown out like trash, all alone. I have a job, a job that I love and is my life, my entire life. I won’t ever put myself in a position to be left again, which is why I can’t afford to fall in love, goddammit, so please, don’t push this on me, okay?”
Tears had sprung into my eyes somewhere between pleased and as fucking punch and I brushed them angrily away. “I love you guys, I do, but it doesn’t matter what I feel or might feel or could feel for Archie because I just can’t let myself do it.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mrs. Toomey and one of the pastry chefs waving at me frantically. I sighed, pushed my way out of the rocking chair, and looked at the two of them, silent for once. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve gotta see a man about some buns.”
“Wait a minute,” Roxie said, grabbing my arm just before I could run off.
“I have to go,” I whispered, balancing right on the edge of a knife here.
“You’re right, you know, I did everything I could to make sure I never fell in love, I put up walls and hid behind them, only letting a guy over that wall for a night or two, and only then if I knew it was someone I could never get serious about. And yeah, Natalie broke a couple of hearts over the years—”
“A couple?” Natalie chimed in, but Roxie shook her head.
“—but that’s because she had her own walls, we all have fucking walls, Clara. Yours are thicker and higher than those of anyone I’ve ever met, with good reason. But when he comes along, and it’s scary as hell when he does, but when that guy, your guy, comes along and busts down those walls? Leo was literally the last thing I was looking for, and I did everything I could to mess it up, but we figured it out. It’s messy sometimes, and it’s scary sometimes, but it’s so goddamn worth it.”
“Oscar tunneled under my walls, sneak attack. I didn’t even know I was in love with him until I was,” Natalie said, her voice soft. “And it scared me to death. I let one guy into my heart before Oscar, just one, and it nearly broke me in two. And I wasn’t ever going to let anyone do that again. And it wasn’t easy with Oscar at the beginning, and it still isn’t sometimes, but there’s nowhere else on the planet I’d rather be than right here, right now.” She reached out for my hand and squeezed it. “Except sitting on Oscar’s face.”
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, looking up at the sky and then down at my two friends, my family, and wondered what in the world I’d done to deserve crazy people like this in my life. And wondered maybe, just maybe, if there was a splash of truth in what these two were saying . . . or if it was just the Bloody Marys talking.
Twenty minutes later I was in the main dining room, watching the staff scurry around to get the last of the tables set and make sure that everything was exactly in its place. I watched them scurry while I tried my damnedest to get myself under control. Any second now the doors would open and families would pour in dressed in their Easter best to break bread and celebrate the return of spring, giddy and glad and bursting with love and happiness.
I was freaking out.
Everyone seemed pumped today, even the staff. This was their family. They had to work on the holiday, sure, but they were always together and there was still a festive feeling in the air. The candles were lit, the flowers were beautiful, the last of the winter fires were burning merrily in the fireplaces, and the beautiful brunch was laid out for everyone. Gorgeous hams, studded with cloves and shimmering with honey glaze. A thousand kinds of potatoes, each one more decadent than the last. The first asparagus. The first peas. Every kind of casserole you’d ever wanted, and every kind of “salad” ever prepared by your aunt Judy or grandma Ruth.
“Jell-O molds, can you believe it?” Mrs. Banning said as she zoomed by with a tray of quivery red towers. “They still make Jell-O molds!”
“Oh, they tried to get rid of them a few years ago, but the guests demanded they be brought back, they practically stormed the kitchen with pitchforks,” chimed in Mrs. Toomey as she also trotted out a tray full of the molds. “Well, forks, but you get the idea.”
“I think it’s that everyone still wants it the way their mom did it, you know?” said Mrs. Banning, pausing beside me and surveying the table. “Everyone just wants to re-create how it was in their childhood. Even if we’re in a hotel, we still want our mom’s home cooking.”
I nodded and smiled through gritted teeth, feeling a swirling ball of panic begin to rise.
“But there’s nothing like this family’s hot cross buns,” Mrs. Toomey said, flanking me on the other side and wrapping an arm around my waist. The three of us stood there as they brought out tray after tray of the most beautiful, perfect fluffy buns I’d ever seen. Just the smell of them was incredible. Buttery, cinnamony, flecked with currants and dripping with gorgeous white frosting. “You know, those buns have been in Archie’s family for over a century.”
So many things I could say right now . . .
“Tradition,” she went on, not knowing what a land mine she’d just laid out there. “This entire hotel is built on tradition. And family. It’s everything, don’t you think?”
The panic ball moved out of my stomach, pushing through to my spinal column and was now climbing each vertebra, leaving an icy trail behind. My throat bunched up a bit, and I wondered how it all got so damn thick in here.
“Oh, listen to me going on, holidays just make me all squishy inside.”
“Squishy?” a deep voice said from just behind us.
“There you are, we were just talking about you,” Mrs. Toomey said as Archie stepped next to us, looking around the room. Tall and proud, cleaned up after the egg hunt and back in his tailored charcoal-gray suit. Today the tie was a sunny, springtimey yellow, with a pocket square covered in—
“Bunnies, Mr. Bryant?” I managed, looking at the little white cottontail butt sticking up out of his suit. My voice sounded shrill, forced.
“Don’t mock the bunnies, Ms. Morgan. It’s Easter.” He turned to Mrs. Toomey. “Everything is perfect, as always. The guests will love it.”
She glowed under his praise. Everyone did. He worked hard, he asked everyone else to do the same, and when a compliment came, it was well earned.
The women excused themselves and headed back into the kitchen, and I willed the panic now blooming upward of my rib cage to stand down.
“I think we’re ready to let the stampede in, don’t you?” he asked, looking toward the double doors that were still closed.
“Yeah, everything looks ready, and—”
“You look beautiful,” he murmured, his eyes darting around the room so as not to draw attention to us, but the warmest smile tugging at his lips was just for me.
“Thank you,” I whispered, not trusting my voice anymore.
Run. Get out of here. This is too much.
“You’ll be dining with us, all of your friends will be. This year we had to stretch out the family table.”
“Oh?”
Jesus, it’s too much.
“It’s always nice when families grow, isn’t it?”
This hurts. This actually hurts.
“So listen, I’ve got a bit of a headache and was thinking that—”
“There you are!” I winced when I heard Natalie behind me. “I’m starving. Let’s get this show on the road.”
“Well said, Natalie. Is everyone here?” Archie asked. I opened my eyes to see the entire gang, plus a child I assumed was Polly, spread out like a picture in a family newsletter. Behind them, a horde of well-dressed guests were streaming in, taking their usual tables and beginning to line up for the buffet.
“We’re all here. Hey, thanks for inviting us, Arch, I haven’t been up here for Easter brunch since I was a kid. My mother loves it,” Leo said.
“Of course she does,” Roxie muttered, earning a giggle from Polly.
“It’s our pleasure,” Jonathan Bryant said, swooping in out of nowhere and shaking hands all around, exchanging names and pleasantries and nice to see yous/nice to finally meet yous/we love your butters (that one was for Oscar) and everything else. Archie took the moment to lean down and whisper, “You were saying something about a headache?”
I knew this was my out, my chance to slip away and feign a migraine and spend the afternoon either in my room or hiking in the hills. Or running. It was literally my chance to run. I took a deep breath, prepared to duck and dodge, but as I looked around at the assembled group, I really looked. My best friends in the whole world, with their one and onlys. And in Roxie’s case, her one and only’s plus one. My new friends Chad and Logan. The man who hired me, a lovely fatherly figure who loved a Jell-O mold as much as the old biddies and was already pointing out to Polly which one was his favorite. And Archie.
A man who wore tortoiseshell glasses and a bunny pocket square like no one else on the planet. A man who was currently looking down at me with the nicest and sweetest eyes ever, full of concern but also tinged with hope that I’d be okay and stay. For the buns.
I could do this, right? It was just a meal, it was just food. Just time spent with friends, what was I worrying about so much? I could do this. I needed to do this. And if there was ever a time to just get over myself and deal, it was right now. “I’m good,” I said, and boy, did I ever want those words to be true. Then I saw how happy my words made him, the smile coming over his face so quickly. “I’m good,” I repeated. Saying the words actually pushed that panic ball down a bit, slipping backward down my spine, the tendrils that had been spreading out and wrapping around me seemed to be recoiling back down to where it was manageable. “I’m good,” I said once more.
Ohhh, I was so very not good. Brunch was coordinated chaos. Not in the overall dining room but at our actual table. I couldn’t get a word in edgewise, everyone was talking over one another, I couldn’t think, I couldn’t focus, I didn’t even know who was talking half the time.
“Cadbury Creme Eggs.”
“Gross.”
“Gross? Leave this table right now for such blasphemy.”
“Creme Eggs fall under the category of blasphemy now?”
“If you’re talking smack about them, they do.”
“Forget the Creme Eggs, you can’t have Easter without Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs.”
“YES! Oh my God, this, this a thousand percent. Reese’s Peanut Butter Eggs are the best!”
“My mom always made sure I had tons of those in my basket.”
“A basket covered in ribbons, right?”
“Totally! And full of that plastic green grass.”
“Plastic green grass! Oh my God, I haven’t seen that stuff in ages! You’d go to grab a piece of candy—”
“—and half of the grass would come with it!”
“My mom used to make a kind of nest out of that green plastic grass in the middle of our dining room table and put a huge chocolate bunny in the middle, then scatter jelly beans all around. And Peeps.”
“PEEPS!”
“YES, PEEPS!”
“How in the world have we not talked about Peeps yet?”
“Did your mom ever let you put them in the microwave?”
“No way, she knew I’d burn the house down.”
“My mom would never let me do it, but at some point when she wasn’t around my Dad and I would sneak over to the microwave and blow up the Peeps.”
“My mom would’ve killed me. Besides, we were too busy shoving Cadbury Creme Eggs in our mouths to worry about bullshit candy like Peeps.”
“I told my mom I was having Easter brunch at Bryant Mountain House, and she made me promise to smuggle out some of the hot cross buns inside a napkin. Think anyone will notice if I do?”
“I could always get you a pan right out of the kitchen, would that be enough?”
“Maybe? Two, two pans would be enough.”
“New tradition: we have Easter brunch together up here every year.”
“I second that.”
“I third that. More buns, please.”
“Deal. Every year. All of us together. Now, someone please pass me more of that Jell-O mold before we all turn into a pile of mush.”
“I have to go.”
“What?”
“What?”
“What’d she say?”
“Yeah, I gotta go. I’m not . . . feeling well.”
“No no, don’t go.”
“She’s not feeling well?”
“Clara.”
“I gotta go.”