I don’t know how she did it, but Lainey convinced me to come with her to her parents’ place for some ‘welcome home’ soirée for their return from a two-week trip to Paris.

Dressed in an outfit Lainey laid out for me, the Uber car Lainey called drops us off on Astor Place in front of a huge brick home—a single family home, not an apartment building. A wrought iron fence surrounds the home that is accented with delicate trees, flowering shrubs, and cheerful flower beds, all of which seems so out-of-step with a massive city like Chicago and its impressive skyscrapers—an oasis right in the middle of the city. Lainey tells me that we’re in the Gold Coast area of town and looking around, I can totally see why it’s called that.

We enter through the gate onto a large patio, and then Lainey opens the front door like she lives there, because, well—she used to.

Once inside, I’m stunned by the marble floors and massive staircase that curves along the wall to the right. I can see Lainey walking down in her prom dresses and the photos that would be magazine worthy.

Navigating around the staircase, Lainey escorts me into a grand scene, and I’m stunned into silence as we are presented with a massive and eclectic open space that serves as a living room, another smaller seating area, and a dining room. The room has a dozen or so people chatting all around, and I hear gentle jazzy music under their chatter, but my focus is all on the fabulous architecture and décor. Everything resembles something out of a magazine—one of those magazines that my co-worker back at the electric company, Tiffany, used to leave in the break room.

“Miss,” a woman in a maid uniform holds out a silver tray with champagne flutes.

My stomach lurches at the mere thought of alcohol.

“Can you get us some water, please, Annabelle?”

“Of course, Miss Lainey,” she replies with a smile and swiftly heads off into the apartment. I feel my mouth drop open realizing that Lainey’s parents have a maid. Wow.

Lainey pushes my chin up, closing my mouth and says, “I’ll be right back. I gotta pee.”

I’m left gawking, with my mouth closed, at the most incredible room I’ve ever been in. Well, the second most incredible. David’s place was equally impressive, just very different. While his home was ‘modern-rich bachelor,’ this home is what I might call ‘old-world wealthy.’ Maybe I should consider an education in interior decorating.

The ceilings in this room are very high making me feel small, but the area isn’t unwelcoming at all. I walk through the main seating area with its overstuffed sofa in front of a massive coffee table. I casually check out the short stack of coffee table books sitting neatly in one corner. The top one is about Paris. I wonder if the Bartolucci’s bought this one on the trip they were just on. The middle book is about modern art. And the bottom book is about wine. Quite an interesting collection. A large laugh brings my attention to the smaller seating area where two very handsome men sit in a pair of brown leather chairs with a brass-topped table between them. Behind the chairs is a giant piano. The fancy, shiny black kind. The kind on stage in a concert, I imagine. I wonder who plays in the family or if it’s just for show.

In the alcove on the other end of the room is the dining space featuring an enormous solid wooden table with fourteen chairs neatly tucked in around it, but I’ve never seen dining chairs look so comfortable. They have tall backs of brown leather accented with brass nailheads, and the seats look like… brown and white cowhide? An odd combination one would think, but it works so perfectly.

Then there are accents around the room that add to the old-world feeling like a bronze horse up on his hind legs standing three or four feet tall, and artwork, both old and new, and some that looked like they may have been Lainey’s work from her elementary school days.

As I marvel at everything, Annabelle returns serving me a cold glass of water on her silver tray. I take it and thank her. She smiles warmly and tells me to ask for anything I’d like before she disappears as silently as she arrived.

I turn back to the room sipping the refreshing water, and my eyes rest on the windows. The three windows facing the street all have deep sills and are outfitted with cushions, throw pillows, and luxurious looking silk blankets. I’d always wanted a window seat. Heather had one in her room. This room has three!

“I love to curl up and read in this window here,” a voice on my left says.

I turn and see a petite woman, but there’s nothing small about her. One glance and anyone can see that she’s got one big personality. Her platinum blonde hair is styled in a perfectly trendy pixie cut framing her large, expressive eyes and giant, welcoming smile that is exactly like Lainey’s. This must be Lainey’s mom, I conclude.

“It looks so cozy,” is all I can say, recalling her comment about the window seat she reads in.

“You must be Talia. Lainey has told us so much about you. I’m thrilled she was able to convince you to come tonight!”

“Thank you for having me, Mrs. Bartolucci.”

“Please, call me Barbara.”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you.”

“Come, meet Lainey’s father,” she says, taking my free arm and pulling me back into the room.

“Babs,” a strikingly handsome older man says as we approach. Wrapping a strong arm around my tour guide, he leans down and kisses Mrs. Bartolucci and not a polite peck on the cheek either. I’m just about ready to turn away from their intimate moment when she breaks the kiss and tucks herself into the man’s side. I’m stunned by their height difference in that he must be a full foot taller than she is, yet they look perfectly made for one another. He’s a very handsome man with salt and pepper hair that looks like it was once black, warm hazel eyes, and a million-dollar smile.

“Randy, I’d like you to meet Lainey’s neighbor, Talia Jameson. Talia, this is Lainey’s father, Randall Bartolucci.”

He shakes my hand, and I continue to be impressed by the men in Chicago with their soft hands. Especially David’s, a voice in my head whispers.

“A pleasure to meet you, dahlin’,” he says with a southern drawl. “Lainey speaks very highly of you.”

I feel myself blush at this second reference that Lainey’s talked about me to her parents. I wonder where her father is from with his accent, and find it interesting that Lainey doesn’t have one ounce of a southern twang in her speech. I wonder if I have an accent?

“Okay! I’m back,” Lainey says, bounding to my side. “Okay. I see you’ve met Talia,” she says hugging her parents. While the similarities weren’t totally obvious a few moments ago, seeing them together now, it is plainly evident that they are related.

“So,” I say to the happy couple. “Lainey tells me that you two just got home from France?”

“Oui, ma cherie. The happiest place in the world.”

“Any place you are is the happiest place,” Mr. Bartolucci corrects his wife with another kiss, although this one a little tamer than the other.

“Have you been?” Mrs. Bartolucci asks me.

“Oh no. I’ve barely left Illinois. Only once did I go to Tennessee, but that was just a few days. I hope to go to Europe one day. I want to see all the world,” I tell them honestly. The truth was I hadn’t thought much about traveling to other countries until she asked. I’d thought about skiing and scuba diving after David talked about those activities but hadn’t thought about where to do those things. But now—absolutely. I want to see everything! Castles in Europe. The Mediterranean Sea. The Swiss Alps.

“Maybe the two of us will jet off to Europe,” Lainey tells me, looping her arm through mine.

Another couple waiting to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Bartolucci walks up, and Lainey drags me across the room and introduces me to her brother, Josh, a miniature version of Lainey’s father, just a lot younger with his thick, wavy hair, a jet black instead of silver, which sets off his startling blue eyes, the same color as their mother.

“Joshy! This is my neighbor, Talia. Talia, this is my brother, Josh.” He pins me with his warm blue eyes, and for a moment, I’m comparing them to David’s. Not like David’s warm brown eyes, though. Nothing is like David’s eyes, I find myself thinking. For a fleeting moment, I think it would be fun to date Josh since, after all, David is apparently not available. That micro-fantasy is quickly dashed as Josh’s wife, Emily, and their son, Gavin, walk up and introduce themselves.

From the foyer, a tall, smartly dressed brunette with a megawatt smile to match Lainey’s mother calls, “Hello!” She’s carrying a bouquet of fuchsias along with purple, white, and yellow tulips and is greeted by several guests nearby.

“Aunt Kristi!” Lainey calls out and pulls me toward the small crowd.

“LaLaLainey.” The two women hug, and Lainey introduces me to her mother’s sister.

“Aunt Kristi. This is my neighbor, Talia.”

Straight away, Kristi is firing questions my way about what I’ve seen in town and what I would like to do. It turns out Kristi is an event planner to the rich and famous with all sorts of connections, and just like her niece, Kristi is eager to help me find all the best that there is to do in the Windy City.

Barbara comes up to us and hugs her sister like she hadn’t seen her in ten years. The two start to chat wildly not letting the other finish sentences but knowing exactly what the other was saying.

“How was—”

“Fabulous as always. Did you bring—”

“No. The dolt is at home. Did you get the—”

“You know I did. I wouldn’t dare think of coming home without it.”

“And you’d better never!”

I’m envious of their relationship. I’d always wanted a sister.

“Excuse us,” Barbara and Kristi say in unison before scuttling off whispering like best friends. I wonder what the exchange was all about, clearly in some secret sister code, but I’m not left to wonder for long. Lainey works the room and introduces me to several other guests—current neighbors, old neighbors, cousins, and colleagues.

Soon the party is in full swing. I can’t remember any of the names of people I’m introduced to but having a perfectly pleasant night listening to stories about Lainey, and hearing her parents tell anecdotes about their travels. Lainey was absolutely right. This party is just what the doctor ordered.

When Lainey disappears into the kitchen to get something, curiosity gets to me, so I start walking around the place looking at the photos on the bookshelf.

I smile at the Bartolucci family photos of them on vacation but am simultaneously sad that I never had anything like that. On our shelf back in the trailer, there was only one picture of my mom, Jude, and me that I could recall, and it wasn’t in a frame. It was from when we were camping. One of my mom’s boyfriends, Ryan, a nice one for a change who kept my mom more or less sober, took us to a state park, Wayne Fitz-something-or-other. It was a really fun weekend where Ryan taught Jude and me how to fish and showed us some constellations. We made S’mores. He played the guitar, and we sang songs until way past bedtime. But he and my mom broke up after that weekend.

I move along the shelves to see a picture of Lainey with a boy, definitely not Lance, at what looks like a high school prom. There’s a picture of Josh and Mr. Bartolucci dressed in ski stuff. A picture of Mr. and Mrs. Bartolucci takes my breath away. They are both beaming with happiness while at a restaurant way up in the sky. The frame indicates that the photo was taken at the Eiffel Tower in Paris, France. I look over at the couple, still as happy as ever. No wonder Lainey is so confident and put together—she has wonderful role models. I want to wonder ‘what if’ with my mom and her past, but I gave up on that game so long ago.

I’m just about to move along from the bookshelf and grab another glass of water and maybe some food as my stomach is starting to tell me it’s hungry when I see a picture that paralyzes me. I look at it once, then again before picking up the frame so I can study it more closely. It’s Mr. and Mrs. Bartolucci standing with another couple and… David. My David. Well, not mine anymore, but how would Mr. and Mrs. Bartolucci know him? Aside from being a part of the well-to-do community. What is the photo from? The picture was taken several years ago, but it was without a doubt David Redding.

“Isn’t he dreamy? Even before he was Most Eligible,” Lainey says from behind me, practically scaring the pants off me. “God, those eyes! I swear I wouldn’t be able to say a word if he ever looked at me. I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love Lance but… Mmm-mmm! David’s eyes are just so… arresting!”

“S-sorry, I was just being nosey,” I stammer as I try and set the photo back on the shelf without breaking it. Then her words click in my brain. “Most what?” tearing my eyes from the image of a younger David, around twenty, when his hair was longer and shaggier, his button- down shirt sleeves rolled up, and his tie loosened. And just as Lainey said, his eyes were so terrifically arresting.

“David Waterston,” she says, pointing at the picture. “One of Chicago’s Most Eligible Singles. My mom was one of his sister’s doctors. Did I mention that she’s a doctor? That was at a benefit years ago for the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation called Sixty-Five Roses.”

“Waterston?”

“Yeah. The Chicago Waterstons. That hottie there is David. Haven’t you seen him in the magazines and in the paper? On the morning shows? Oh right, you didn’t do TV back home, and I don’t think he’s been on lately now that the hoopla has died down. Then again, he very well could be in the running again next year, I hear. He loves ‘em and leaves ‘em. Doesn’t seem to settle down. The tabloids say he doesn’t date the same girl twice.” She looks at me carefully, then asks, “Are you feeling okay? Is it the hangover? You don’t look so great right now.”

“That’s David,” I say carefully, his name suddenly sounding foreign to me.

“Yeah,” she scoffs. “That’s David.” When she doesn’t see me laughing she stops cold. “Wait. Your David?” she asks, clearly confused.

All I can do is nod.

“Holy shit! Why didn’t you say anything? You were dating David Waterston? How did that get missed by the tabloids? I’m sorry, not that he wouldn’t date you, that came out wrong. But his every move is tracked. He’s like the hottest one on the list!”

“But he told me his name was David Redding,” I tell her, not really paying attention at all to what she just said. “I’ve never heard of the Waterstons. He’s the most eligible what?”

“Most eligible bachelor. Well, singles. Every year Chicago Now magazine chooses twenty men and women who are successful, rich, and single. They get all sorts of publicity, and loads of singles throw themselves at them. He was voted in just last month.”

“Talia, honey, are you okay?” Mrs. Bartolucci says, wrapping a comforting arm around me.

“I’m okay, Mrs… um… I mean Dr. Bartolucci. Thank you,” I reply, once again feeling like Alice.

“What is this doctor business? Please, I already asked you to call me Barbara. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Mom,” Lainey says, very matter-of-fact-like. “Was David Waterston at the event last night?”

“Of course, he was, sweetie. You know he’d never miss the Sixty-Five Roses benefit. Why do you ask?”

“Who was he there with?”

“A Ginnifer somebody-or-other. Gave quite a large donation. I applaud David for putting up with her. He must have known she’d be good for the bottom line. She gave quite a large donation. Poor thing, though, David, I mean. Didn’t look like he was having any fun at all. He left early. Said he wasn’t feeling well. If you ask me, he just couldn’t take another handsy minute with that girl. Can’t say as I blame him. Sorry. Please forgive me. I must have had one too many of these,” she says, setting her glass of champagne down. “I tend to talk too much with the bubbly,” she whispers with a wink to me. “But now you, my lamb. Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” I answer, trying to sift through the babbling that Mrs. Dr. Bartolucci—or Barbara—just laid out for me. But I'm really not ‘fine.’ I’m practically drowning in self-doubt.

“So, you and David," Lainey says again when her mother leaves. “God. I remember meeting him back when I was in high school. I was fifteen and fell instantly in love with him at the benefit. He was in college. So nice and impossibly handsome. Even danced with me. I wanted to marry him,” she swoons. “You are one lucky girl.”

“Was. He dumped me, remember?"

“That just doesn’t sound like him. We'll have to get to the bottom of this.”

“Lainey!” a guest calls out.

“Mr. Howard!" she returns and drags me over to meet an old neighbor.

I make it through the rest of the party in a complete fog, this new information about David Waterston weighing heavily on my mind. The Chicago Waterstons. Most Eligible Single. Rich. At the benefit with a generous donor.