Page 9 of What August Heard
Jennifer pressed a hand to her chest like I’d just told her very good news.
“I controlled myself,” Callie announced, coming up behind me, “for the entire two-hour drive. The car smelled like a donut shop. I did not touch a single one. I need you all to acknowledge that.”
“We acknowledge it,” Douglas said, opening the tin and keeping it on the table.
He hugged us both, one arm each, solid and warm. He told us we were looking lovely. He said it the way he said most things, like he meant it and didn’t feel the need to add anything else to it.
Then something small and fast came barreling into me from the left.
Poppy.
She was nine years old and she hit like a cannonball. Both arms around my waist, face buried in my side, hands already leaving small white sugar prints on my dress. Jennifer and Douglas had adopted her from Vietnam three years ago, and in three years she had made herself completely and permanently at home in every room she walked into. She and I had gotten along immediately. I think it was because we both talked too much and neither of us was sorry about it.
“You have sugar on your hands,” I told her.
“I know,” she said into my dress. “I found the donuts.”
“Poppy,” Jennifer said.
“I only had one.” Poppy looked up at me. “It was very good. You should make them professionally.”
“I’m thinking about it.”
“You should stop thinking and start doing.” She nodded firmly, like she was closing a board meeting. Then she let go of me and threw herself at Callie.
Fletcher came over.
He hugged Callie first, pulled her in tight. They stayed like that for an entirety of three seconds, both of them not saying anything. Both of them just happy to be together on that warm, beautiful morning. Then he stepped back and looked at me.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
My face went warm. It always went warm. Five years and my face still did this every single time like it had never once learned its lesson.
We didn’t hug. We didn’t hug and neither of us moved to fix that and I was not going to think about it.
“August, this is Margaux,” Fletcher said.
I turned.
She was still sitting. The hat was still on, even with the umbrella over the table keeping the sun off. She looked at me through the little gaps in the brim, her eyes moving over me once, quick and light, the way you skim a page you don’t think has anything interesting on it.
“Hi.” Her voice was very sweet. Almost too sweet, like tea with one too many sugars.
“Hi,” I said. “It’s lovely to meet you.”
“Margaux’s parents are partnering with us on a new construction project,” Jennifer said, settling back into her chair. “That’s how she and Fletcher met.”
I nodded. I smiled. Margaux smiled back.
Calie and I sat down across from them both.
Margaux moved closer to Fletcher almost immediately. Just a shift, a lean, her shoulder finding his arm. Then she took his hand on top of the table. Fletcher smiled at her and put his arm around her briefly, a sideways half-hug that lasted a second.
He was looking at his glass. He looked at it a lot. Like its very existence depended upon how long he could look at it.
“Your dress is pretty,” Margaux said.
