“We could get a bottle of something better,” he said, raising a brow.
“It’s fine, Dad.”
“And for you, sir?” The server stood waiting for me, pen in hand.
“Soda water with lime.”
“Great. I’ll be right back.”
“That’s all?” Murphy’s dad asked, questioning my beverage choice.
I couldn’t help but think how differently the night would have gone had they not shown up. I’d be having a nice Scotch, with Murphy snuggled in next to me. We’d be in no rush because we’d only be going upstairs after dinner.
Giving him a tight smile, I said, “I have to drive home later.”
“It’s a few hours away,” he said. “We’ll be eating a big meal between now and then. A man never likes to drink alone.”
Here I thought being prepared to take his daughter home safely would impress the man. Instead, it was more important to him that we clink glasses.
“There must be some sort of car service the hotel can arrange for,” Mrs. Landon said, twirling her wrist, admiring her diamond-studded watch catch the light.
“Mom, there’s no car service.” Murphy chimed in but didn’t say a word defending my choice.
I held my tongue, unable to get a word in during the bombardment.
“Oh well,” Mrs. Landon said. “Let’s hear a little bit more about what you’re doing. You know, our annual holiday card and letter is just around the corner, and we want to make sure we get it right.”
“I’m mainly working at the Busy Bean, serving coffee, Mom. It’s fun and easy, and I work with good people.”
Murphy sat up in her seat, her ankles crossed. She looked more like she was on a job interview than seeing her parents after several months. I couldn’t help but notice her hair. Not a single strand moved or curled against her face. It was poker straight and practically shellacked over her shoulder.
As Murphy began to talk, the server appeared, placing our drinks in front of us.
“Bring the gentleman a Scotch,” Mr. Landon barked at the server.
He turned to me and asked, “Neat?”
I wasn’t going to get out of this drink, so I decided to take the easy road. “Johnny Walker Black on the rocks,” I told the server while filled with self-loathing. I couldn’t understand why I was giving in after years of being who I was and acting the way I wanted.
“Nice choice,” Murphy’s dad said smugly.
A small smile spread across Murphy’s face, and I couldn’t believe she found some sense of satisfaction in the exchange.
“I mean, other than that coffee business,” Murphy’s mom said, picking back up on the conversation about what Murphy was doing, presumably for their holiday card.
Murphy stiffened. “Most of my hours are spent working at the Bean. Zara is very good to all of us, the employees—”
“Oh,” her mother said quickly, interrupting. “I forgot to mention that guy flitting around, the one who asked me about the flights. Is everyone so simple here in Vermont?” She punctuated her slight with a sip of her drink.
I waited for Murphy to defend Roderick. He was one of the best, a good friend to Murphy and everyone at the Bean.
Instead, Murphy talked about herself. “Actually, I’m working on a marketing project involving the Bean too. I started a book club, and we’ve had one successful meeting.”
“That’s hardly marketing, Murphy,” her mom said.
After taking a big sip of wine, Murphy placed her glass down before she spoke. “I’ve been incorporating several small businesses into the theme of the book club. Pastries, manicures, and such. Several local small businesses all get a good bit of exposure.”
Her mother sniffed. “Sounds like a hobby to me.”
I waited for Murphy to explain more, like how Cosette’s had someone doing nails for the first time because of her. I didn’t even know what that truly meant, but it was something, and it meant something to the town. What about Gigi’s business, and how it was growing thanks to Murphy? She neglected to mention that, or Hunnie and all the work Murphy was doing for her.
“We could spin it, though. How you’re breathing big-city life into this sleepy town,” Murphy’s dad said. “Take a picture of you holding a biography of one of my fellow supporters. It’ll be fine. Lyssa, why don’t you tell Murphy about the cultural trust?”
Just like that, the talk about Murphy’s marketing was over, and my Scotch was sitting in front of me, the ice melting into the whiskey.
“I have some wonderful news.” Murphy’s mom’s face lit up like one of the billboards in Times Square.
Sadly, Murphy didn’t move a muscle. She sat stock still, obviously waiting for the next bomb to drop.
“The trust’s marketing person is getting married and moving to Ohio. Really, who would leave the city for Ohio?” she said, referring to the city as if New York City were the only city. “They heard you were available. I couldn’t help but mention it. Honestly, Murphy, the whole Columbia thing is long forgotten. Preston Parker went back to whatever small town he was from with his tail between his legs. I’m sure even Columbia would have you back, but this is better, don’t you think? A huge opportunity with lots of exposure.”
Murphy nodded dutifully. “I’ll think about it.”
Pulling my phone from of my pocket, I pretended to get an urgent text. “Excuse me.” I pushed back from my chair and retired to a private corner, feigning taking an important call, but the truth was I really needed a moment to myself to regroup.
I didn’t know who this version of Murphy was, but it wasn’t the girl who picked car locks or poured maple syrup on everything. This wasn’t the woman who set Hunnie straight or fumbled behind the coffee bar, refusing to give up. I had no idea who this woman was, but she wasn’t the person I was falling for—after all, she was giving in to everything her parents said.
Where was the headstrong version of Murphy I’d come to know and love?
I had to get out of here. Walking
