“Oh my god, are you kidding?” Gretchen reached forward and grabbed Daphne under her arm. A moment later, Daphne’s face was squished into Gretchen’s shoulder and the poinsettia sandwiched between them. “Daph! You look amazing! What are you doing here?”
Weirdly enough, hot tears started to flood her eyes. No recrimination? No chastising? She’d expected a lecture from her sister about all the bad choices she’d made in her life, but this was Gretchen. Gretchen forgave easily. It was her twin, Audrey, that would be the more difficult one to convince. “Hey, sis. I thought I’d come by and wish you a merry Christmas.”
“I can’t believe you’re in New York! This is perfect!”
“It is?” Daphne hugged Gretchen back. Her mind was full of conflicting feelings. She was happy that Gretchen was clearly thrilled to see her . . . and a little guilty that she’d been in New York for a few weeks now and hadn’t stopped by. Then again, she’d been told by Audrey—her fucking twin—that she needed to never contact them again. She’d listened, even though it hurt. Daphne knew she’d fucked up things badly.
Of course, she didn’t know why she was feeling guilty—here they were having a grand time and no one had even bothered to send her a text message for the last freaking year.
But when Gretchen squeezed Daphne tight again, it was okay. The past was past, and she knew she’d been a jerk. There was no place for hurt feelings. She’d learned that in therapy. She’d burned a lot of bridges and if people weren’t interested in being in her life anymore, she couldn’t really blame them.
Didn’t mean it didn’t hurt, of course.
“Come on in!” Gretchen said excitedly, tugging Daphne forward. “Hunter’s not here or I’d introduce you. You haven’t met my baby, have you? He’s the best.” She beamed at Daph.
Daphne held the poinsettia awkwardly, not quite sure what to do with it. There were a bunch of women standing in the hallway, wearing aprons and giving her curious looks. One or two whispered behind their hands, and Daphne hoped that was just because they’d recognized her and not something worse. Still made her uncomfortable. “Is this a bad time?”
“Oh, silly. When have you ever cared about that?” Gretchen grinned at her sister and then sobered when she realized Daphne wasn’t laughing with her. “Sorry. What I meant to say was no, it’s not a bad time. We’re doing some holiday baking.”
“Because she keeps firing her caterers,” a tiny woman with dark hair wearing a bright red cardigan pointed out. “Which wouldn’t be a problem except she has a wedding of two hundred people in four days and no one to bake for her.”
“It’s Christmas, Greer,” Gretchen retorted. “If they can’t make a fucking croquembouche for a fucking wedding, then they don’t deserve to cater me.”
A girl in a Doctor Who scarf chimed in. “I can’t make a croquembouche either.”
“You hush, Taylor.” Gretchen linked her arm with Daphne’s and hauled her sister forward. “Come on. You can help with the caramel.”
The herd of women chatted and laughed as they headed back into the house, and Daphne eyed her surroundings with surprise. Her flighty older sister had done really well for herself. The house was enormous and tastefully decorated with a mix of new and old. And the kitchen they led her into? Like something out of a storybook, right down to the heaps of batter-filled bowls.
Daphne set the poinsettia down on the counter. “So . . . what do you want me to do? I can sing Christmas carols and even do some dancing, but I’m warning you, cooking is not part of my repertoire.”
“That’s fine! You can just hand me shit.” Gretchen went to the counter and picked up a bowl, barely glancing at it as she beat the batter. “I can’t believe you’re here. So tell me what you’re working on!”
Gretchen’s smile seemed genuine, and Daphne relaxed a little. “The label wants me to work on a Christmas album. It’s a bit late for it to come out this year, but they want to make sure I have enough time to recover and get set on track.” She didn’t point out that right now the label didn’t trust her to headline an expensive tour and not fall to pieces midway. She didn’t blame them. She didn’t exactly have a great track record. So, yeah, she was stuck with a cheesy Christmas album as her next work. It meant that she wouldn’t be able to release new content for at least a year after that, and for some reason . . . she was okay with that. Being on tour was a never-ending stream of parties and people and she didn’t want to deal with it. Not yet.
When that happened, Wesley would be out of her life for good, because then she would be firmly on the road to recovery. Brokenhearted and lonely, sure, but in recovery.
“Hey, Gretchen?” An all-too-familiar voice called out from another room. “I just looked up croquembouche on my phone and Martha Stewart’s recipe says you should make it as late as possible because—” Audrey entered the kitchen, caught sight of Daphne, and froze.
Oh. Daphne stared at her twin with a bit of yearning. Since she’d seen her last, Audrey had gotten softer, her face rounder. Some of it was from the baby she’d had a few months ago, but it was so strange to see her twin’s face and realize that they looked like each other again, right down to the shade of hair and the firm line of her mouth. And that . . . just made everything that much more painful.
Growing up, they’d been impossibly close. She’d slept next to her sister, they’d shared clothes, read each other’s diaries, and had no secrets. But somewhere along the way, they’d had grown apart, and as Daphne’s career took off, her relationship with her twin crumbled. Daphne got into drugs and alcohol and partying, and Audrey? Audrey got more and more “responsible.” She worked sixty hours a week, volunteered on weekends, and pretty much disapproved of everything Daphne did. The last time Daphne had overdosed, she’d had the hospital call Audrey, and Audrey had fucking abandoned her.