Hush Little Baby by R. H. Herron

Author:R. H. Herron [Herron, R. H.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2021-05-11T00:00:00+00:00

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Lunch was beyond, and why was I surprised? Bree had said “catered” but hadn’t mentioned she’d sicced an entire event-planning team onto it. They arrived while we were getting warmed up by Tomas, the staff trooping through the house with so much stuff I wondered if there was a real party happening later that day, something we hadn’t been invited to.

But no. All of it was for the four of us.

We wiped off our sweat as Tomas disappeared silently, probably paid and tipped by Venmo. Then Bree led us outside, delight shining on her still-damp skin. “Heaven, right? A perfect seventy-four degrees, and just wait till they serve the food!”

The staff had set up a tented pavilion right on the sand. White voile blew prettily overhead, and pink roses were twined into the structure. The table was a large square, bigger than the four of us needed, and extravagant bouquets of pink and white flowers filled most of the flat space. The china was real, as was the silver.

I fed you sandwiches and Tostitos. I barely managed not to say it. The last time Bree had hosted us for lunch at her old place, she’d gotten a simple Mediterranean platter for us. This was different. Why? What was she trying to prove?

A smoked fig and brie salad came first, served by a deferent, high-cheekboned young woman who was probably trying to get her big break in Hollywood when she wasn’t slinging gold-rimmed plates. The salad was followed by a warm Greek chicken with kalamata olives and plump golden raisins served on black rice noodles with a side of tiny, tender-skinned artichokes. Dessert was a chocolate dome filled with almond and pistachio nougatine.

Bree had placed herself as host with her back to the ocean, but the rest of us had a spectacular view of the surfers waiting for the right waves to roll over, then rising to ride them. Even on a Thursday, the beach was full of runners and mom groups and men ostentatiously working out right in the middle of everything. Tourists eyed us, some obviously judging, others just as obviously impressed.

I sat across from Bree, Camille on my left and Maggie on my right.

Maggie mimed throwing something. “What if he’d hit someone with it?” She and Camille were telling us about something that had happened at the nine a.m. meeting they’d both been to, where a member had lost it and thrown a full cup of coffee at a wall because it wasn’t hot enough for him. But I couldn’t catch my thoughts and didn’t care.

Bree laughed and participated in the gossip. She seemed fine. As if the conversation upstairs hadn’t even happened. Her ability to move so rapidly between emotions was giving me motion sickness.

The thing was, I wanted my friend Bree back. I wanted the Bree I understood, the one who laughed way too loudly and didn’t care, the one who took risks and climbed mountains because they were there and who wore five-inch heels because she liked the way her legs looked in them, screw everyone else.

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