New Amsterdam: Tess (3 page)

“Of course – clear or blue?”

Thessaly signs the order form and then scans the paper with her phone. “Clear, please. And black lids, not gold.” She stands from the desk and replaces the pen. “Thanks for coming here today, Junebug. I wish I could stay longer but I’m behind on getting everything sorted. And that wedding last night nearly killed me – honey whiskey shots are not my friend.”

“Oh Lord, the stories I could tell you involving a night with Mr. Beam. And the honey doesn’t make it less hairy, does it?” Giggling, June drops the order form in a file marked
Priority.
“Honestly, Tess, I needed to get away from the cabin and Murray’s complaining. The flies were biting more than the fish.”

“Junebug, can you do me a favor?”

Placing her hands on Thessaly’s arms, June replies, “Just ask.”

“Send Mama away if she comes near the warehouse or the apiary.”

“I’m one step ahead of you, Tess. I hid her bee suit last week.” June winks.

Mary Alice Hanson likes all things vintage. Clothes. Cars. Cocktails.

And men.

“Tess!”

“Mary Alice!”

The excited shrills of old friends can be heard throughout the lobby of the Grove Park Inn. Actually, Mary Alice and Thessaly are more like sisters, each with only brothers, the two women have a twenty-year friendship that defies time.

Taking in Thessaly’s slim black pants, sleeveless black top, and designer black espadrilles, Mary Alice exclaims, “Chic and sexy, as always!”

Thessaly grabs Mary Alice’s hand and twirls her around, sending her mid-century, full-skirt to flounce and wave like a spinning top. “Elegant and charming, as always!”

After completing a full rotation, Mary Alice pats her stomach and exhales. “I ordered a round of Moscow Mules – come meet Bennett!”

The two women continue through the lobby of the historic inn, past the creepy elevator hidden in the fireplace, and then outside to the Sunset Terrace overlooking the Blue Ridge Mountains. The Grove Park Inn hosts spectacular views, with hues of blue and green converging into a landscape painting of natural splendor. Even F. Scott Fitzgerald found inspiration with a bottle of whiskey and this particular view of the mountains.

Reaching a small table near the outdoor bar, Mary Alice squeezes Thessaly’s hand and clears her throat. “Bennett, sugar, this stunning creature at my side is my best friend in the whole wide world.”

A silver-haired gentleman with olive skin and lapis-blue eyes looks up from the table and grins. Dressed in a white dress shirt and pale-blue sport jacket, he stands to greet Thessaly. Bennett isn’t the oldest guy Mary Alice has dated, but he’s definitely the most dashing.

“Tess Sinclair,” his voice deep and velvety, “it’s an absolute delight to finally meet you.” Bennett extends his arm with an inviting smile, but Thessaly furrows her brows when she spots a shiny gold ring on the fourth finger of his left hand.

“Mary Alice?” Thessaly snaps.

Confused by Thessaly’s snotty reaction, Bennett drops his hand to the back of a nearby chair. He slides it out and waits for Mary Alice to sit.

“What?” Mary Alice asks, scooting her chair into the small table.

Accepting the other chair Bennett slides out for her, Thessaly sits down at the table while glaring at Mary Alice. “Did you get married without me?”

Bennett sighs in relief as he claims a chair, realizing that Thessaly is in shock and not ridiculously rude. “Tess, it’s my fault,” he apologizes, sliding his chair closer to the table.

“Nonsense!” Mary Alice reaches across the table to take Bennett’s hand, flashing a giant rock on her ring finger. “Sugar, you’re such a gentleman – so, so sexy,” she whispers while biting her lip. Turning to address her friend, Mary Alice continues. “Last week we were in Memphis . . . there were Elvis impersonators officiating weddings at Graceland . . . the weather was nice . . . I happened to have a gorgeous, white 1963 Valentino dress just hanging in my garment bag . . . it was fate.” Mary Alice tilts her head and frowns. “Tess, are you upset we didn’t get married in the bee barn?”

“Bees don’t live in the barn. And I never expected you to get married on the farm – that’s not your style. But I really thought I would be next to you, holding your bouquet as you exchanged vows.” Thessaly leans in to ask, “And what about your family?”

Mary Alice’s eyes flutter as she blinks rapidly. “Oh, they don’t know yet. You’re the first!”

An attractive waiter approaches the table carrying a tray of copper mugs, a bowl of cut limes, and a platter of tomato and mozzarella drizzled with balsamic dressing. After placing the items on the table, the waiter looks over Thessaly with a cocky smirk. Engaging in the flirtation, Thessaly arches an eyebrow and smiles – unable to ignore a man with exposed, muscular forearms and a fitted dress shirt.

Thessaly raises her mug to make a toast as the waiter says, “I’ll be back to take your order.” Walking away, Thessaly casually checks out the waiter’s backside, tipping her mug in his direction with a huge grin.

“Busted,” whispers Mary Alice.

“So?” Thessaly blushes. “To Bennett and Mary Alice! Husband and wife, lovers for life.”

The trio tap their mugs together and gulp the gingery cocktail. Although this is a joyous occasion, Thessaly places her drink on the table and stares out toward the vast mountain range deep in thought. The two friends have been planning each other’s weddings since they were twelve, and they even kept a scrapbook with magazine cutouts and homemade invitations.

Mary Alice was going to marry George Clooney on Waikiki Beach – pastel, vintage party dresses for the women, and linen suits for the men. Cocktails in Tiki glasses, 8mm filmography, and a beach luau serving roasted pig would’ve completed her perfect day. Thessaly, on the other hand, was going to marry Joshua Jackson on the family’s farm at dusk. Lanterns and candles would’ve illuminated an all-white, rustic picnic theme. But since both of their hypothetical husbands are currently taken, and Mary Alice hasn’t eaten meat in ten years, the two were forced to find alternative love stories.

“Tess, Mary Alice tells me you have a great little shop in the Seaport.” Bennett places a tomato stack on his wife’s plate, and then on his own.

“Sugar, we don’t have time for small-talk. Let me handle this,” Mary Alice interrupts. “Tess, I want to hear about all the men.” She waggles her eyebrows as her husband shakes his head. Gladly excusing himself from the intimate conversation, Bennett lowers his head and pretends to check his phone.

Thessaly blushes, and then smiles. “Inside or outside the bedroom?”

The current dating situation is a touchy topic with Thessaly, but she’s good at deflecting the awkward questioning. Three years ago, Thessaly moved to New York City with her then-boyfriend, Mason Andrews. They met as freshman while attending Duke University, the blond cheerleader and the star lacrosse player, destined to be the “it” couple at all the fraternity parties. As Mason and Thessaly matured, so did their love affair – marriage was definitely in their future. But like so many relationships, changes can force a couple to reevaluate their priorities. Mason threw himself into work, landing a job as an investment banker with a prestigious Downtown firm. Thessaly worked as a buyer for a chain of markets, learning the ropes and building contacts, but she rarely saw Mason. Within their first year living in Manhattan, they decided it was best to explore life outside their college romance, and maybe they would end up wanting different things. Mason bought an apartment in TriBeCa, and Thessaly rented a studio Downtown – hoping that it would be a temporary home until Mason took her back. And even though their split was amicable and they’ve remained friends with an occasional shag, Thessaly pretends to be a serial dater in order to cover the fact that she followed a boy to New York City.

“I love powerful men in suits, but there’s also a new breed of masculinity that I find extremely sexy. Like casual arrogance blended with tech geek, and then sprinkled with a dash of CrossFit.” Thessaly places a tomato stack on her plate and sprinkles it with pepper.

Pretending to fan herself, Mary Alice leans into Thessaly and whispers, “Yum. And?”

“My Thursday friend is like a Viking god with nerdy glasses. He’s sexy and smart, and incredibly talented.” Thessaly measures a sizable distance between her hands to represent the girth of his talent. “He demands that I have at least three orgasms before he leaves,” she whispers.

“God bless Thursday.” Mary Alice raises her mug to add, “And may you have a summer of sore weekends.”

Unless Thessaly is referring to the middle-aged UPS guy that makes bee jokes during his weekly delivery at The Hive, then her
Thursday friend
is a lie.

Sneaking up to her former bedroom like a guilty teenager, Thessaly closes the door behind her and kicks off her shoes. Most parents take the opportunity to remodel a grown child’s bedroom after they move out – mini gym, sewing room, office – but Rosalyn and Bruce Sinclair kept the kid’s bedrooms exactly the same.

She lifts her rolling suitcase onto the bed and unzips the tasseled zipper. Fishing out a black maxi dress and gold sandals, she glances at the time on her purple, furry alarm clock, and then makes her way to her desk. Running her hand over the acrylic desk pad plastered with stickers, and laughing at a framed photo of her and Mary Alice in the fifth grade, she slides open the top drawer and removes an upholstered box. Intended for jewelry, Thessaly bought the box to store all her favorite memories – like a photo of her grandfather during the Korean War, a yo-yo she won at summer camp, a few concert ticket stubs, and her sorority pledge pin.

Thumbing through a stack of photos with Mason, she finds a folded, glossy page of a magazine given to her on the day she left Asheville. It was Mason’s unspoken promise that he would in fact marry her one day if she boarded the plane to New York. Unfolding the paper and tracing the cushion-cut diamond of a Tacori wedding ring, she laughs. It’s smaller than she remembers, but dreams are always bigger when they don’t come true.

“Tess, honey.” Rosalyn knocks quietly on Thessaly’s bedroom door and then slowly opens it. “Are you decent?”

Quickly shoving everything back into the box and returning it to the drawer, she replies, “Come in, Mama.”

Entering the bedroom and gliding toward Thessaly’s bed, Rosalyn peeks inside her suitcase. “You wear so much black, Tess.”

Knowing that her mother is the queen of polite digs, she flatly responds. “I’m still mourning the end of
Friends
.”

“Your friends passed?” Rosalyn asks.

Arching an eyebrow, she replies, “
Friends
, Mama – the TV show.”

“Oh, yes. Anyway, I started the trademark application earlier – are you sure you have time for another line?” Rosalyn sits on the edge of the bed and crosses her long legs.

“It will sell itself, trust me.”

“I do trust you.” Sighing and placing her hands in her lap, Rosalyn adds, “Taking on too many responsibilities, or devoting all your time to a career, can make a man feel inadequate.”

“No offense, but your philosophy on the role of modern women is a little dated.”

“Maybe, but you’ll want to get married eventually.” Rosalyn slides her hand over her glossy, blond bob and adds, “I’m simply explaining why a man, particularly Mason, might have a hard time seeing you as marriage material.”

Not wanting to start a fight, Thessaly pats her mother’s shoulder and changes the subject. “Did you schedule your surgery?”

Enjoying the attention, she patters, “Oh, Tess, please. Do not coddle me – I’m a grown woman.”

“When is it? I’d like to be there.”

Standing slowly from the bed and smoothing the crease in her poplin shirt, Rosalyn replies, “September twenty-second. Which will give me plenty of time to recover before the holidays.” Picking up a family photo of the Sinclair crew vacationing at Disney World, Rosalyn chuckles. Her thin shoulders bounce and her lip quivers, causing Thessaly to roar in laughter.

“Mama, what’s so funny?” she asks, taking the photo from her mother and returning it to the side table.

“That was the trip when Kip screamed and kicked his way through
It’s a Small World
.”