“Sure.”

I poured my guests wine (vodka for Amelia) and offered Jake a glass, which he refused, already downing his second can of beer, his eyes on Xiaowen’s chest.

“When’s supper?” Mom asked.

“Soon,” I said. “We have cheese and crackers and shrimp, and Xiaowen brought us some beautiful oysters.”

“What’s your name again?” Bob asked.

“Xiaowen,” she said.

“Sh—what? That’s quite a mouthful,” he said. “Do you have a nickname that’s easier to say?”

“I do have a nickname! It’s fuck off. Can you say that?” She slurped an oyster down and raised her middle finger. Bob blinked, then looked at his shoes.

I smothered a laugh. “She-ao-wen, Bob,” I said. “Just three little syllables. Mom, would you like a glass of wine?”

“Water, please.”

Of course. Far be it for her to loosen up with a drink. Her expression said she’d be happier on death row.

“Speaking of names, I was named for Amelia Earhart,” Amelia said, gazing up at the ceiling. “She was a great-aunt of mine.”

“Really?” Mr. Carver said. “I always admired her. My wife...” His voice thickened. “My wife went to a Halloween party dressed like her once.”

Jake popped another beer. “You like older men?” he asked Xiaowen.

“I like older men who bathe,” she said. “When was the last time you hit the showers?”

“Let me help you with things, Nora,” Mom said, getting up. “So we can get this show on the road.”

Sullivan, meanwhile, watched. I hoped he was catching the conversation. He saw me looking and gave me a little nod.

“Why are all these men here?” my mother hissed at me in the kitchen.

“Uh...I don’t know. I just ran into them,” I lied. “Xiaowen isn’t a man. I’m not a man. You’re not a man.”

“Are you matchmaking, Nora Louise?”

Ruh-roh. The middle name. “No! I ran into Mr. Carver at the bakery and remembered that he used to hire Dad for some work, and, of course, Bob from hug therapy knew Dad. I thought maybe they might know something.”

My mother sighed. “You’re obsessed with your father.”

I was lying, actually, but she wasn’t wrong.

“You like everyone here, though, right?” I asked. “I mean, you’re not on the outs with anyone?”

“No, Nora. Everyone here is fine,” she snapped, irritation thickening her accent. “It’s just an awd group for a thehty-five-year-old to have ovah for suppah.”

I tried to look innocent. Busied myself with dinner.

We were having lamb and scallops, mashed potatoes with bacon, asparagus, and crème brûlée for dessert. I thought I’d save Sully’s pie for just me. Maybe Poe and me. And Audrey. And Xiaowen, of course.

I checked the lamb, took the asparagus out of the fridge, herded my mother back into the living room and snagged some cheese. “How’s Audrey?” I asked Sullivan.

“Excuse me?”

I finished chewing. “How’s your daughter?” I said more clearly.

“Oh. She’s good.”

“She’s getting chubby,” my mother said.

I flinched. “Mom!”

“She is.” She shrugged. “You should put her on a diet. No fun bein’ fat.”

It was like a slap in the face, to me and to Sullivan.

Sullivan looked at my mother. “Thanks for your input,” he said.

“I’m so sorry,” I murmured. He didn’t hear me.

“Diet is so important to good health,” Amelia said. “And of course, Nora agrees with me! She’s a gastroenterologist, after all. Who wants another drink? Can I top anyone off?” She got up and went to the freezer, where she’d put her vodka.

“Livers are also important to good health,” Xiaowen said. “Jake, if you don’t stop looking at my boobs, I will stab you in the eyes.”

“So, Sharon,” Bob Dobbins began. “That hug therapy is really helping me. I was wondering if maybe I could book a private appointment.”

“Bawb, we’ve talked about this. The answer is no.”

“Are those ostrich-skin shoes you’re wearing?” Xiaowen asked him.

“They are!” he said, pleased.

“You have quite a sense of style.”

“I love a man who can wear jewelry!” Amelia said. “Those bracelets are copper, aren’t they?”

Bob held out his arms. “Yes,” he said. “They help with my arthritis. See these rings? Also copper.” He wore one on every finger except his thumbs. God help him around meth addicts looking to score a quick buck.

My mother glanced at her watch. “How about that suppah, Nora?”

“Ten more minutes, Mom. Hang in there. Have an oyster.”

“No, thank you. Does anyone mind if I turn on Wheel of Fortune?”

Damn it. No one said no. “Where’s your clickah?” Mom asked.

“On the bookcase next to the globe,” I muttered. She got the remote, pushed the button, and there were Vanna and Pat in high-definition splendor.

“I don’t know how they do it, all these years,” Mom said. “That Vanner is still a stunning woman.”

“My wife loved this show,” Mr. Carver said. This time, his eyes filled with tears. I sat down next to him and patted his shoulder.

“How long has it been?” I asked.

“The enchanted forest!” my mother barked. “Christly, how could she miss that?”

“Three years,” Mr. Carver said. “Seems like yesterday, though.”

He started to cry.

Oh, God. I handed him a cocktail napkin and psychically begged Xiaowen for help. Alas, as was so often the case, all eyes were now on the TV, including hers.

“Clear and present danger!” she said gleefully. “Got you, Mrs. Stuart.”

“Nawt bad,” Mom said.

“I was once a contestant on Who Wants to Be a Millionaire,” Amelia said.

“Are you a millionaire?” Jake asked, popping another beer. Another guest with a drinking problem. I wondered if Scupper had Uber.

“Yes,” said Amelia, “but not because of that show. My grandfather was a robber baron! Isn’t that fun?”

I patted Mr. Carver some more, then went into the kitchen and tossed the asparagus in the same frying pan I’d use to cook up the bacon.

“Need help?” Sullivan asked, joining me.

“Oh, no, I’m fine. Sully, I’m so sorry for what my mother said. Audrey is a lovely, wonderful girl.”

“I know,” he said. “And she’s overweight. Amy likes to...” He rubbed the back of his head. “She likes to buy Audrey junk food, and when I tell her not to, she gets mad at me. Says I’m trying to keep them from having fun.”

“That’s tough.” I nudged the asparagus spears, which were turning bright green.

“I just don’t want Audrey to have any troubles. Healthwise or at school. Kids can be such shits at that age.” Then he seemed to remember who he was talking to. “Uh, by the way...I’m sorry for the way my brother teased you.”

Teased wasn’t the word I’d have chosen. And not just his brother. His ex-wife, too, and most of his friends. “No. That wasn’t pleasant.” We looked at each other for a minute.