The Perfect Match

* * *

TWO HOURS LATER, with Spike curled under her chin and snoring slightly, Honor made a resolution (and a list).

No more catfights in bars.

No more letting the old imagination fly away like a rabid bat, inventing scenarios that clearly weren’t going to play out.

Work less and play more (find ways to play ASAP; maybe hire someone?).

A relationship, and pronto.

A baby. Soon.

Time to get a life, in other words.

Time to take action.

CHAPTER THREE

THERE WAS LITTLE Honor dreaded more than Family Meetings. In the past, subjects covered included Jack’s divorce, the care and feeding of Goggy and Pops, Faith’s wedding(s) and Dad’s terrifying girlfriend of last year.

Tonight, for the first time ever, the Family Meeting was about her.

In the three days since the catfight, Honor had done a lot of thinking. She’d always been the good one, not that her siblings were bad people. No, they were just more colorful. She was like that other kid in the story of the Prodigal Son. The one who never screwed up, who did his job.

And look where that had gotten her. Thirty-five, aging eggs, no man in her life, totally gobsmacked by her best friend, not to mention completely idiotic where Brogan was concerned. She lived with her father in her childhood home and worked a bazillion hours a week. For fun, she watched shows about tumor removal or the guy who had a foot growing out of his rib cage, courtesy of a malformed twin.

Her entire family had heard about the fight. She’d told her dad and Mrs. Johnson the morning after, not wanting them to hear it from anywhere else, and Dad had looked like someone had just eaten a live kitten while Mrs. J. muttered darkly and slammed the fridge. Faith came over and had been quite sympathetic, reminding Honor of her own public scene a few years ago, and leaving two cartons of Ben & Jerry’s in the freezer.

The family meeting would be more of the same.

Her in-box chimed.

To: [e-mail]

From: [e-mail]

Subject: Hey

Hi, Honor. Don’t know if you got my call the other day.

Oh, she had. She’d just opted not to return it.

You might be avoiding me.

Why, the man was a genius!

So here’s the thing. I’m so, so sorry, Honor. I really never meant for you to feel bad in any way, honest to God. When we talked a couple of months ago about getting married, I was sure you were cool with that. And then this thing with Dana... We both weren’t sure how to tell you about it, exactly, but we figured once you heard, you’d be happy about it.

She heard an unpleasant sound. Ah. Her teeth, grinding. Brogan. Was. Sostupid.

And obviously, that was really stupid.

Her jaw unlocked. Whatever else, Brogan always did have a way of reading her mind.

I feel like utter crap that I misread the situation so completely. Your friendship is incredibly important to me. You’re the only one I’ve kept in touch with since elementary school, you know? I’d kill to know that you and I can still be friends. If not, I understand. I’d be really sad, but I’d understand.

Hope you’re okay. Miss you.

Brogan

“Yeah, you should miss me,” she said, but her voice was shaking. Because let’s not fool ourselves here. She was going to forgive him. Even now, her heart felt floppy and huge in her chest.

Ah, dang it. That was the thing with Brogan. He never meant any harm. He wasn’t the type. With a sigh that made Spike yawn in sympathy, she started typing. May as well get it over.

To: [e-mail]

From: [e-mail]

Subject: Re: Hey

Hey, you! Of course we’re still friends. Don’t be silly. I’m really embarrassed at how I acted, that’s all. But I’m fine. It was surprising, that’s all, and I guess

—here her typing slowed—

I had more invested in the idea of us than I realized.

A horrible thought occurred to her. That since the catfight, Dana had told Brogan about how wretched she’d been after the failed proposal. That he knew how much she loved him. But no. Dana wouldn’t do that. It would make Dana look bad if she admitted she knew how Honor felt.

But I do realize that “us” was just an idea and not anything more than two old friends hooking up once in a while.

Oh, hell, that wasn’t true. It felt horrible to be throwing her heart under the bus this way.

Anyway, I’m mostly just embarrassed. Not sure if you know this about me, but I generally don’t fight in bars. :)

Reduced to emoticons. She sighed, feeling her throat tighten.

You’re special to me, too, Brogan, and I’m glad you’re happy.

The eggs rolled their cataract-riddled eyes.

Please don’t give my girls-gone-wild moment another thought. In fact, I’d really appreciate it if we never talked about it again. :) I’ve got a crammed schedule for the next two weeks

—lying—

but maybe we can get together after that, okay? Take care.

Honor

It was better than the truth. I love you. I’ve spent two months trying to talk myself out of loving you. How could you not know? Even if you really didn’t see how I felt, Brogan, because you’re an obtuse male, Dana did, so now my best friend has stabbed me in the heart, and you’re marrying her.

Last night, Honor had stayed up till 3:00 a.m., looking up the term toxic friendship on Google and reading every article she could find on it.

Dana had a whole lotta ex–best friends. Honor had been treated to many a story about them, from Dana’s sister to her neighbor to her high school BFF. And while Honor recognized that Dana was temperamental and tended to see things in black-and-white, she always thought she could handle it. In the five years that they’d been friends, a few people had said something to Honor about Dana—Gerard Chartier from the firehouse commented once that he thought Honor could do better in the friend department than Dana, and Mrs. Johnson had said she didn’t trust her (but then again, Mrs. J. didn’t trust too many people).

Nope, Honor thought she could handle Dana’s big personality. And why would Dana fall out with her, after all? She was a great friend—available, sympathetic, a great listener. Their friendship was different. Honor would be exempt from the dramatics Dana described with such gusto.

Stupid. Apparently, she had no clue about women. Or men, for that matter.

But you know what? The days of ignoring red flags and waiting around for stuff to happen...those days were over.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Dad said at her door at six o’clock sharp. His gentle eyes were worried. “Everyone’s here.”

“Your father and I don’t want you to feel self-conscious,” Mrs. Johnson said, worming past Dad to administer simultaneous pats and scowls. “It’s just that we’re all very concerned about you, child. Very concerned. Deeply concerned.”

“Thanks.” Honor forced a smile and followed them to the tasting room. It was really the only comfortable place on the vineyard where everyone could sit. Downstairs, a long, U-shaped bar dominated the room, but upstairs, there was a private tasting room for special events—one of Honor’s ideas. That area was like a giant living room, complete with leather couches, a stone fireplace and a smaller bar along one wall. The post-and-beam ceiling was exposed; an old Oriental carpet covered much of the wide-planked floor.

Everyone was there, and heck, there were just too many people in this family. There were times when being an orphan held great appeal. David Copperfield never had to go to a family meeting, did he? Nor did Oliver Twist.

“Thanks for coming,” Honor said to the room at large.

“A catfight?” Goggy blurted. “In a bar? Over a man?”

“I just wish I’d been there,” Pops said, winking at Honor. “You won, I hope.”

“It’s not funny!” huffed Goggy. “Since when do my grandchildren fight in bars? I mean, I’d expect that of you, Prudence, but Honor?”

“Why would you expect that of me?” Pru said. “Have I ever been in a fight? No. I haven’t.”

“Well, I could picture it,” Goggy said. “Though with Carl, not another woman.”

Honor suppressed a sigh. Pru was colorful, Faith had the looks, Jack was the perfect son...Honor was what, then?

The boring one.

Which was going to change. Yes.

“Honor definitely won,” Jack said. “You’d all be proud.”

“I never really warmed up to that woman,” Pru said. “Though she does have great hair.”

“Pass me the cheese,” Pops ordered.

“No more cheese for you!” Goggy said. “You know what it does to your stomach.”

“Okay, shut up, everyone,” Honor said mildly. Not that she didn’t love her family. But with four generations present, two brothers-in-law, Faith, Pru, a teenage niece, a nephew who couldn’t make eye contact without laughing, her bickering grandparents, Dad and Mrs. Johnson exchanging worried looks...well, it was feeling a wee bit overwhelming. “Dad, get this over with, okay? I’d like to make a few changes around here.”

“I have an announcement,” Dad said. “We’re making a few changes around here.” He seemed to realize he’d just echoed Honor, because he looked at her in surprise.

“Go ahead,” she said, pouring herself a hefty glass of wine. It would only help, and besides that, it had a lovely nose of fresh-cut grass, grapefruit and a hint of limestone.

Dad looked at Honor and put his leathery, grape-stained hand over hers. “For a long time, I think we’ve all taken Honor for granted.”

Her mouth dropped open.

“She puts in way too many hours, travels all the time, takes care of a hundred different things,” Dad went on. “Which is why I hired you an assistant today.”

She blinked. “You did what? Don’t I get a say in who works for me?”

“Great idea, Dad,” Jack said.

“You can’t just—” Honor began.

“No, sweetie,” Dad went on, his voice quiet but firm. “Mrs. Johnson and I talked it over—” Uh-oh. If Mrs. Johnson was in on it, she was doomed. “And it’s done. Also, I think it’s appropriate that Ned—” Dad nodded at his grandson “—take over half of the sales calls.”

“Half? Not half!” Okay, sure, she’d wanted a little change. Just not this much. “Look, just because—”

“Finally,” Ned said. “Wish I’d known all I had to do was to get Honor to punch someone in a barroom brawl—”

“Shut up, son,” Dad continued. “Honor, he’s been tagging along with you for a year. Time to let him step up.”

“Um, that’s okay, sure. Neddie, you’re great. But we don’t need to reorganize the vineyard because I had one bad moment.”

“Sweetheart, you were punching your best friend in O’Rourke’s the other night.”

Honor paused. “I didn’t actually punch her.”

“I heard in school that you tackled her,” Abby said.

“I didn’t.”

“And threw wine in her face.”

“Um, I did do that, yes. More on her chest, but...” She glanced at Levi, who was still in uniform. He raised an eyebrow but remained silent.

“What kind of wine?” Jack asked.

“A pinot noir from California. Flat body, too much pepper, high acidity.”

“It’ll be cool, Honor,” Ned said. “You can be my boss.”

“I’m already your boss,” she pointed out.

“I’ll just be more useful. It’ll be good for me. I can mend my sinful ways.”

“You’d better not be sinning, sonny,” Pru said. “But yeah, Honor, he can help.”

“Sure. Fine.”

“I hired Jessica Dunn to be your assistant,” Dad added.

“What?” Jessica Dunn? The waitress? “That’s fine, Dad. No. Ned is more than enough. He’s very helpful.”

“She has a marketing degree and wants to get some experience. Figured she could do some of the media and whatnot.”

“Dad, do you even know what media is?”

“No, not really, but she said she could handle it.”

“Well, so can I! I don’t need her. No offense, Levi.” He and Jessica were childhood friends. Everyone knew that.

“None taken,” he said, stroking Faith’s neck.

“She starts tomorrow,” Dad said.

“Dad—” Honor’s jaw was locked again. She loved that aspect of her job—the press releases, articles, updating the website, running Twitter and the vineyard’s Facebook page, schmoozing with the tourism bureaus, wooing reporters, travel writers and wine reviewers. “I don’t need an assistant. Ned is more than enough.”

“I don’t mind,” Ned said. “Jessica’s wicked pretty.”

“Not to you she’s not,” Pru said. “She’s way too old for you. Got it?”

“Maybe she’s a cougar,” Ned said.

“Ned, you’re so disgusting,” Abby said, raising her head from her textbook to glare at her brother.

“Honor, child,” said Mrs. Johnson, “whatever this media is, you do too much of it. You work constantly, you eat at your desk, you have no children for me to spoil, and it’s a shameful and terrible way to live.”

“No one was complaining last week,” she protested.

“No one was rolling on a filthy tavern floor last week, either.” Mrs. J. gave her an arch look.

“You have an assistant now, sweetheart,” Dad said. “Enjoy it.”

“But media is about half my job, and sales is the other half. What am I supposed to do?” Honor asked, not liking that edge of hysteria in her voice.

“Live a little,” Dad said. “Get some hobbies.”

“Watching World’s Biggest Tumor doesn’t count,” Jack said.

“You’re the one who called me last week to make sure I TiVoed Cottage Cheese Man, you hypocrite!”

“The Black and White Ball is coming pretty soon,” Faith pointed out soothingly. “You’re chairman this year. That’ll be a lot of work.”

“Jessica starts tomorrow,” Dad said. “Family meeting adjourned. Who’s hungry?”

“I’m starving,” Prudence said.

“I made ham,” Goggy announced, beating Mrs. Johnson to the punch. “If you feel like coming down, not that any of you visit anymore, but there’s also a Walnut Glory cake if you do decide to drop by.”

“We’ll meet you there in a few minutes,” Dad said. “Honor, stay here, honey.”

They waited till everyone had tromped out. “About Ned and Jessica, sweetheart. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you first, but I felt like I had to do something definitive. And I didn’t want it to take forever, so I did it.” He paused, taking off his old baseball cap and running a hand through his thinning hair. “Mrs. Johnson and I are worried about you, Petunia.”

Yes, she’d heard them talking late last night, which was a shock in itself, as Mrs. J. usually retired to her apartment above the garage by eight, and Dad was usually in bed by nine-thirty. Farmer’s hours and all that.

She folded her hands in front of her. “Dad, I’m embarrassed enough as it is. I don’t need people thinking I had some kind of breakdown at O’Rourke’s and have to hire all these people.”

Dad was quiet for a minute. “Well, you did have a little breakdown, Petunia.”

“I just lost my cool. It wasn’t as big a deal as it sounds.”

“And when have you ever lost your cool?” he asked.

Dang. She didn’t answer.

“Honey, I know it doesn’t seem like I pay too much attention,” Dad said. “But I know a few things. When your mother died, you...” His voice grew soft. “You grew up fast. You did everything you were supposed to, and you never needed much from the rest of us. Cornell, Wharton, and then you came home and looked after me.”

She swallowed against the lump in her throat. “I really wanted to, Daddy. I love my life.”

“I believe that.” He paused. “But I also know you’ve loved Brogan a long time.”

It was so mortifying, hearing the words said aloud like that. She shrugged, not trusting her voice.

“And I always did hope things would work out for you two,” he said. “I can only imagine how you must feel, hearing that your best friend is marrying him instead of you.”

“It was just a surprise,” she said, and her voice shook.

He covered her hand with his own. “So this is a turning point. Time for you to devote some thought to what you want in life, rather than just waiting around for that bozo to call you.”

Well, hell. Dad did pay attention, after all.

“I’m not asking,” Dad said. “I’m ordering. As your father and as the legal owner of Blue Heron.”

“So bossy. You can’t tie your shoes without me.”

“I’ve actually gotten pretty good at that,” Dad said, smiling so that his kind eyes crinkled in the corners. “Mrs. J.’s been teaching me. So here’s the deal. Your hours have been cut. You start at nine, you leave at five, or I’m dragging you out myself.”

“Right,” Honor said. “Like anyone can get a full day’s work done in that time.”

“That’s the magic of my plan,” Dad said. “You won’t get it done. You and Ned and Jessica will get it done. Now I’m going to the Old House before Mrs. J. and your grandmother get into a fight over how long to cook the potatoes, and you have to come, too.”

Honor sighed. “All right. Give me a few minutes, okay?”

Dad kissed the top of her head and left. After a minute, she went outside. It was already dark, and the stars spread across the sky in an endless, creamy sweep. The air smelled like wood smoke.

She loved Blue Heron with all her heart. It was home, and it was her pride and joy, too. In the eleven years since grad school, a lot had changed around here. When she came on board as director of sales, the vineyard was a cute, family-run business. Rather than rest on those laurels, she came up with a business plan that enhanced everything good about the place and added ten times more—prestige, visibility, recognition—all without losing the homeyness of eight generations of the Holland family farm. She’d proposed the construction of the post-and-beam tasting room and gift shop ten years ago, overhauled the labeling and brand, created a marketing campaign that brought Blue Heron’s name to the attention of every outlet that mattered, from the New York Times to Wine Spectator. Blue Heron was practically a required stop on any tour of the Finger Lakes wine region. Honor knew she had a lot to be proud of. She loved working with her family, loved—to be honest—being the one in charge of the business end. Delegating had never been her strong suit.

But she never thought she’d have to worry about aging eggs. Never really pictured living in the New House with her dad and Mrs. J. forever.

There was supposed to be more. A husband. A family of her own.

She wanted to be special to someone. She wanted a man’s face to light up when he saw her. She wanted a man to kiss her like his heart would stop if he didn’t.

Somehow, Dana had wrangled what Honor never had—Brogan’s love. In just a few weeks, no less.

How the hell had she done that?

Suddenly it seemed like the sky was pressing her down with the same paralyzing loneliness felt when her mother died, leaving her alone.

And God, she was tired of being alone. She didn’t know if the words were a prayer or an admission of defeat. She pulled her hair from the clip and ran her fingers through it, sighing in the cool night air.

You know what? She wasn’t going to Goggy’s. Instead, she went home, went up to her bathroom and took out a pair of scissors.

All her life, her hair had been the same, thick and long, hanging to the middle of her back, a dark blond with lighter streaks from the sunshine...when she was out in the sunshine, that was. It had been a while. She wore it up about half of the time, down and with a hairband at others. In fact, her hairband collection was a little ridiculous. How many did she own? Twenty? Thirty? Until now, she liked her hair, liked the old-fashioned beauty of it.

Not anymore. It was time for a change.

The snick of the scissors was oddly satisfying.

* * *

ON THE FOURTH Thursday of every month, in an effort to earn her heavenly reward, Honor volunteered at Rushing Creek, the assisted living facility at the edge of Manningsport. This Thursday, Goggy had come with her.

In the past year, Goggy and Pops had aged a little, as one would expect with people in their eighties. They were both still strong as oxen, but Goggy seemed more forgetful these days, and Honor could swear Pops limped on rainy days. Any day now, she worried, one of them might tumble down the steep, narrow staircases of the Old House, which was something of a death trap, full of the twists and turns characteristic of colonials. They didn’t use two-thirds of the rooms, and the house would never pass inspection, not with Pops having nailed the front door closed last winter “to help with the drafts.”

It was Honor’s hope that they’d willingly move to a brighter, smaller place before one of them had an accident.

“I’ll kill myself before I come to a place like this,” Goggy pronounced dramatically when she came through the doors. A resident in a wheelchair glared before zipping down the hall in speedy moral outrage. Rushing Creek was comparable to the nicest luxury apartments in Manhattan, but Goggy viewed it like a Dickensian asylum.

“Let’s try to use our inside voices, okay?” Honor said. “I love it here. I’m counting the years before I can move in.”

“I’d kill myself. Oh, hello, Mildred! How are you?”

“Hello, Elizabeth!” Mildred said. “And Honor! You cut your hair! Oh, no! Why, honey, why?”

“Thank you,” Honor said. Okay, so the haircut was a bit radical. But that had been the point. And yes, she’d gone to Corning, to a stylish, somewhat frightening place where a professional had stared in horror before shaping up her cropped hair.

Now it was no longer than the nape of her neck. Relieved of its weight, little wisps sprang up here and there, and if it was a shock, Honor told herself she’d like it eventually. Dad pretended to after his initial chest-clutching; Mrs. Johnson growled; Goggy wept; Pops, Pru and Jack had yet to notice. Faith, at least, had seemed genuinely enthusiastic, clapping her hands. “It’s so chic, Honor! And look at your cheekbones! You’re gorgeous!” Which, of course, she wasn’t, but she appreciated the support.

“So...different!” Mildred said. “Anyway, dear, congratulations on your sister getting married.”

“Thanks. Levi’s a great guy.”

“I bet they’ll have babies any day.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Mildred gave her a conspiratorial look. “And you, dear? Anyone special for you?”

“No, not at the moment.”

“Such a shame. Why are you here, then, darling? Elizabeth, are you and John thinking of moving here?”

Goggy jerked back. “Oh, my heavens, no! We’re just fine in our house. I hope to God I never have to resort to this.”

“Goggy.” Honor sighed, then smiled at Mildred “We’re showing A Walk in the Clouds today. Have you seen it? Very romantic.”

“I haven’t,” Mildred said with a dirty look at Goggy. “The last time I saw a movie with these old people, half were gabbing through the whole thing and the other half couldn’t hear. Good luck!”

Between Goggy and Mildred, Honor noted, it did seem to be a habit to want to distance oneself from the capriciousness of aging. Look at Ellington, he still pretends he doesn’t need glasses. Walked into a post last week. Or, Did you hear about Leona? Alzheimer’s. Thank God I’m still as sharp as a...what was I saying again?

Sort of like single women, Honor thought. Rather than admit they were all desperately seeking someone—like the cannibals chasing Viggo Mortensen in that dreadful movie she watched last night—there were all sorts of excuses. I’m getting over a long-term relationship was a good one. I wish I had time for a relationship! was another. And then the ultimate lie, If the right guy came along, maybe. But I’m happy on my own. Sure. Which was why those dating sites had half the planet registered.

No, honesty seemed frowned upon in Dating Life. Honor wondered what would happen if she said, I really thought I’d have a family by now. I’m lonely. Also a little horny, and since the man I love is marrying my former best friend, I may have to invest in a superdeluxe vibrator.