Mr. Pennythistle looked like he was going to say something else, but Mrs. Hastings quickly interrupted. “Now, now, let’s not fight!” She pushed the plate of calamari over to Zach like it was consolation. “We’re all having such a nice time in New York. Let’s just keep it that way.”
A ping sounded from Mr. Pennythistle’s phone. “Ah,” he said, studying the screen. “Douglas can meet you at ten A.M. tomorrow. Problem solved.”
A waiter approached to take their orders. Spencer turned to Zach. “Are you okay?”
Zach’s jaw muscle twitched. Patches of red bloomed on his neck and cheeks. “Everything I say to him goes in one ear and out the other.”
“I’m sorry.”
Zach shrugged and covertly added more vodka to their waters. “Story of my life. But listen, we have some catching up to do. My dad was totally throwing his weight around.”
“We need to take at least five drinks, by my count,” Spencer whispered.
There were plenty more drinking opportunities after that, too. Once they ordered, the conversation turned to Mr. Pennythistle and how he was such a loyal Smith and Wollensky customer that they’d put his name on a brass plaque on the wall—drink, drink, drink. When the food came, Mrs. Hastings scrambled to procure steak sauce for Mr. Pennythistle’s T-bone, mayo for his fries, and the wine list so he could choose another bottle—drink, drink, drink. Spencer was so dizzy with vodka that she barely tasted her filet—she wasn’t even sure why she’d ordered it. Zach kept bursting out laughing at random intervals. Amelia stared suspiciously at them from across the table but didn’t say a word. She hadn’t been this wasted since . . . well, since this past summer. But she closed off that part of her mind before she could think too carefully about that.
As the dinner progressed, Zach’s father and Spencer’s mother moved closer and closer to each other until they were practically in each other’s laps. Mr. Pennythistle fed Mrs. Hastings a bite of creamed spinach. Mrs. Hastings wiped a dab of steak juice off Mr. Pennythistle’s cheek. Admittedly, Spencer hadn’t seen her mom look this happy in a long time—she and Spencer’s father weren’t very touchy-feely. Spencer and Zach had moved closer to one another, too, their feet bumping under the table, their hands touching as they drained Zach’s flask.
When the waitress brought giant slabs of cheesecake for dessert, Mr. Pennythistle clanged his fork against his glass. “Well, kids, I have an announcement to make.” He looked around the table. “We meant to keep this a secret until tomorrow, but we might as well tell you now.” He took Spencer’s mother’s hand. “I’ve asked Veronica to marry me. And she’s said yes.”
Spencer stared at her mother, who was unveiling a Tiffany jewelry box from her purse. The box creaked as it opened, revealing an enormous diamond ring. “Wow.” Spencer breathed, always feeling a little cowed by diamonds. “Congratulations, Mom.”
“Thanks!” Mrs. Hastings slid the ring on her finger. “We broke the news to Melissa before you guys arrived. She wants us to have the ceremony at the townhouse, but I’m thinking of something a little more fabulous.”
“When are you getting married?” Zach asked tentatively.
“We think the wedding will be in a few months,” Mr. Pennythistle said, his cheeks pink with pride.
“Perhaps a destination wedding, we haven’t decided,” Mrs. Hastings added. “But for now, I’ve asked Nicholas if he’d move into the house with us, Spencer. Amelia and Zach will be your stepsiblings pretty soon—you might as well get used to one another.”
Amelia let out a note of horror, but Spencer and Zach turned to each other and drunkenly grinned. “Hey, bro,” Spencer joked, punching Zach on the shoulder.
“Nice to meet you, sis,” Zach said back in an utterly unbrotherly voice. He hid his hand under the table, entwined it with Spencer’s, and squeezed hard.
“This definitely calls for a toast.” Mrs. Hastings flagged down the waiter. “I suppose the kids can have a glass of champagne, don’t you think, Nicholas?”
“Just this once,” Mr. Pennythistle demurred.
“A round of champagne for the table!” Mrs. Hastings trilled. Flutes arrived right away.
Spencer and Zach glanced at one another once more, daring the other not to laugh. “Cheers!” they both cried. They knocked their flutes together and drank them down.
Spencer’s mother and Zach’s father were off to the Met after dinner, so they bid their kids goodnight at the escalators at the Hudson. Amelia retreated to her room immediately, but Spencer and Zach took their time, giggling about the hotel’s faux-minimalist décor and the ubiquitous techno music.
Their rooms were right next to each other, and they unlocked their doors with keycards in unison. “Holy shit,” Spencer said when she opened her door. “It’s like a Japanese sleeping pod!” A porter had brought up her stuff earlier today, so she hadn’t been inside the room until now. The whole thing was the size of her family’s first-floor powder room.
“A hobbit should live here,” Zach called from his doorway. “Dad really pulled out all the stops for us.”
Spencer joined him in his room. It was the same as hers—the bed barely fit in the tiny nook the hotel called a bedroom. “And look at the bathroom!” she cried, wedging herself into the minuscule space. “How does someone fit on this toilet?”