Author: Kristan Higgins

And then they came in, and the impression started to head south.

“Jane, this is Callie Grey,” Ian said. “Callie, my aunt Jane.”

“I wasn’t aware you were seeing anyone, Ian,” his aunt said, glancing at him as if startled.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Dr. McFarland,” I said, smiling. She was small and very lean, pleasant face, gray hair, somewhere in her late sixties. “Ian’s told me a lot about you.”

“Mmm,” she said. She wandered into the great room, taking a look around. “So, Ian, this is your home. My, my. Very…expensive-looking.”

Okay…a veiled compliment at best.

“Would you like some wine, Jane?” Ian asked.

“I’d love some,” she said, not looking up from her perusal of his bookcase. “What is that strange smell?”

I bit my lip. “Um…dinner?”

“Ah. And what are we having?”

I brightened, sure my dinner would impress. “Well, I made sure everything was vegan, since Ian said you were—”

“Not anymore, actually,” she said, taking her wine from her nephew. “Too difficult, given where I’m living. Côte d’Ivoire. There’s just not enough agriculture in the area, so I’ve been eating eggs and dairy.”

“Oh,” I said. “Okay, well, we’re eating vegan tonight. Beet ravioli with a fava bean sauce, sweet and sour cauliflower…” Nothing that a human would willingly eat, in other words “…and, um…a salad. And chocolate cake.”

“Sounds like we could feed an entire African village with that,” she murmured.

“Here you go, Callie.” Ian handed me a glass of wine. His face was neutral.

“So! Ian! Tell me how things are with you,” Jane said, settling on the couch and ignoring the guacamole I’d made.

“Things are good,” he said, sitting across from her.

“Any plans to finish your education?” She smiled brightly.

Ian glanced at me. “I did a year of med school before switching to the vet program,” he explained. “No, Jane. No plans to go back.”

She shook her head. “That’s such a shame,” she said. “Cassie, let me ask you. If you could choose between healing sick children or treating an overbred golden retriever, which would you pick?”

Youch! I set my own wineglass on the coffee table. “Actually, my name is Callie,” I corrected, glancing at Ian. “And I’d choose the profession I really loved, I guess.”

“Mmm,” she said. “And what is it that you do, Callie, is it?”

“Yes. Short for Calliope. I’m the creative director at an advertising agency.”

“Do you find that rewarding? Getting American consumers to buy more…stuff?” She raised an eyebrow.

I paused. “Well, I do, actually. I love my job.”

“Mmm.”

Now, not to toot my own horn, but the number of people who didn’t like me were…well, Muriel and now Jane McFarland. If Muriel and I had met without both loving the same guy, things might’ve been different. We both loved shoes, after all, the basis of many a female friendship. But Jane…she was tough.

“So Ian told me you don’t get back to the States too often,” I offered. Angie came over and sat faithfully next to me.

“That’s right. Too much to do, too little time, too little money to fund the programs that could save lives. It’s a shame.” She looked around the room. “The cost of your dog alone, Ian, would’ve probably fed a family for a year.”

“I didn’t pay for Angie. She’s a rescue,” he said. “As is Callie’s dog.” He glanced at me with a little smile.

“You rescued Angie?” I asked.

He nodded. “Her first owner abused her.”

“You poor thing,” I said to the pretty dog. She wagged her tail. Jane didn’t comment.

“How’s Alé?” Ian asked. “I haven’t talked to him in a few weeks.”

“He’s wonderful.” Jane turned to me. “My son, Cassie, is a doctor in a small village in Honduras. You should visit, Ian.”

“I’m planning to,” he answered. I looked at him, but he didn’t elaborate. Then he said a few lines in rapid-fire Spanish—it was strange, hearing him burst into another language just like that. Jane answered, and then Ian said something else. I didn’t catch anything (the only Spanish I knew was from watching Sesame Street when Josephine was little, and since Ian and Jane didn’t seem to be counting to ten, I was lost). I did get one word, however…Callie. I hoped Ian was setting her straight on my name.

“Sorry,” he murmured to me when they were done.

“Ian, how’s…what’s-her-name…Laura?” Dr. McFarland asked.

“She’s fine,” Ian answered. He hesitated, then said, “She got married a few weeks ago.”

“Well, I hope you learned something. Don’t go rushing into anything. Marriage ties you down. Limits your options. And in case you did finally have a change of heart, you’d be able to finish medical school, no strings attached.” She gave me a look, making it clear just who the strings were.

“I don’t see a change of heart in the future, Jane,” Ian said.

“Never say never.”

“Were you ever married, Dr. McFarland?” I asked, hoping to shift gears a little.

She looked at me as if just remembering I was there, then took a sip of wine. “Very briefly.”

Okay. This was indeed a challenge. “So,” I offered, groping for a more neutral topic. “Ian told me you met Bono.”

Jane raised an eyebrow. “Yes. Why? Do you want tickets to a concert?”

“Can you get me some?” I returned instantly. No smile from either McFarland. Okay. No jokes, then. “Just kidding,” I muttered. “It’s just that he’s very…um…famous.”

Ian’s cell bleated softly. “Excuse me. I’m on call,” he said, checking his phone as he walked to the den, shutting the door behind him. Maybe he’d arranged for Carmella to call him…God knows I would have.

I eyed Ian’s relative a bit warily. “I really admire what you do, Dr. McFarland,” I said, hoping we could bond with Ian out of the room.

“No need,” she said, waving her hand.

“Um…no need for what?”

“No need to stroke my ego.” My mouth opened, but she kept talking. “Listen. I’m sure you’re very…adorable and whatnot, but if you’re looking for my blessing, you won’t get it. I still have high hopes for Ian, despite his…choices…thus far. He’s not meant to be a vet. He’s certainly smart enough to be a physician. So you’ll have to forgive me if I want more for him, Cassie. He has a destiny.”

“It’s Callie,” I said, a bit tightly. “As in Calliope, Homer’s muse. Just to clarify.”

“Mmm.”

I took a breath. “Were you and your brother close?” I asked, figuring a change in subject couldn’t hurt.

She gave me an assessing look. “We were close as children. As adults, not so much.”

“It must’ve been hard, taking in a little boy when—”

“It wasn’t hard at all, Callie. Ian was no bother, and Alejandro, my son—” I know who he is, lady, I wanted to say, but held my tongue “—was already nearly grown. Ian just came along and never made a peep.”

I was well able to picture Ian as a kid, not making a peep, lonely and scared after his parents died, leaving behind everything he knew. My throat tightened.

Jane sighed and took another sip of wine. “Who could believe that after all I showed him he’d end up…here?”

I glanced at the closed door to the den. “Dr. McFarland,” I said carefully, “after losing his parents and, um…moving so much as a kid, maybe Ian just wants a normal life. And just because he didn’t become a doctor doesn’t mean he’s a bad person. He—”

“Dear, I don’t need a lecture on my nephew from someone he met, what…a month ago? Two?”

I bit my tongue. Hard. Wondered when the hell Ian’s phone call would wrap up. God forbid he was called out and left me alone with Jane.

As if answering my silent prayer, Ian emerged from the den. “Sorry about that,” he said. “Callie, would you help me in the kitchen for a minute?”

“Absolutely,” I said, faking a smile. I followed him into the kitchen as Jane got up to once again peruse Ian’s décor.

“Look,” Ian said quietly, “you don’t need to defend me or explain anything or win her undying love. Okay?”

“Well, it’s very hard to listen to this,” I whispered.

“I told you she wouldn’t like you. And she won’t, unless you become a doctor and move to the third world. So can you just try to get along?”

“I am trying, Ian!” He said nothing, just stared at me. “Okay. Fine. I’ll try harder.”

“Thank you,” he said tightly.

We returned to the living room. This time, I made sure to sit next to Ian on the couch.

“So you love it here,” Jane said.

“Yes,” he answered.

“The foliage was incredible on the drive up,” she commented.

Ian glanced quickly at me, then turned to his aunt. “If you want to stay for a few days, we could see the sights. Go hiking, maybe,” he offered, and it might’ve been my sentimental streak, but for a second, I thought I saw a flash of the little guy who’d lost his parents, hoping to find someone to love him.

“You could use my kayak,” I said. Maybe if Jane stayed, she and Ian could have a nice day or two, and her disapproval would ease. “There are so many incredible rivers and lakes up here. It’s really beautiful. Well, we Vermonters think so.” Ian gave me a small, quick smile.

“I won’t have time. I’ll be leaving tonight, in fact,” she said, ignoring both offers. “I’m trying to get Pfizer to donate more antibiotics to our program, and I have a meeting in New York tomorrow.” She raised her eyebrows meaningfully at her nephew. “Want to come? See how the drug companies rape the poor?”

Ian’s face went back to neutral. “I’ll have to pass.”

“Mmm,” she said.

Okay. While it was undeniable that Jane McFarland did great things, she wasn’t the easiest person to like. My left eye started to throb as I listened to her continue with her thinly veiled criticism. Ian just sat there, seemingly unaffected, but the urge to defend him swelled in my heart. I actually had to clamp my lips shut to keep from saying anything.

Dinner was painfully awkward, not to mention nasty…the ravioli tasted like a combination between burnt coffee scrapings and rope. As for the sweet and sour cauliflower…need I say more? It was definitely a culinary “don’t.” Jane was on her fourth attempt to convince Ian to return to medical school so he, like Perfect Alejandro, could follow in her holy work. The thing was, her work was holy, there was no denying that. But she couldn’t seem to accept that Ian didn’t want the same thing.

She didn’t touch the cake I’d baked. I couldn’t blame her for that. Note to self—tofu and chocolate do not a happy marriage make. Sighing, I stirred a spoonful of sugar into my coffee.

“Dear, you should read about what conditions are like for sugarcane workers,” she said, finally addressing me. “Well, that’s condescending of me. Perhaps you already know.”

“I don’t,” I admitted, suppressing a sigh.

“No, I don’t suppose you do,” she murmured. “Most Americans don’t.” Strike 10,006 against Callie/Cassie…she put sugar in her coffee, the ignorant, disgusting American.