“And Arabella! She just gushed about you during Ellen’s Easter lunch. Aunt Ellen’s the youngest of seven so everyone spoils her. She’s claimed the big holidays. Mom gets the leftovers: Memorial Day weekend, Labor Day. They’re the only girls of the Whitaker bunch—you wouldn’t believe how many uncles and second cousins I have—but their relationship is more like a divorced couple fighting for custody over the rest of us. We’re such a large family, and Dad’s side is big, too… don’t look so scared! Gideon’s very good at organizing all of us into a neat little diagram for when you meet everyone. I think you’ll get on with Uncle Jack. He’s very fond of interesting people, so he’ll love you.”

Ivy continued to smile and nod. Agree with everything. But the girlfriend was usually supposed to butter up the sister. The role reversal unsettled her.

Sylvia’s phone made a quiet buzz. “Excuse me—I forgot I was supposed to meet my mom today…”

Ivy looked away politely as Sylvia made her call. She took a bite of her kabocha pumpkin, which had gone cold. She could hear Mrs. Speyer’s lilting voice through the speaker; it was like listening to two wrens chitter to each other.

“So—where were we?” said Sylvia after she hung up.

“Easter brunch.”

“Right!”

They took turns sharing stories about Gideon. Every word, every laugh, every conspiratorial joke was filtered through the knowledge that everything either woman said would be conveyed by the other to Gideon… Sylvia told me… Ivy said this about you…

Halfway through dinner, Sylvia said, “Here she is,” and waved at someone at the door. Ivy turned around, paling.

Mrs. Speyer was standing in front of the hostess booth, brushing the rainwater off the lapels of her coat. As with her children, there was a distinct elegance about the way she held herself, her frame as narrow as a girl’s, the long neck supporting a head full of ash-blond hair blown out at the crown and smoothed back into a low chignon. “Why on earth are we meeting here?” she asked Sylvia when she reached their table. “The show starts in fifteen minutes.”

“Mom,” said Sylvia, “this is Ivy Lin.”

Ivy half-stood up in her seat, still holding her chopsticks dripping with curry sauce.

Two spots of pink dappled Mrs. Speyer’s almost translucent cheeks, like rose petals floating under a frozen pond. “Yes, of course! Gideon’s friend from Grove. Of course I remember you, dear. How are you?” Instead of a handshake, she leaned in and gathered Ivy to her chest, her grip surprisingly strong.

Ivy said she was well, thank you. “And how have you been—Mrs. Speyer?” Of all the possible scenarios she’d imagined her first meeting with Gideon’s mother, this chance encounter, without Gideon present, wasn’t one of them.

“Oh, please. That makes me feel so old. Call me Poppy.”

“What show are you two watching?”

“One Thousand and One Nights—it’s a beautiful production—I’ve already been twice… do you like ballet, Ivy?

“I’ve never been,” said Ivy.

“Oh, you really should go.”

They beamed in the ensuing pause, having run out of safe ground.

“We should get going,” Sylvia said finally as she extracted her wallet from her bag.

Poppy suddenly lit up. “Would you like to join us? I’m sure we can get an extra ticket.”

Ivy hesitated.

“I’m sure Ivy has better things to do,” said Sylvia, glancing at her for confirmation.

“I’m just suggesting,” said Poppy, “and, oh, isn’t it summer break now…”

“Well, let’s make up our minds soon,” Sylvia said, almost rudely, and Ivy felt this rudeness was directed at her.

She murmured she really would have loved to join but she had other plans, unfortunately. Had she been asked in advance, she surely would have accepted, but Poppy’s and Sylvia’s demeanors seemed strained, simultaneously eager and reticent, as if they were coming from an exuberant evening in which further plans felt both necessary and exhausting. The Speyers nodded in unison, their smiles the same exact shade of sympathetic regret. Just who knew what and how much?

* * *

THAT WEEKEND, OVER dinner, Ivy brought up the run-in with Poppy to test Gideon.

“Right! Yeah, she told me,” said Gideon.

“Sylvia told you?”

“Well, both of them did.”

“Your mom hasn’t aged a day since I saw her back in middle school,” said Ivy.

Gideon laughed. “She’ll be happy to hear that.”

“I probably looked like a drowned dog… we should get together properly next time so she doesn’t think you’re dating a crazy person…”

“That’d be nice,” he agreed, but didn’t suggest a time or place in his usual take-charge way. Ivy immediately changed the topic to demonstrate how trivial her suggestion had been.

“By the way, I’ve been mulling it over for a while now, and I think I’m going to apply to law school.” That got his attention. She’d never seen his brown eyes so large and keen across the rim of his wineglass.

“Really? What spurred this on?”

Self-conscious pride made her adopt a droll tone as she explained how she’d always wondered about the path not taken—“I worked at a law firm, as you know, and loved it there”—and that she’d recently decided that it wasn’t too late to change careers, especially after speaking with Liana. Gideon questioned her about the specifics: when, why, how sure was she? “On a scale of one to ten,” she said, slicing into her steak and watching the pink juices flow out onto the bone china plate, “I guess it’s a ten.” How warm his fingers felt over hers! And how wide his smile, glowing in the lamplight with encouragement and admiration. “I haven’t gotten in yet,” she said, and he said, “You will,” as if he owned law school as well.

“Other than Liana,” he said, “my uncle Bobby would be a great person for you to speak with. He’s a partner at Fenton and Heath. I believe they do a lot of work in international law. Would you like me to connect you guys?”

“That’d be wonderful, thank you.”

“And I suppose you’ll have to let the Kennedy School know.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just assumed you’d want to spend this year exploring different options and studying for the LSATs… but of course one can’t simply just quit one’s job,” he added quickly, seeing her blank expression. “And you can always study nights and weekends. It’s still early days yet.”

Ivy wouldn’t have refuted him if not for the faint blush forming on his face, a blush that revealed his embarrassment at having embarrassed her, in presuming that she had the means to do whatever she wanted, now that she had a goal, as if all this time she had been teaching not out of necessity but out of an idle indulgence whose only purpose was to allow her time to come to terms with her natural, inevitable path in life.

“No, you’re absolutely right,” she said, not quite fully grasping what she was committing to, only knowing that she was about to say something very, very foolish. But there was no helping it. She must always “save face,” no matter the cost. “The timing works out if I leave now,” she said, ticking off the months on her fingers, “I’ll have five months to prepare to take the test in February.”

“Ah, is that so?”

“And there’s a prep class I want to sign up for in September. I can even schedule coffee meetings without worrying about school hours!”

Gideon tactfully refrained from commenting. He refilled her wineglass, fixing his gaze on the little vase of flowers at the center of their table.

“If you need—time off—to figure things out,” he said, “I’m sure my parents would be perfectly happy to help out… the interest rates banks charge these days are practically criminal.” Their eyes met.

Ivy would never be able to forgive herself for the garish smirk that automatically formed on her face, somewhere between a sneer and a frown, out of sheer shock once she realized what he was offering.

“Wow… that’s…”

He waited, his head slightly cocked. So this was what Gideon looked like when he lied, she thought. No, not a lie. He meant it. He would ask his parents to lend her money. Money he himself did not have or was unwilling to give. Perhaps he was offering only because he knew she would refuse.

“… Crazy,” she finished, half-laughing, dismissive, the whole thing a great amusing joke. “Your parents are saints if they really would just—give away—their money to someone they barely know. It’s a kind thought, but completely unnecessary.”

Both now certain of her refusal, he continued to warmly suggest ways he could be helpful, the perfect picture of poise and attentiveness.

After the waiter came and took their dessert orders, Gideon leaned back in his chair and seemed to take a proverbial stretch, like a driver taking a break from the wheel. Ivy imitated his pose, looking around the room, pretending to admire the restaurant’s grand atmosphere, oxblood walls and fresco ceilings and waiters in tailcoats; she and Gideon were probably the youngest guests by two decades.

“Ivy?”

She turned, beaming. “Yes?”

Humbly, he asked if she was willing to join him and his family at their beach house in Cattahasset in two weeks.

* * *

“WEI?”

“Hi, Grandma.”

“Why haven’t you been answering our calls?”

“I wanted to explain about the checks. I haven’t been mailing them home because I’ve decided to apply to law school next year. I’ll need to save money.”

There came a disbelieving snort. “You want to be a lawyer now?”

“Yes.”

“Haven’t you already tried that?”