1
Trying to be this perfect hurts.
The silk dress compresses Danit’s ribs, the three-inch espadrilles squeeze her toes, and the incessant smiling for the photographer makes her face sore. But pain is a small price to pay to belong. To finally be, at twenty-six years old, part of a family.
And not just any family—the Calhouns.
Ellie Grace slips her arm around Danit’s waist as the photographer calls out, “Fromage!” The pressure of her future sister-in-law’s arm against Danit’s ribs unleashes a warm feeling, the same sensation she used to get as a child when her mother would play with her curls. An almost primordial sense of belonging. I will finally have a sister, Danit thinks.
Danit fell hard and fast for Nate last year. That first month or two, it was hard to imagine wanting or needing anything more than him. But then she met his little boy, Malcolm, and saw pictures of his parents and brother and sister and realized that he came with this incredible family. And that by marrying him, she would instantly belong to his family as well. It was more than she had ever dreamed of.
Although this morning did get off to a rocky start with Ellie Grace, Danit attributes that to the stress of organizing the annual Calhoun cherry blossom party. When she and Nate and Malcolm arrived late last night to Nate’s childhood home, Ginny and Thom were already in bed. So her first introduction to the Calhoun family was this morning, when she came down for breakfast and found Ellie Grace fuming about missing flowers. When she turned on Danit, she was abrupt, bordering on rude.
“You’re not wearing blue-and-white gingham.” It wasn’t a question but a statement. Ellie Grace was wearing a sleeveless shirtdress in the checkered pattern.
“I … didn’t know I was supposed to,” Danit stammered, ashamed to have stepped in it so soon with Nate’s sister. When Danit was back in California packing for the trip, she had asked Nate if there was something special she should bring for the party. It was the first time she would be meeting her future in-laws, and she wanted to make a good impression. She knew they were wealthy, and she was nervous that what she had would not be good enough. But Nate had said nothing about blue-and-white gingham.
Thank goodness Ellie Grace had shown up with a collection of shirts, dresses, skirts, and wraps—all in gingham. Ellie Grace hustled Danit into the wood-paneled study off the living room to change. “I knew someone would forget. I’m sure I’ve got something in here that will fit you. Coastal Cues, that’s one of the brands we collaborate with, sent me a whole bunch of these. Here we go, this is cute!” She held up a sheath dress—navy blue on top and gingham from the waist down. You’re what, a size eight?”
“Ten, actually.”
Really, Danit is a twelve. Sometimes a fourteen. But it was nothing that a little Spanx and holding her breath wouldn’t take care of. And she wanted to please Ellie Grace.
“Give me that Calhoun smile!” the photographer orders with the verve of a cheerleading captain.
The Calhouns shift ever so slightly for the photographer, their stately white house in the background. From the corner of her eye, Danit glances at Nate’s parents—Thom, with his athletic build and perpetual tan, and Ginny, whose smooth, unlined face belies her sixty-two years. She hasn’t had a chance to really talk to them yet, not with the chaos of the party, and she has no idea what she will say to them when the opportunity arises.
Danit worries she might pass out from the warmth of everyone’s bodies and the constriction of the dress. The late-spring sun isn’t helping. It was much cooler in Mendocino when they left yesterday. Next to her, Malcolm fusses in Nate’s arms, and she takes the baby happily. He plays with the diamond on her ring finger.
“Since you’re not yet technically a Calhoun…” Ginny winks at Danit, letting her finish the thought for herself.
“Oh, of course!” She steps away from the group and out of the photo.
“That’s ridiculous,” Nate says, but Danit shakes her head at him and smiles to let him know she understands. Which she doesn’t, of course. She’s never been in a family portrait—there was just her and her mom growing up. But she can kind of see where Ginny is coming from.
After all, Nate has already been divorced once.
This photo will go out this Christmas and feature the whole clan, all of them wearing some iteration of blue-and-white gingham. The men in button-downs, their sleeves rolled up, a little bow tie for baby Malcolm, a headband for Ginny, and so on. Even matching collars for the two French bulldogs, Asti and Spumante.
Ginny might be worried that the marriage will not go through and they will be stuck with photographic evidence of a failed relationship.
But it will. Danit is sure of it.
Out of the corner of her eye, Danit can see the first guests arriving. And just like that, the photographs are over and the party has begun. Light jazz begins to play from hidden speakers, and it seems to Danit that the pink and white tulips planted along the front border stand up and salute as if on cue. The Calhouns scatter and, almost like magic, waiters appear, circulating the lawn with shrimp puffs and mini quiches and trays of fizzy pink drinks.
Suddenly finding herself alone, Danit grabs a drink off a tray and takes a big sip. She doesn’t want to get drunk, of course. She wants just enough to take the edge off. Meeting all your future in-laws at once is tough to tackle sober.
2
This party will do the trick, Ginny Calhoun thinks. It has to.
Ginny smiles widely, knowing that is the only thing, short of a facelift, that will make those awful little marionette lines around her mouth disappear. The Botox takes care of the grooves on her forehead, and the filler plumps up the hollows under her eyes, but nothing short of surgery is going to get rid of those god-awful lines.
Thom will see the young Ginny in her, won’t he? That’s what they say about long marriages. The men sometimes need reminding of the youthful beauties they fell in love with so long ago. She will help him remember at this party. All this other nonsense will fade into the background, and things will return to the way they were supposed to be.
After all, they are the Calhouns.
“Excuse me!”
A young woman in a catering outfit rushes by her and through the front door of the house. Ginny jumps back to avoid being hit.
“The staff should be using the back door; the front is for guests,” Ellie Grace says. “Want me to speak to Sunniva?”
“Sunniva has been catering the party for seven years, darling. She knows the drill.”
“Sometimes these newer hires need to be reminded.”
“I’ll handle Sunniva.” Ginny adores her daughter, but she sometimes senses in her a desire to assume the mantle of power without putting in any of the hard work.
Ginny surveys the scene before her like a queen surveying her castle grounds. The huge cherry tree in the front yard is in full bloom, casting a pink sunlit glow over the cocktail tables covered in checkered cloths. A corner lot really is the best for entertaining. The guest list is a mix of Thom’s business connections, friends from the Somerwood Country Club, and neighbors, some of whom the Calhouns are genuinely fond of and others who needed to be invited lest they complain about the noise.
And of course, her children.
Ginny smiles for real this time. It’s so rare to have all her children—Trey, Nate, and Ellie Grace—together like this. A horrible thought intrudes—This will be the last time. She gasps. Where did that come from? She shakes the thought away.
“Those photos will make a wonderful Christmas card, Mommy,” Ellie Grace says. “All of us in gingham. I thought the ones last year were a little gloomy. Tartan plaid doesn’t photograph well.”
So many Christmas cards over the years. The white linen at the house on Nantucket, the pinks and greens in St. Barts for spring break. It was so right for so long. Where did things go wrong? Had she taken her hand off the rudder?
When the hydrangeas didn’t arrive this morning, her heart sank like a stone.
She knew that this time was different.
Ginny looks at her watch—it’s almost three fifteen—and goes in search of Thom, taking two champagne flutes with her. She finds him and hands him a glass. “Darling, shall we get things started with a toast as always?”
He takes the glass from her, a glimmer of resentment in the slight flare of his nostrils. He used to like how she managed all the little details in their lives. But a month ago, he snapped at her when she asked him to grab The Washington Post on the front path, telling her he wasn’t her trained dog.
They walk to the front stoop of the house. She knows what he’s thinking—he needs to put in about another hour of face time before he can retreat to the silence of his beloved study.
It wasn’t always this way. He once relished these get-togethers—years upon years of them. Not just the cherry blossom parties but so many other celebrations. It is hard for her to reconcile this taciturn man with the Thom who enjoyed hosting friends, holding court with a bourbon in his hand, bragging about his golf exploits, telling shaggy-dog stories about deep-sea fishing in the Keys.
“Ding, ding, ding,” Thom calls out like so many times before. Ginny watches his face scan the crowd and then alight on a woman with long red hair in a short pink dress that makes her slender legs look miles long. Ginny recognizes her as a recently hired employee of Calhoun Development. Over the years, there have been many pretty girls with long legs and easy smiles. But they never last. Ginny’s never been able to figure out if Thom was involved with any of them, or if he simply likes having pretty girls around the office. That’s not quite true. She’s never wanted to figure it out. Thirty-five years is a long time to be married, and you have to allow your partner a little leeway, a little privacy. It’s their policy. He’s never looked too closely at how she spends money, and she’s never asked too many questions about the pretty girls.
But those damn hydrangeas. Could it have been an honest mistake?
Ginny lays her hand on Thom’s forearm and gives it a gentle squeeze to shake him out of his reverie. “Something wrong, dear?” Ginny asks.
“Not at all.” Thom shifts his gaze away from the redhead to the faces peering up at him. “I’d like to make a toast.” His booming voice quiets the crowd. Someone turns down the music.
“We are gathered here once again to celebrate the cherry blossoms. The Japanese may have gifted Washington these beautiful trees back in 1912 as a token of friendship, but you have gifted us with your presence—this year and over the many years. Here’s to friendship!”
He holds out his glass, and everyone raises theirs. “Hear, hear!” someone calls out.
“Oh, darling.” Ginny leans in for a kiss. “That was wonderful.”
Thom keeps the smile on his face and his champagne glass in the air as he leans in to her as if to kiss her cheek.
But it is not a kiss he delivers.
It’s a message.
Only the most astute onlookers would notice the subtle change in Ginny’s face, the smile morphing from one of joy into one of horror.
3
Ellie Grace scans the party, looking for her husband, but sees no sign of him. Zak isn’t one to blend in with a crowd. It’s not only his golden hair, olive skin, and striking green eyes that cause heads to turn, it’s the way he carries himself. And he photographs so well. But while charm comes easily to him, punctuality does not.
She’s going to give him an earful when he comes. He missed the family picture that will go out on the Christmas cards. People might get the wrong idea, think their marriage is in trouble.
To alleviate her anxiety, she opens Instagram on her phone. Her account, Gingham Life, got a nice little bump this week when it was mentioned in a South Carolina lifestyle magazine. A flurry of new followers has brought her total up to 190,000, a number that would have seemed astronomical to her when she started, but now that she is deeper in the influencer game, she realizes how small it is. One day, she’d like to be in the same ballpark as DCGirlsWearPearls or Beltway Prep, or even TrulyTrudy, the influencer who has perfected the preppy, classy lifestyle vibe and has 1.5 million followers.
But she’ll need something to go really viral to get that kind of following. And so far, her upscale Washington, D.C., lifestyle brand isn’t cutting it.
Just because life is messy, doesn’t mean you have to be!
That is her tagline, and everything she posts illustrates how to make order out of chaos. Sorting by color, finding the perfect planner, coordinating your clothes into capsules so that you always look pulled together, no matter what you grab from your closet. She has a loyal following, all right, but nothing explosive. But how do you make organizing your matching office accessories explosive?
Ellie Grace scrolls through some pictures that she asked a catering waiter to take while the family was being shot by the photographer. Zak should have been there to take these. But they aren’t terrible—after all, a professional photographer had already seen to the lighting and the staging.
A few are actually pretty good, like the ones in which she’s holding Malcolm. Pictures with babies get a ton of engagement. Quickly, she writes a caption and presses Post.
“Are you trying to pretend Malcolm is your child?”
Ellie Grace turns to see her brother Trey smirking beside her.
“No. I say he’s my nephew in one of the hashtags.” Like the rest of her family, Trey has no idea how much work goes into Gingham Life. He thinks it’s just a vanity hobby.
“I don’t see the point of these family photos. Aren’t you supposed to stop sending Christmas cards once the kids have grown up?” Trey asks. “I mean, no one cares.”
“It is important to some people,” Ellie Grace responds. She will not let her brother get under her skin.
Copyright © 2024 by Agnes Blum Thompson
