The Blessings of the Animals: A Novel - By Katrina Kittle Page 0,109

for my own practice if I hadn’t watched him work for his own restaurant.”

I put down the lasagna and peeled open the lid on the tiramisu. I took a bite. Pure heaven. “How does she do that?” I asked of Mimi. “How can the ladyfingers not be soggy?” Each bite was the perfect combination of custardy zabaglione and slightly crunchy, espresso-soaked ladyfingers. “How’s Mimi? How’s everybody?”

“Mimi’s Mimi,” Gabby said, with a look. “She and Olive argued about the wedding, then Olive and Mr. Henrici argued all the way home.”

“If he’s going to be your uncle, you can call him Nick.”

She made a face. “Maybe after I graduate.”

Gabby held her hand out for my fork, even though she’d said she was too full. She took a bite of the tiramisu, then handed the fork back to me.

“Did Olive ask about your wedding speech?” I asked. I took another bite. I loved the slight grittiness of the cocoa-espresso dusting on top.

She slumped her shoulders and glared at me, but not in earnest. “Yes,” she moaned. “I was hoping she’d forget all about it. What am I supposed to know about marriage?”

“Nobody expects you to know about marriage. Maybe you could write something about love. You know a little something about love, right?”

She rolled her eyes and took the fork. Her face brightened. “Zuzu was there! She’s doing great, Mom. She doesn’t even limp!”

I smiled. “That’s a puppy for you. They heal fast.”

“Dad told everyone that story. He made you sound like some Superwoman, talking about how amazing you were, how you saved her life, how you did surgery without any help.”

“Well, that probably wasn’t very fun for Zayna to listen to.”

Gabby smiled a big, gleeful smile. “Zayna wasn’t there. They broke up.”

I kept my face still. “Oh.” Poor Binky. What a buffoon. “Wow. Do you know why?”

“Please,” Gabby said, keeping the fork for two turns in a row. “Dad and I never talk about stuff like that.”

“Stuff like what?”

“Anything real. I guess she left a week ago, but it was the first he’d said anything about it. And it only came up because Aunt Olive asked.”

That made me so sad, I couldn’t take another bite, even though it was my turn. I loved moments like this with Gabby, talking about “real” things. Bobby never had these with her? He was missing so much of his daughter’s life. But that was his decision.

“Wait. So he’s keeping Zuzu?”

“Yep.”

“Hey, give me that fork. It’s my turn!” We were down to a few bites left. “Wow. Your dad with a puppy.”

“Maybe we should volunteer to keep her here?” Gabby asked, her face all innocence.

“No. No way.”

“But Mom—”

“You can’t give me all that crap about ‘another animal’ and then ask me to take your father’s dog!”

She smiled. “I know. But she’s so cute.”

“So are you. So cute and so manipulative.”

“But you’re keeping me, right?”

I ate the last bite of the tiramisu. “Forever and ever,” I said. I didn’t want to miss any of it, either.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

WHEN A NEW CLIENT SAID SHE WAS A DANCE INSTRUCTOR, I perked up. “What kind of dance?”

“Mostly Latin,” she said, in a surprisingly deep, melodic voice that didn’t match her willowy body. Her pale skin and ice-blue eyes made you expect something other than her warmth.

The geriatric Siamese cat she’d brought in hissed at me, baring its plaque-coated teeth. It was the woman’s mother’s cat. Her mother had suffered a stroke, and this woman, Colleen Jewell, had moved home from New York City to care for her.

“I used to work in a studio in the city. I danced competitively, but I also taught.”

“Are you— Do you think you might have time to do any classes here?”

“I would love to,” she said. “I actually have a studio in my mother’s basement, from when I lived here. Dance floor, mirrors. It would do my heart good to use it.”

When I called Dubey to tell him I’d found us another dance class, he said, “Excellent! I’m in.”

I gathered other couples for our private class. Colleen undercharged us for the course; she seemed grateful to get to do it. We brought all the makings for a bar and served cocktails before we started. Helen and Hank were in. Olive and Nick. Aurora and her friend Mike. The Davids—how wonderful that they could dance together.

“Dubey’s cute,” Olive whispered to me.

“He smells good,” Helen said.

“He can dance,” Aurora said.

Hank was a good dancer, a natural, but Dubey had finesse and style. Dubey never seemed to get out of