Love the One You're With Read Free

the real thing, or something Remington had discovered by some no-name artist
     in Brooklyn.
    She trailed a safe distance after her mother and Remington down the winding, polished floor of their cavernous penthouse and
     into the kitchen.
    “Hey!” her sister, Baby, called. Baby’s wavy, unbrushed brown hair was pulled into a loose ponytail and she was hunched over
     the marble countertop of the island in the center of the kitchen, looking through pictures on her digital camera. Their brother,
     Owen, was rummaging through the refrigerator, his white-blond hair still damp from swim practice, wearing his threadbare gray
     Nantucket Pirates T-shirt. He was probably looking for a can of Red Bull. He drank at least three a day.
    “Hey Ave!” Owen called cheerfully, holding up the silver and blue can in mock salute.
    “Remington and I are going to make dinner!” Edie announced grandly. She flung open the walnut cabinets flanking the far wall
     and began pulling out brightly colored Le Creuset casserole dishes. “Some sort of harvest medley. I’ll figure it out.”
    Avery sighed inwardly. Sometimes her mother’s off-the-cuff recipes tasted delicious, but more often than not, she treated
     cooking as just another artistic experiment.
    “How about you let me handle it?” Remington asked. “I could do squash ravioli with sage,” he mused, pulling a variety of spices
     off the spice rack and furrowing his salt-and-pepper brows. He turned to the triplets. “It’s a special occasion—my daughter
     Layla is in town from Oberlin and is coming over for dinner,” he explained.
    “We’re so excited for you all to meet her,” Edie said. She gazed at her children as if imagining her brood expanding. “And
     yes, why don’t you do the cooking, darling. Remington went to culinary school,” Edie explained proudly, resting her chin on
     Remington’s shoulder as she peered over the counter.
    “Just a year or two ago. Once I stopped working full-time and Layla went to college, I decided to just spend some time exploring
     my passions. That’s also about the time I got involved with the Brooklyn Art Collective. But of course, now I have my one
     favorite passion!” Remington wrapped his beefy arms around Edie’s slim waist and gave her a long kiss on the lips.
    Okay, we get the point.
    Avery sat down at the kitchen island next to Baby. “Do you know what we’re doing for Thanksgiving?” She lowered her voice
     as she glanced from Baby’s deep coffee-colored eyes to Owen’s bright blue ones.
    “I don’t know.” Owen shook his head. “Is
he
part of our plans?” he asked, an edge to his voice as he glanced sideways at Remington and Edie.
    “No idea. But you can bet it’ll probably be the usual mix of randoms,” Baby said with an affectionate eye-roll. Back in Nantucket,
     Edie would always invite stray people who didn’t have anywhere else to go for the holidays. Last year, the dinner party guests
     had included a stern sea captain from Sweden named Oleg, a 93-year-old Boston society hostess who’d been uninvited to her
     own Thanksgiving after telling her entire extended family she was giving her estate to the Feral Cat Society, and a couple
     in their thirties who drove from state to state, occasionally setting up lawn chairs next to a sign that said TALK TO US!
    “What are we talking about?” Edie floated past on her way to the Sub-Zero to put away the greenmarket produce she wasn’t going
     to cook.
    “What are we doing for Thanksgiving?” Avery asked innocently. “Because if we’re not doing anything special, I think I might
     go keep Jack company. She’s going through a rough time with her family,” Avery explained.
    “I could come if Jack needs strength in numbers,” Owen offered, grabbing a brownie from a plate on the counter and stuffing
     it in his mouth.
    “Remington actually has a little announcement to make. Remington?” Edie called to the other end of the kitchen, where Remington
     was