“Mary said you were back early,” Aunt Jean said. “For a second I thought maybe you couldn’t stay away from the shop, but then I remembered who you were related to.”

“Edward cheated on me with Amy.” I said it like I was ripping off a Band-Aid.

Her lips thinned, but she didn’t even blink. “That is not surprising.”

“You knew?” I shrieked, waving my arms around.

“Astrid, sit down,” she replied calmly.

When I flopped onto the other end of the couch, she took my hand. Mary settled into my overstuffed armchair, the one I snuggled into to read.

“I didn’t know,” Aunt Jean began. “But with our family, is it really all that surprising?”

I paused, clutching my fingers together in my lap. “Amy is a total bitch. I hate using that word because it’s so gender specific, but she is. But this? It’s…”

“Do you really want Edward?” she asked, her eyes a little concerned.

My eyes widened in horror. “Hell no,” I replied.

The relief on her face was visible. Clearly she didn’t want me with that guy. “Then it doesn’t really matter. Even though it was years ago, she did you a favor.”

I opened my mouth to argue, then shut it. Maybe she did. If I hadn’t heard through the Cutthroat grapevine Edward had cheated in the first place, I’d never have dumped him. I’d like to think I’d have come to my senses about him on my own, but maybe not. I just had to wonder how the gossip hadn’t included that it had been Amy. I’d never asked him who it was. It hadn’t mattered. Maybe it still didn’t when it came to him, but Amy? I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get over what she’d done.

Aunt Jean seemed to think it still didn’t matter.

I’d left Cutthroat because of the breakup.

“I wouldn’t have come here and opened my shop.”

“That’s right. I’m the only sane one in the family. I’ve loved having you close and it took a little while, but you’ve found your place here. You run a successful business. You are a success, Astrid, no matter what your parents or sister say.”

“Here, here,” Mary said, waving a broken oatmeal raisin then taking a bite. “You wouldn’t have me as a best friend either. I should send Amy a thank you card.”

I stared at her, then burst out laughing. Then burst into tears.

“Amy’s not worth crying over,” Aunt Jean said, her voice softer.

“I’m not crying over her,” I said, each word coming out in a gaspy sob.

“It’s not the dress they’re making you wear, is it?” Mary asked.

I shook my head. “I never even tried it on.”

“Then what?” Aunt Jean asked, then said, “Oh. It’s Thatcher, isn’t it?”