She continues, “I think the last time we saw each other was when we went to that lecture by the Swedish philosopher at the university, and we all went out after.” Cissy smiles like the Cheshire cat, her perfectly capped teeth shining in the darkness. “You fell asleep at the table, remember? Nate got so upset at you for being a bad hostess.”

I remember now. I was exhausted from working all day, getting Evan to after-school practices, making him dinner, finding a babysitter and being bored out of my mind. And that was the night Nate thought it was so hilarious to call me Dr. Adeleine when he got drunk.

I hold out my arms and give Cissy a hug, before doing the same to Trey, who I inadvertently poke in the back with my sparklers and lighter.

“How are you?” I ask.

“Crazy busy,” Trey says. He stands back and looks at me. “How are you?” he asks in a tone that suggests I’ve recently been institutionalized.

“Lots of changes,” I say.

“We heard,” Cissy says, her voice etched in false concern. “Nate told us.”

I nod. Told them what?

“What brings you here?” I ask, searching for the right words. “It’s so nice of you to support me my first week.”

“We thought we needed a getaway from work and the kids,” Cissy says.

“You came to the right place,” I say.

“Yeah, we felt we needed a change of pace,” Trey says. “Felt like roughing it for a new experience.”

Roughing it?

“Well, I’m sure Nate told you this was my family cottage, and I’ve turned it into an inn,” I say. “I’m so proud of all the changes, and I think you’re going to have a magical stay.”

“So,” Cissy starts, her Botoxed face attempting to show confusion. “You work here?”

“Yes,” I say. “I own and run the inn.”

Cissy stares at me.

“It’s my business,” I clarify. “I’m an entrepreneur now.”

“Oh,” she says. “How interesting.”

Interesting?

“Well, I’m sure you’re exhausted from the drive, so let’s get you checked in so you can relax and unwind,” I say. “But first...” I hold out a sparkler for Cissy and Trey. Neither one moves.

“This was something my mom and dad did at the start of our summer holiday,” I say. “It’s a bit corny, I know, but the purpose is for visitors to leave their troubles at the door, which is the first rule of the cottage.”

“So,” Cissy says, her face again pinched in confusion. “What exactly are we supposed to do?”

“Here,” I say, reaching into my jacket and pulling out a small postcard I had made for guests listing all the cottage rules with the inn’s contact information at the bottom. “I light your sparklers, and we recite the rules before they go out.”

“Doesn’t that seem silly?” Cissy asks. “Childish?”