Bombshell by Lynda Curnyn Page A

crying,” Angie continued. “She starts talking about my dad, how she wished he had lived to see his only daughter get married….”
    A tremor moved through me at her words, and I felt a sense of loss I couldn’t define.
    â€œBut she got over it the minute Sonny and Vanessa showed up with my adorable goddaughter….”
    Sonny was Angie’s older brother—and one of my first boyfriends. He was married now to Vanessa, and they had just had their first baby girl a year ago. Sonny always had been a wiseass. Which was probably why our preteen romance had ended amicably. It was hard to get broken up over a boy who kept you chronically breaking up with laughter. Or maybe it was because I hadn’t truly lost anything when I lost Sonny as a boyfriend. After all, I had gained a best friend—and her family.
    â€œAnyway, now my mother is already starting to talk aboutthe wedding. Justin and I haven’t even set the date yet, and all of a sudden she’s putting together this list, and it’s getting bigger by the minute. I mean, I always knew my family was big, but she’s pulling relatives I never heard of out of the woodwork. Did you know I have a cousin Mildred in Staten Island? Anyway, it’s insanity! My mother was up to 150 people by the time we left, and that’s not even including Justin’s family….”
    I had nothing to say to all this. Because I suddenly realized the true source of the sadness that had pierced me the moment she told me her happy news.
    While Angie’s family was growing larger, the little family I had suddenly seemed to be fading away….
    Â 
    I came to work the next morning a bit later than usual, feeling a sluggishness in my bones that made dragging myself out of bed difficult, and found a bottle of Dom Perignon on my desk.
    Not feeling particularly jubilant—and somewhat wary of whatever joyful news would be heaped on me today—I paused in the doorway. Turning to Lori, who was already busy at her desk, I asked, “What’s with the champagne?”
    â€œDianne sent it over for everyone in Marketing,” Lori replied cheerfully. “Well, you and Claudia, at least,” she continued. “Apparently, Mimi Blaustein called Dianne on Friday, and Irina’s going to sign on with us for the new campaign.”
    Well, at least someone was getting what they wanted, I thought, heading into to my office. I studied the fancy label, remembered the last time I had had Dom (with Michael, on the beach). Then, as if I could will that memory away, I grabbed the bottle by the neck and was about to tuck it into my bottom drawer when Claudia showed up in my doorway.
    â€œI guess you heard the news,” she said, smiling crisply at me.
    â€œYes, I did. That’s fabulous, Claudia. Congratulations,” I replied, my tone belying my enthusiasm.
    Not that Claudia noticed. “Don’t open it,” she said, as if that had been my intention. “She hasn’t signed the contract yet. In fact, Dianne is personally giving Mimi and her insufferable client a tour of the Long Island compound this week. Something about Irina being some kind of animal activist and wanting assurances that our facilities are on the up and up.” She rolled her eyes. “But by the look of things, we should have a contract as early as next week. In fact, we’re planning a reception for Irina here as soon as a deal is signed, to welcome her into the Dubrow family.” Another roll of the eyes, followed by a somewhat gleeful smile. “Oh, fuck it. Let’s open it.”
    I glanced at the clock on my desk. “Claudia, it’s barely 10:00 a.m.”
    â€œOh, come on, Grace. Don’t be such a party poop.”
    Yes, Claudia Stewart, my supremely sophisticated boss, actually said “poop.”
    My antennae went up. Even more so when she disappeared, only to return moments later with two champagne flutes in her