Sad Girls

by Lang Leav

  “I know. It’s actually surreal.”

  “Well, I guess we have another thing to celebrate!”

  A few minutes later, Lucy pulled up in front of a quaint terrace house on a leafy, tree-lined street.

  “Wow, you weren’t kidding when you said it was close. I could walk to work.”

  “I told you it was perfect,” said Lucy.

  We got out of the car and walked through the gate and up the short flight of steps.

  “It’s so cute,” I said. The door was painted a steampunk black and had an ornate brass knocker. The number 42 was painted on the door in large gold lettering.

  “Wait until you get inside,” she said, fishing the key out of her pocket and sticking it in the lock.

  “Oh, wow,” I breathed when we stepped across the threshold and into the house. I stood with my mouth agape as I took in the polished cherrywood floors and the retro-style furniture that gave the place a fun, playful vibe. There was a full-sized jukebox in the main hallway, accompanied by a vintage flip ball machine and fortune-telling wheel. Lucy’s uncle was an art collector, and there were numerous paintings and limited-edition prints in ornate frames along the walls. We began walking through the house, marveling at the high ceilings that were a perfect complement to the open-plan layout that led us from the hallway to the lounge area and through the kitchen. There was a small room in the back, piled up high with an assortment of DVDs, books, cardboard boxes, and other paraphernalia. The back door opened to a charming English-style courtyard. A small outdoor table and chair set made of decorative wrought iron stood in the center of the yard, surrounded by lilies, white roses, and potted gardenias. “My uncle says my life won’t be worth living if we let his plants die,” said Lucy. Upstairs, there were two sun-drenched rooms, each with an en suite bathroom.

  “Candela would have loved it here,” I said, feeling suddenly wistful.

  “I know,” said Lucy. “We always said we’d move in together after school—the three of us. It kind of feels weird doing it without her.”

  “It does. Hey, what day is it today?”

  Lucy checked her phone. “The fourteenth.”

  We looked at each other as the significance of the date dawned on us. It was Candela’s birthday. I couldn’t believe we almost forgot.

  “We should call her,” said Lucy.

  I raised an eyebrow. “We can try.”

  My mind shot back to that day at Alexandria, outside Candela’s house. Even though we hadn’t spoken since then, I thought about her constantly. I had long since given up trying to make amends, but I couldn’t ignore her birthday.

  “Well, what have we got to lose?” said Lucy, tapping her number.

  “Fingers crossed she’ll pick up,” I said.

  “Hey, Lucy.” To our surprise, Candela answered almost right away.

  “Hi, stranger,” said Lucy. “I’m here with Audrey.”

  “Hey, Candela,” I said cautiously.

  “Hey,” she replied brightly. There wasn’t a trace of hostility in her voice, and it made me feel hopeful.

  “Happy birthday!” Lucy and I chimed in unison.

  She laughed. “Aw, thanks guys.”

  “We miss you,” said Lucy.

  “I miss you both too,” she said. There was a hint of sadness in her voice. It was her first birthday without us. “So what are you guys up to?”

  Lucy told Candela about her uncle’s house and how we would be house-sitting in the near future. “You know, you can crash here whenever you want.”

  “Thank you,” said Candela. She sounded touched. “Maybe I can come and visit you both when you’re settled in.”

  “You’re welcome anytime,” said Lucy.

  “I have to get back to work now,” said Candela. “Thanks for the call.”

  “You’re working on your birthday?” I asked.

  “Yeah, double shift,” she said, with a sigh. “I’m just on my lunch break.”

  “Okay, we’ll let you go, then,” said Lucy. “It’s good to hear your voice, Candela.”

  Later that evening, I brought my parents up to speed about the exciting events of my day. As a tactical move, I told them about the internship and possible job offer first.

  “That’s wonderful, honey,” said Dad, beaming at me.

  “Congratulations, Audrey,” said Mum. She looked genuinely happy for me. “Maybe a good time to go for your driver’s license?” This was something I had been putting off, despite Mum’s constant nagging. The idea of being in control of a dangerous hunk of metal while in the throes of a panic attack was a scenario that I did not want to find myself in.

  “Actually, Lucy’s uncle just accepted a job offer in Paris, and she’ll be house-sitting for him while he’s away. It’s a big house, and it’s really close to the See! Sydney office, about a ten-minute walk,” I said in a rush, watching my mother’s face transition from its calm, placid state to something that did not bode well for me. “Lucy says I can move in with her and—”

  “No,” Mum said. She put her fork down. “You’re too young to be living out of home, Audrey.”

  “I’m eighteen!” I stood up, my chair loudly scraping the floor. “Most of my friends are leaving home.”

  “And look how it’s turned out for Candela.”

  “Don’t bring her into this. I’m not Candela, Mum.”

  “How do you think you’ll support yourself? On an internship? How about rent and bills?”

  “Lucy says we don’t have to pay rent. And I can apply for a grant while I’m on my internship or get a part-time job.”

  “Audrey, you can barely take care of yourself. Maybe in a few years.”

  “A few years?” I cried, stunned. “Mum, I am not an invalid! Besides, I don’t even need your permission, anyway.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Dad?” I looked over at him, my eyes pleading. “It’s only house-sitting; I’m not going to be there forever.”

  He sighed and looked at Mum. “Audrey’s right, Edwina. The girls are just house-sitting.” I felt a tiny flicker of hope flare up in my chest. “Maybe it might be good for Audrey to get out there and learn a thing or two about responsibility.”

  She glared at him.

  “And it’s not too far away.” He kept his tone light and jovial. “I’m sure she’ll be back with her laundry every other day.”

  My mother looked from my dad to me. Then she stood up abruptly and pushed her chair back. “You’re too soft on her; you always have been,” she said to my dad. She picked up her plate—with half her meal still on it—and took it into the kitchen. I could hear the sharp clatter of the plate hitting the kitchen sink, then the sound of cupboard doors and drawers opening and slamming shut. My dad and I exchanged a look.

  “No wild parties,” he said, as a huge grin broke across my face. “You’re living in someone else’s house, so you have to treat it with respect.”

  “Dad!” I said, rushing to his side of the table and throwing my arms around his neck.

  “Also,” he continued, “I want you to visit your mother at least once a week—I’m serious, Audrey,” he said when I let out a groan. “And you have to find a way to support yourself financially. No handouts from us.”

  “Okay,” I said happily. I couldn’t wait to call Lucy and tell her the good news.

  Mum came out of the kitchen and looked at the two of us crossly. She had a handful of assorted kitchen utensils in her hands. “I suppose you’ll be needing these,” she said, laying them out on the table. “I don’t want you girls living off pizza and burgers.”

  I leapt up and threw my arms around her. “Thanks, Mum,” I said, kissing her on the cheek. My dad smiled at her and shrugged.

  “Looks like our little girl is growing up.”

  Twelve

  “I noticed you’re not w
earing your rubber band today,” said Ida. It had been almost three months since I last saw her. I had been doing so well lately we were able to scale back our sessions.

  I glanced down at my left wrist. “I must have forgotten it today,” I said with a shrug. I sat down in the chair and dropped my brown leather satchel by my feet. It was a gift from my parents when I began my internship at See! Sydney.

  “That’s a great sign, Audrey.”

  “Yeah?”

  She nodded and smiled. “How have you been? The last time we spoke, you had just started an internship at a magazine.”

  “I’ve been great,” I said. “I was offered a full-time position last week.” I reached into my bag, pulled out a business card, and passed it across the table. “Sam, my editor, got these cards printed up for me.”

  “Audrey Field, Journalist,” said Ida with a smile. “Good for you, sweetheart. What an amazing achievement for someone your age.”

  “Thanks. I got lucky.”

  “And you’re living out of home now, aren’t you?”

  I nodded. “I’m house-sitting with my friend Lucy.”

  “How has that been?”

  “Wonderful. I don’t have to put up with my mother on a daily basis anymore.”

  “How does that make you feel?”

  “Like a huge weight has been lifted,” I said, with a happy sigh. “I feel like I can relax and be myself. The other day I sat in my room and ate a whole pack of mint cookies just because I could.”

  Ida laughed. “Sounds like quite a revelation you had there.”

  “One of many.”

  “And do you still see your mother?”

  “I go home for dinner every Thursday night. I also visit on some weekends. She’s almost bearable in small doses. I think she’s almost disappointed that I haven’t screwed up yet. She has this irrational fear that I’ll wind up like Candela.”

  “Speaking of Candela, have you heard from her?”

  My smile waned. I shook my head. “No. Lucy and I called her up on her birthday, but we haven’t heard from her since. That was months ago. I sent her a text with our address, but she’s never bothered to show up.”

  “How does that make you feel?”

  “Sad. I miss her a lot. We’ve been friends as far back as I can remember—we wouldn’t go a day without talking. I love Lucy to death, but I’ve always had this special connection with Candela. It’s hard to describe. I feel like I can talk to her without a filter, that she would never think less of me, no matter what I said. And she was the only one who understood how I felt about Rad—” I stopped.

  “You’re still thinking about Rad?”

  “Yeah,” I admitted. I had tried my best to put Rad out of my mind, but it was easier said than done. I kept thinking about the last time I saw him, at Blues Point when we had erased one another from our phones on the count of three. Sometimes, I wish I could go back to that night and stop that from happening. “I feel bad about it. I mean, Duck literally has no idea that Rad is still on my mind. We used to fight about it all the time, but it’s almost like he’s forgotten the whole thing ever happened.” I looked down at my hands. “I wish I could forget.”

  “How is Duck doing?”

  “Duck’s great. He’s just started his law degree, and he loves it. Since we left school, his ambitious streak has gone into overdrive.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, he’s gotten into self-help books in a big way. And there’s always some business seminar in town that he’s enrolled in.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “Fine, I guess. As long as he is happy. We don’t get to spend as much time together as we used to, though.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  I shook my head. “Not really. There’s lots to keep me busy.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” She scribbled something down in her notebook. “I know I wrote you a note for the doctor, some time ago. Did you ever fill the prescription?”

  “No. After my fight with Candela, I was thinking about how she used to sneak a pill here and there from her mother’s supply. And I didn’t want to go down that road. I mean, I was coping okay with the rubber band.”

  “Have you had any more panic attacks since I last saw you?”

  I shook my head and smiled. “Not a single one.”

  Thirteen

  The next morning Sam came up to my desk and placed a book on top of a stack of papers.

  “Novellas are making a comeback,” she said, her tone matter of fact.

  “They are? I thought publishers never touched them.”

  “Well, this one is making waves at the moment,” she said tapping the cover lightly with one perfectly manicured finger.

  “Pretty.” There was an image of a snow-covered field with the title A Snowflake in a Snowfield and the author’s name printed underneath. “Colorado Clark?” I said. “Is that a pen name?”

  “I don’t know, but you can ask him yourself. He’s your first feature.”

  “Really?” I said, perking up. After weeks of pleading, Sam was finally tasking me with my first feature article. I was ecstatic. I jumped up and hugged her.

  “Yes, really,” she grinned. “April has set up a time and place for you to interview him on Monday. She’ll e-mail the details to you. Make sure you read the book this weekend.”

  “I will,” I promised, clutching the book to my chest and grinning at her. After sitting on the sideline for all these months, I was raring to go. I couldn’t wait to see my name in print.

  “The book has already made the Elliott Tate short list, by the way,” she said as she was walking away.

  “Seriously? A novella?”

  She stopped and turned around. “It’s not the first time a novella has been short-listed.”

  “I know, but it’s rare.”

  A paper airplane landed squarely in front of me. I looked up. Trinh, a senior journalist, grinned at me from her desk. She got up and walked over.

  “Congrats,” she said.

  “You knew?”

  She nodded. “Uh-huh. Sam asked me if I thought you were ready, and I said ‘hell yeah.’”

  “Aw, thanks, Trinny,” I said, flashing her a grateful smile.

  Since I started at See! Sydney, senior journalist Trinh had taken me under her wing. She was in her midtwenties and already had an Ayres Award under her belt—the Australian equivalent of a Pulitzer. She had a passion for politics and wanted to write for the Washington Post one day. Like Sam, Trinh took pride in her appearance and always looked like she’d just walked off a fashion shoot. I envied women like that, the ones who could throw together an outfit and make it work—who could coordinate their shoes, makeup, and jewelry and make it all seem effortless.

  “So are you excited?” she asked, her gold hoop earrings shimmering against her jet-black hair.

  “Yes. You know how badly I’ve wanted this.”

  “I’ve read the book. It’s powerful stuff—hard to believe someone so young wrote it. Word on the street is that he’s gorgeous too.”

  “Is Colorado Clark his real name?”

  “Apparently. It’s an interesting name, isn’t it? Sounds like a superhero.”

  “Yeah,” I laughed. It certainly was an intriguing name.

  “Anyway, I’d better get back to work. Good luck with the interview on Monday. Can’t wait to hear all about it!”

  “Your mother has been calling me nonstop,” said Lucy as I walked through the front door. “She says you’re not answering your phone again.” She was sitting upright on our royal-blue loveseat painting her toenails red.

  I put my keys down on the kitchen bench and kicked off my shoes.

  “God,” I moaned. “There’s a reason why I left home. When will she realize I plan on avoiding her for the rest of my
life?”

  “Audrey, I know she can be tough on you, but she’s still your mother.”

  “You have no idea,” I said with a sigh. “Your parents are perfect.”

  “Anyway,” said Lucy, her face fixed in intense concentration as she dipped the tiny brush into the bottle of red polish, “can you just call her? I’m tired of playing gatekeeper.”

  “Fine.” I grabbed a mug from the kitchen cupboard. “I’ll do it after I have my cup of tea. Do you want one?”

  “Sure.” She put the bottle of polish on the coffee table and looked up at me. “Hey, want to go out tonight?”

  “I probably shouldn’t,” I said, as I put the kettle on. “I’ve just been given my first feature.”

  “No way! Audrey, that’s fantastic. Congrats! You’ve been wanting this for ages.”

  “I know,” I said, beaming at her.

  “Who’s the feature?”

  “Some hot new writer. I have to read his book over the weekend. It’s a novella, which is kind of neat. I can’t remember the last time I read one.”

  “A novella? You should be able to finish it in no time. C’mon, Audrey! Freddy and Duck are both free tonight. The four of us haven’t gone out together in ages. Plus, now we have a reason to celebrate!”

  “Okay. I suppose I can start the book tomorrow.”

  Later that night, we met up with Freddy and Duck at Spag Bowl. It was someone’s (probably drunken) idea to attach a small Italian joint to a bowling alley. The food was awful, but it had a great atmosphere and the Bolognese was passable as long as you drowned it with Parmesan.

  Lucy and I were sitting at one of the tables draped in red-and-white gingham and decorated with a small vase of fake red roses. The place was buzzing with people talking over the offbeat notes of a piano sonata, occasionally interrupted by the smack of bowling balls into pins. “Should we get a snack before joining the boys?” I asked.

  “I’m starving! Let’s have dinner. Besides, Freddy gets so competitive when he plays against me. He’s such a bad loser.” She rolled her eyes.

  I smiled. When it came to bowling, Lucy was formidable.