She Regrets Nothing

by Andrea Dunlop

  “Excuse me, are you blushing?”

  “No!” But she was; she could feel her stomach flipping. She hadn’t felt this way in such a long time that she’d forgotten it was even possible. Liberty didn’t date much—and when she’d had boyfriends over the past several years, they were chosen in a cool and intellectual sort of way. Her last serious relationship, with a PhD candidate from NYU, had ended nearly two years ago, and she had not gone on more than a handful of dates with any one person since then.

  “Anyway, he did; he said he was looking forward to seeing you ‘all grown up’—his words, not mine. Because, ew.”

  “Well. I’m looking forward to seeing him too.”

  “Oh, are you?” Reece said teasingly.

  “Oh, not like that. He . . . isn’t my type.” This was true and not true. Of course, Reece had been her coconspirator in worshipping Cameron in their youth, but that was a very long time ago. They were grown women now—both thirty-two years old.

  “I would love for you to elucidate what your type actually is.”

  “I don’t know. Smart, serious.”

  “And my brother isn’t?”

  “No, he is. But he’s too good-looking.” She wanted to say too sexy, too hot, too out of my league. A dozen teenage clichés bombarded her at once.

  “That is not a thing.” Reece smiled and pointed a chopstick at her.

  Reece’s dating habits were the opposite of Liberty’s: she was always seeing someone. Models, actors, Wall Street guys, artists, bartenders—the only thing these romances had in common was they ran hot and burned out fast. Which was, by all appearances, how Reece preferred it.

  “Remember when we were kids, we used to talk about how you could marry Cameron and then we’d get to be sisters?” Liberty was mortified that her friend remembered all of this.

  “Yeah, and I’m pretty sure my reaction was ew, boys, so I don’t think that’s entirely germane.”

  “Presumably you no longer think boys are gross, or maybe you do! Is that why you don’t date more, babe, because boys are gross?”

  “Be honest, though, aren’t they?” Liberty rolled her eyes. “Are you saying you want me to date Cameron?”

  “Gah, of course not. I just want you to date someone. You know Petra asked me if you were a lesbian once?”

  “She didn’t.”

  “I couldn’t tell if she was relieved or disappointed when I told her you weren’t.”

  Petra was obsessed with her daughters’ marrying. But after the six months they didn’t speak, she never pressed Liberty about that or anything else. It had broken her heart, the thought of losing her daughter.

  “I do date. I mean I will, but work right now . . .”

  “Work always!”

  “You’re one to talk!” Liberty smiled at her friend. “And I’m proud of you for it. Why shouldn’t we be focused on our careers right now?”

  “Because we’re over thirty,” Reece said. “Even I’m going to have to get serious sometime soon.”

  “Ugh, you sound like my mother. After all this progress, men still get the hero’s journey, while we’re left with the marriage plot? What bullshit.”

  “Well, plus ça change, I guess,” Reece shrugged. “I just don’t want to wake up and find that it’s too late. You know? I want to give Elin and Thatcher some grandbabies someday. All of that. God help me.”

  Liberty knew, for who didn’t fear that? A part of her could imagine being happy in her solitude. She could work and read and travel alone. It could be a lovely life, in a way. Her brother and sister would have children; she’d be their fascinating auntie. But then, there was the desire she’d felt assaulting her with more frequency lately, the stirring at the sight of a toddler with his father or the scent of a baby’s head. Unsettling, but gratifying, to be reminded that she was still so human.

  9

  * * *

  LAILA WAS overjoyed about going to Soho House. An entire episode of Sex and the City had revolved around its exclusivity. Like many young women of her generation, this show was how she’d known New York before she’d known New York. It was a dated but precise version of the city. Of course, she knew better than to mention the connection, but she could hardly contain her excitement as she and Nora got ready that evening. They’d gone on yet another shopping excursion that afternoon, for which Nora had once again picked up the bill. Whatever discomfort Laila had felt the first time her cousin had taken her on one of her Bergdorf sprees had dissipated. After all, it wasn’t precisely Nora’s money she was spending—Nora had casually mentioned the trust fund they’d all come into upon their twenty-first birthdays—it was Lawrence money, and Laila was a Lawrence. Only an accident of fate had separated her from the fortune with which she was now being reunited. She was careful to express none of this to her cousins, of course; she recognized that, for the moment, she still lived at the mercy of their whims.

  Just that weekend, Nora had lain in Laila’s bed with her and said “I just love you staying here.” Laila had replied that she loved it too. “Don’t ever leave; we’ll make up the guest room just as you like it, and you can just stay forever.” Laila didn’t think she’d stay, but the offer of a permanent situation was still an immense relief. She had only a few thousand dollars to her name. When she’d been married to Nathan, it was she who handled the family finances. For two years she’d diligently skimmed a small amount for herself. Never enough that he would notice but just enough to get her here. It would barely be enough to cover first and last month’s rent anywhere she’d be willing to live.

  “Laila, you’re wearing the black Hervé Léger tonight, right?” Nora called out from the bathroom, where she was flat ironing her blond locks into glossy submission.

  “I think so.”

  “Okay, I’ll wear my pink Narciso Rodriguez.” Nora flounced into the closet, where Laila was surveying her options for shoes.

  “That one is superhot on you.” Laila smiled with approval.

  “Yeah?”

  Laila was distracted by the buzz of her cell phone. She read the text message that had come in and smiled.

  “What?” Nora’s eyes lit up. “Tell me!”

  “I just got a text from that author I had drinks with the other day, from Liberty’s office?”

  “Tom Porter?”

  “Yes!” Laila was a little surprised her cousin remembered; you never did know what would stick in her head. “He asked if he could take me to dinner some night,” she said, “ ‘if he may be so bold,’ that’s what he said! How cute is that?”

  “Adorable. Are you going to go?”

  “I don’t know.” Laila’s mind was firing in multiple directions doing the math of such a proposition: Liberty might be annoyed, but Tom was definitely a catch. Was he the best Laila could do, though? She’d just gotten here. What Petra had said at Bergdorf’s stayed with her; Laila was keenly aware that there was only a small window where she would be still young enough to have so many options. She saw before her a narrowing tunnel. It was eerie how Petra’s words echoed her own mother’s—Betsy’s spirit manifesting in this unlikely host. The most important decision you’ll ever make. She’d already gotten it wrong once.

  Leo appeared and leaned on the door frame with a dramatic sigh, shirtless and in tattered sweatpants, cradling a tumbler of scotch. “Do we really have to go to Soho House tonight? That place is so tired.”

  Laila felt a flash of indignation at the way Leo had of making all that she was so thrilled by—the nightclubs and restaurants and the very city itself—seem utterly passé. He was forever talking about moving to Berlin or Costa Rica. He wore his jaded attitude the way Nora wore her Louboutins, the flashing signal of her privilege, dear to her though they made her miserable.

  “Yes, we do. Jesus, get dressed, would you? At least you get to see your girlfriend,” Nora said, riffling through a series of clutch purses.

  “Girlfriend?”

  Leo smiled at her and clutched his heart staggering forwa
rd. “Reece Michaels.”

  Nora laughed and rolled her eyes.

  “Liberty’s best friend?” Laila asked. She leaned close to the mirror to fix a smudge in her eye makeup, using her pinky nail to avoid disrupting the whole look.

  “Queen of my heart, goddess of my soul.”

  “You only want her because you can’t have her,” Nora said.

  “Lies!”

  “You’d drive each other crazy; you’re practically the same person,” Nora said.

  “A match made in heaven.”

  “You’re too young for her. Besides which, you don’t date your best friend’s brother.”

  “Reece, really?” Laila asked.

  They both looked at her as though a little surprised that she’d venture an opinion. Laila had the distinct impression that she was welcome with the twins as long as she remained in her place. There was a mysterious hierarchy that seemed vital to the twins’ understanding of their world and the social order that it revolved around. Laila didn’t know where she would eventually settle in it; at the moment her newness gave her novelty, but that couldn’t last, nor did Laila always wish to be the adorable rube.

  “Well, you’ve met her,” Nora said. Laila shrugged. Laila had spoken to her briefly several times when she’d come by the office to have lunch with Liberty. She found her to be a little bit loud, and Jesus, so tall. The way she carried herself made Laila think she’d be arrogant. Besides, she wasn’t even that pretty; she was good-looking in a well-bred kind of way, but the way she acted, you’d think she looked like Liberty.

  “If she only knew how I could love her,” Leo said wistfully.

  “So what are we celebrating tonight?” Laila asked, eager to change the subject.

  “Her brother, Cameron, has just come back from two years in London,” Nora explained. Laila smiled. A male Reece? That could only be insufferable.

  “Oops,” Nora said, glancing at her phone, “car’s here. Leo!”

  “I’m going! Five minutes.”

  Laila felt a thrill run up her spine as they ascended the elevator to Soho House. She tugged nervously at the hem of her dress, though painted on as it was, it was not going anywhere. She followed her cousins through to the back room, pausing as they said brief hellos to the people they knew. The room had a dark and cozy feel with large leather chairs and an intricate ceiling of stamped metal tiles. The curtains were pulled back on the window to reveal an expansive view of the glittering city below. Laila felt all eyes clinging to her: with interest, with lust, was there a tiny hint of malice? Was it envy that she felt landing on her skin like a frost? This thrilled her most of all.

  She spotted Cameron first, from across the room. He was impossible to miss, even from a distance, and she could see the resemblance to his sister. He was very tall and blond and could have been mistaken for the actor Alexander Skarsgård at a glance. He was wearing a dark, well-cut suit. Laila felt a wave of lust radiate from the pit of her stomach, out through her limbs. He glanced her way and smiled as the twins pulled her along in the direction of the group. Nora greeted him with a hug, and Leo gave him a hearty handshake.

  “Welcome back, my friend!”

  Reece and Liberty stood up from the couch where they’d been sitting. It was Liberty who introduced Laila. Charmingly, Cameron leaned in to kiss Laila’s cheek, which made Reece laugh mirthlessly. “Jesus, Brother, you’d think you’ve been in Spain. Kissing strangers. Quite Continental.”

  He turned to her with an indulgent smile, and Laila was sorry to have his attention diverted. It felt as though a cloud had crossed over the sun.

  “Well, Laila is not a stranger, though,” he said, smiling back at her as they all took their seats, “she’s practically family.”

  Laila subtly edged her chair closer to his as she arranged herself in it, taking care to position herself at what she felt was her most flattering angle: shoulders back, legs twisted around each other. She noted that he was drinking something dark on the rocks: scotch? She caught sight of a gleaming cufflink as he reached for his glass and took a sip.

  “So, how are you enjoying New York?” he asked her.

  “Oh, I love it! I don’t ever want to leave. Although London sounds marvelous.” She didn’t know where she’d pulled that word from. She was loath to admit that she’d only ever been abroad once, to Mexico with a boyfriend. She hoped he wouldn’t ask about this, and he didn’t.

  “London can be dreary, but I do love the history there. It has quite a different soul than New York. And it was wonderful to be in Europe and able to go visit all of my favorite spots on a whim.”

  “Which are?”

  “Paris, Burgundy, Majorca, Prague. Too many to list.”

  “I’d love to go,” she said, meaning: To one of them, to all of them, especially with you. He smiled as though trying to size her up.

  Nora grabbed her arm and handed her a cocktail in a champagne glass. “What is this?”

  “A French 75.”

  Laila took a sip. It was crisp and deadly delicious. Before she knew it, the slender flute was empty, and another appeared.

  The group eventually moved on to dinner at Scarpetta, where they shared heaping plates of meats, cheese, olives, and some of the best pasta Laila had ever tasted—though she found she could barely eat in Cameron’s presence. They went on for drinks at La Esquina. It was Laila’s first time there, and she was utterly confused as they walked through a kitchen then descended into the cavernlike basement, lit with candelabras, where beautiful people sipped mojitos in the corners.

  Laila’s memory of the night was hazy after that, but they had gone to a nightclub, she couldn’t recall which one. Liberty had bowed out, of course, but Reece had stayed on to enjoy herself, playfully fending off Leo in a dance the two seemed to have perfected over the years. They’d run into a girl called Cece, who worked with Reece in fashion PR; she and Laila hit it off and at one point did tequila shots together. Cameron definitely seemed interested, and Laila couldn’t believe her good fortune. The only problem was Nora, who didn’t seem to enjoy having Laila pay so much attention to someone else, and she alternately hung off her arm or fumed nearby.

  The next morning, Laila had the kind of hangover that meant giving in to the lure of the breakfast sandwiches from the deli on the corner and otherwise moving as little as possible. Fortunately Nora was in a similar state, and the two curled up in her enormous cotton-candy-pink damask all day, binge-watching Gossip Girl reruns and eating junk food. Laila felt a triumph as she had flashes of standing next to Cameron, of his leaning over her to hear her, her touching his arm, and then at the end of the night slipping him her phone number on a cocktail napkin, as though they were in an old movie. She was certain he would call or text her. Most likely later today. She felt the acute freedom of having unbound herself from Nathan fully, her relief long having eclipsed any sliver of guilt she might have felt at having abandoned him for no reason that he could discern. Honestly, what had he expected? He’d proposed to her the day after her mother died—I’ll be your family now, Laila, be my wife—he must have known she didn’t truly want to marry him. She felt decades older than Nora, knowing all the small ways you could die a little each day with the wrong person. But that was all the past, and it couldn’t touch her.

  10

  * * *

  FOR A time, Reece had worried that her brother would not come home, or that if he did, he would not be the same. And so, in her haze the next morning—God, she could not drink like she could when she was in her twenties—her overwhelming sense had been one of relief. Her brother was back and seemed good as new.

  Something had happened before he left. He’d been dating a girl—no one Reece had met, but Cameron had been with her for several months, which for him seemed promising—and then suddenly he was not. Then he’d gone to London, and though the two events were so obviously connected, he would not explain how. It made her wonder if her brother—the inveterate playboy—had had his heart broken. If so, she
was sorry for him, but also took this as a good sign, that he might someday meet someone and have a family. She didn’t want her brother turning into one of those awful old, wealthy bachelors who continued to date women in their twenties as they steadily marched toward their dotage.

  Reece was finally roused from her bed late morning by her Jack Russell terrier, Rocket, who’d had enough of trying to cajole her out of bed and had resorted to a high-pitched bark that Reece knew her West Village neighbors would not appreciate. During the workweek Reece hired a dog walker to come twice during the day: once to jog with Rocket, once to take him to the Union Square dog run, attempting to exhaust the indefatigable mutt, who showed no signs of mellowing with age. On weekends Reece herself took him on marathon adventures, and he evidently wasn’t letting her off the hook today, hangover or no.

  Cloisters? she’d texted Liberty that morning.

  This had long been a favorite spot of Liberty’s, and her friend knew that she could always be persuaded to take the long ride on the 1 train to reach it for a few hours of sanctuary. On a crisp and sunny fall day like this, it was one of the most beautiful, and certainly the most serene, places in the city.

  I’m out with FIT squad. Meet at 11?

  Of course, Liberty was out working with her favorite charity, Literacy in Motion, that morning; it had been her ostensible reason for going home early the night before. She was part of the organization’s Family Involvement Team and spent her Saturday mornings talking to parents, reading to their kids, and signing families up for library cards in the far reaches of the Bronx and Brooklyn. As far as Reece could tell, no one she met through the organization had any idea who Liberty’s family was, and this was the way she wanted it. She said her work with them wasn’t just altruism: she loved it; it gave her a chance to step outside herself; it was selfish, really. Reece told her that was a rather adorable version of being selfish. But she saw that for her friend, there was something cleansing about getting outside her own world on a regular basis, almost baptismal. She was always happiest right after she’d been with them, cheerful and lighthearted as she was this morning.