by Meg Donohue
They had bought their first tampons together, spoken a rapid Pig Latin–like language they had made up in Vanessa’s yard, watched Sixteen Candles and Heathers and Shag and Reality Bites and Almost Famous together. Their bedrooms had been filled with pictures of one another, a fact that flooded Kate with joy during each and every one of their many sleepovers. They’d driven to parties together, fought and made up and fought and made up over and over again. They’d bought ad space in the back of their senior yearbook and inserted a picture of the three of them with the quote “A million tomorrows shall all pass away, ere I forget all the joys that were mine, today” running along the bottom. It was from a John Denver song. Dani thought the quote was trite and Vanessa thought it was corny, but Kate loved it, and she was the one who had done the layout and collected the money, so she kept it. Because in the end, it might have been trite and it might have been corny, but it was also true: even after all the tomorrows that have come and gone, Kate has never forgotten the joy that was hers during her childhood with Dani and Vanessa, the joy that she felt before she ruined everything.
If she goes to Avalon, if she tells Dani and Vanessa the truth, maybe some of their friendship’s magic will return. Maybe she can start to move forward, and maybe this will make Peter love her again. She can’t decide if she should feel humiliated that she is trying to change so a man will love her or if she should feel strong for being able to acknowledge that she needs to change. Kate shifts in her flip-flops, watching and waiting for Vanessa to appear. She is resolved, but uneasy—nervous, but also relieved. She’s needed to tell someone everything for so long.
8
Vanessa
Vanessa sits on the train and feels her face grow warm as she considers what she is about to do. Outside, the landscape slowly shifts from industrial, smokestack New Jersey to lush, green, summertime New Jersey. It’s so easy to forget that the world outside of Manhattan is this vibrant, always such a surprise to see the full trees and big blue sky. It had been almost impossibly difficult to leave Lucy an hour earlier, but as the train hurtles south, she feels her mood shifting, her stomach fluttering with excitement.
Two weeks earlier, her mood had also steadily improved as she sat in a cab on her way to meet Jeremy Caldwell. She had felt enormously guilty leaving Lucy with a babysitter, but as the cab had sped uptown beneath a stream of green lights, she’d stared through the window at the bustling streets and felt, for a moment, like an animal loosed in its natural habitat. She wondered if New York City might be an element of the marrow in her bones. Being on her own in the city reminded her of when she first arrived there at the age of eighteen, when just walking down the street had been enough to make her heart hum in anticipation of what might happen next.
Jeremy had been sitting at a table by the window of the Breslin Bar on Twenty-Ninth Street; she’d seen him before she even walked inside. He was familiar but virtually a stranger, and realizing this had made her pulse quicken. She remembered suddenly that they hadn’t dated long enough to meet each other’s parents; they’d never seen each other’s childhood homes; they’d never been together anywhere but Avalon.
He stood from the table to hug her and kiss her cheek—just one kiss, one beat of time. He was taller than Drew and had a hipper, less moneyed look. She’d already decided it was okay to compare them—she’d earned that right.
“You’re exactly the same,” he said, holding her bare elbows for a moment before releasing her. She’d worn a black cotton dress that stopped a couple of inches above her knees and a multitiered necklace of hammered gold and large, jewel-toned stones. The necklace was nice but the dress was basically a long tank top and she wore simple leather sandals—she had spent time ensuring she looked effortlessly good.
“You are too,” she said.
Jeremy’s hair was shorn so maybe he was starting to bald, but other than that he really did look the same. There was something sly and a little hawkish about his dark, close-set eyes and, unlike in his Facebook photograph, he now had the shadow of scruff on his jaw. She remembered how drawn she had been to him when she first saw him at that party eight years earlier, how he’d looked at her hungrily and had seemed a little dangerous, and how he’d surprised her by turning out to be affectionate and sensitive, a romantic.
She glanced around the bar. It was floor-to-ceiling wood, an upscale English pub feel. “Not bad,” she said, sliding into her seat.
Jeremy gazed at her, his face settling into a smile. The look in his eye was unreadable. “Tell me everything,” he said.
She laughed. When a waiter approached, they ordered gin and tonics without taking their eyes off each other. Already it was clear: the chemistry between them was still there.
“So,” he said, leaning across the table.
“So,” she said, not leaning away. She had to work to keep her hands in her lap, away from his buzzed hair.
“Do you still talk about Cindy Sherman like she’s your best friend?”
Vanessa rewarded his memory with a throaty laugh. Cindy Sherman, one of the most famous photographers in the world, has spent her career exploring how women are portrayed in art and media, and the role of women in society. Her photographs have always deeply affected Vanessa; when she looks at one, she finds it very hard to look away. “We are best friends,” Vanessa answered. “She just doesn’t know it yet.”
“Maybe you’ll represent her one day.”
“Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe I’ll find the next Cindy Sherman.”
“Even better,” he agreed. “How did you feel about that campaign she did with MAC Cosmetics?”
It occurred to her that he was purposefully steering their conversation away from more personal topics, and she felt grateful. She was aware too that this set the tone for the meeting—if there was nothing between them, they could have easily discussed her husband. She had wondered if she should apologize for the way she had extracted herself from their relationship eight years earlier, but now that Jeremy was there in front of her, she had the distinct sense that he neither expected nor desired an apology. Discussing the past would anchor them, and it was clear that, for the moment at least, they both wanted to move with the current.
“I loved that campaign,” she said. “I thought it was a perfect fit.”
“You didn’t think she was selling out?”
“Not at all.”
He smiled. “Cindy Sherman can do no wrong.”
“No wrong,” Vanessa repeated, smiling back at him. “And eventually, I’ll tell her so myself.” She liked how certain she sounded when she said this.
“I can’t tell you,” Jeremy said, “how happy it makes me to hear you’re still stalking artists.”
Their drinks arrived and they clinked them together before taking sips.
“Congratulations on your design firm,” she said. “I looked it up.”
“Thanks.” He told her about his clients, a mix of small businesses and artists and musicians who wanted websites that represented their essence on their best day. They spoke easily; the whole time, his eyes never stopped moving over her. She’d thought she would be nervous, that the attraction between them would make her feel uneasy; instead she felt calm. This was fun. She’d always been good at flirting. She’d missed it.
And then, after they’d been talking for twenty, maybe thirty minutes, he said, “But, you know, work isn’t everything.” He took a drink and then set the glass down again. He hesitated for a moment, turning the glass in his hand. Vanessa swallowed. “You’re married.”
“Yes.” Vanessa came very close to mentioning Lucy and felt something twist inside of her. It didn’t seem fair that she felt guilty. Had Drew felt this same weight, this sense of responsibility at that holiday party? She doubted it. She forced herself to think of Drew and Lenora kissing and told herself, Just because you are a mother does not mean you are not entitled to feel rage. And then: Just because you are a mother does not mean you are not entitled to feel desire.
�
�You crushed the hearts of hundreds of ex-boyfriends with that news.” His tone was still light, but she could see he was watching her closely.
“Hundreds?” She laughed. “Why, Jeremy, whatever are you implying?”
He laughed. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Quality over quantity,” she said. “That’s always been my motto.”
“Seize the day,” Jeremy said quietly. “That’s always been mine.” And then he stretched his arm across the table and pressed his palm to her cheek and she felt herself tilting her head so that it rested in his hand. She wasn’t really all that surprised by his boldness. Still, she held her breath. She needed, she realized, to decide just how far she planned to take this. She shifted, ever so slightly, and Jeremy withdrew his hand, a small, not unappealing smirk on his face.
She took three sips of her drink, one right after the other. Her cheek felt warm. It seemed impossible that he could not hear how loudly her heart was beating, but she’d learned, over her years at the gallery, that she had a strong poker face. She took a deep breath and noticed that he had a small silver scar at the end of one of his eyebrows.
“What happened?” she asked, tapping her own eyebrow. She was relieved to hear her voice was steady.
“A car accident. When I was nine.”
So she’d either forgotten about this scar, or she’d never noticed it the first time around. Something about this made her feel nearly as unsettled as his touch had.
“I forget,” he said. “Do you have any scars?”
So here they were, already, speaking about each other’s bodies, considering all that was hidden by their clothes. “Yes,” she said. Her instinct not to clarify her words has always attracted men, who assume, because they find her beautiful, that she must also be coy.
Jeremy touched the scar in his eyebrow with the pad of his thumb. “This is my oldest,” he said. “I have more recent ones.”
Vanessa sensed they were circling fraught territory. He might have been on the verge of asking her something—why she’d dumped him so suddenly eight years earlier, why she’d never called or e-mailed, why it seemed she’d never looked back. It occurred to her that he, too, could have more than one reason for wanting to see her—she had broken his heart, and he could break her marriage. She used to be good at reading people’s intentions, and now she worried she was out of practice.
She glanced at her watch. “I should get going,” she said.
“So soon?” Jeremy looked startled. She wondered what his expectations for their meeting had been. She stood and he gazed up at her for a moment before standing and kissing her cheek. He held her elbows as he had when she’d first walked in, not releasing her.
“I take it back,” he said, studying her. “You don’t look the same.”
For a moment, she was afraid he was going to insult her. Here it is, she thought. The truth. It had been eight years. Who knew what he saw when he looked at her?
“You’re more beautiful,” he said.
She released her breath, laughing. “And you’re smoother,” she said.
“Let’s do this again.”
“Maybe.”
“Think about it.” He smiled, running one thumb along the curve of her elbow, and then let her go.
When she arrives at Thirtieth Street Station in Philadelphia, Vanessa sees Kate before Kate sees Vanessa. Kate is wearing a wrinkled sundress and seems to be reading something in her hand that Vanessa realizes, as she approaches, is in fact a napkin.
“Hi!” Kate says, looking up. She stuffs the napkin into her shoulder bag and throws her thin arms around Vanessa. Kate hugs with the ferocity of a child; her smile is wide. “It’s so good to see you.”
“You too,” Vanessa says, hugging her back. Kate has the sort of kind, expressive face that draws people to her. Her lips are set in a slight smile even when her face is at rest, giving the impression that she is sure something good is about to happen and she is waiting, ready to be proved right. And then, always, Kate starts talking.
“We have an hour to kill before Dani’s flight gets in. What should we do? Are you hungry? We could eat. Or we could get coffee. We could stay here or walk toward University City or drive somewhere. I brought my car. We’ll have to pick up Gracie later. I hope that’s okay. Is that all you brought? My bag is twice as big. You’ve always been such a good packer.”
Vanessa knows Kate isn’t talking so much because she is nervous; it’s just what she does. For the first time since Vanessa left Lucy hours earlier, she feels a sense of calm spreading through her. Kate always has this effect on her—not on the phone, but in person. Everything else might change, but she knows she can depend on Kate always being Kate. As Dani used to say, a Kate is a Kate is a Kate.
Kate drives a hunter green Volvo which, it seems to Vanessa, is basically Kate in car form. They end up at Capogiro in University City. After trying six flavors, Kate orders a large cup of Thai coconut milk gelato. Vanessa orders a small iced coffee and adds a splash of nonfat milk.
They sit at a table on the sidewalk. The shop blocks the late afternoon sun but the air is damp with heat even in the shade. Vanessa tucks the length of her ponytail into her headscarf and feels the slightest breeze against her shoulder blades. Kate extracts a package of antibacterial cloths from her purse and wipes down the table. She has always been a germaphobe. When they lived together in Avalon that summer before their senior year of college, Kate bought a new kitchen sponge at Hoy’s Five and Ten every week.
“Thank you so much for coming,” Kate says. “I know it might not be high up on your list to spend the weekend with Dani. How are you feeling about seeing her?”
“You don’t need to thank me,” she says, skirting the question. She will never get used to the idea that Kate and Dani have remained in contact when she herself barely talks to Dani. She used to be the one who held them all together—she smoothed things over whenever one of Dani’s snide jokes hurt Kate’s feelings; she convinced Dani to include Kate even when they both knew she could sometimes be a wet blanket. “Anyway, we should be talking about how you are feeling.”
Kate takes a huge bite of her gelato. “Well, I still feel like my life has a Peter-size hole in it, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“It’s only been a few weeks,” Vanessa says. “It will get better.”
“I hope so. I don’t think I could handle it getting worse.”
“Of course you could, but it’s not going to.” Kate is one of the strongest people Vanessa knows, and yet she continually underestimates herself. Fake it till you make it, Vanessa is always advising her friend. But Kate is an open book.
“I know finding a guy isn’t the be-all and end-all,” Kate says. “I’m not waiting for my Prince Charming. You know I’m not like that.”
Vanessa cocks an eyebrow and fails to suppress a laugh. “You’re not looking for Prince Charming? Kate. You named your dog after Grace Kelly. She literally married a prince.”
“I named her that because they’re both blondes from Philadelphia.”
Vanessa laughs and Kate smiles, flushing.
“Okay, so I want to share my life with someone,” Kate says, throwing her hands up. “Sue me. And now I have to start all over. I have to go on first dates. I have to be the single girl at other people’s weddings. It feels like I’m starting from scratch, just when I thought the cake was already baked and I was about to dig in.” Kate looks down at her nearly empty gelato cup and the color in her cheeks drains away, her pale skin suddenly taking on a yellow cast. She looks up at Vanessa and swallows. “Sorry.”
“It’s the start of our girls’ trip,” Vanessa says, shrugging. “Anything goes.”
“I promise I won’t talk about Peter all weekend.”
“You can talk about anything you want. It’s just us.”
Kate gives her an uncharacteristically tight smile and excuses herself to use the bathroom. As soon as she leaves, Vanessa can’t help it, her thoughts turn to Jeremy and the st
atus update he’d left on Facebook in the days after they met for drinks. She feels a sharp, new version of an old, familiar feeling.
The night Colin died, Jeremy and Vanessa had seen him swimming in the bay. They told this to the police the next morning. This is what Vanessa never told anyone: after Jeremy fell asleep in her bed, she sneaked out of the bungalow and walked, barefoot, back to where Colin was still swimming. The island was quiet; the air was still; the houses lining the bay were darkened. She peeled off her tank top and shorts and dove off the public dock and swam toward Colin. He pulled her arms around his neck and kissed her. And then she broke his heart.
“What’s the deal with you and Jeremy?” he’d asked as she treaded water in front of him, putting distance between them.
Colin had kissed her for the first time when she was home from college for spring break in March—he was living at home by then. He’d visited her in New York every couple of weeks for months afterward; they’d spent their time together lying in Vanessa’s bed, ordering Chinese food and ignoring the vibrant pull of the city around them. Their attraction to each other had been simmering below the surface for years, but was it possible that they loved each other? A part of Vanessa hoped this was the case, even as she suspected it was not. But if they loved each other, then the relationship wasn’t just physical, wasn’t just the thrill of the illicit, the inevitable consummation of a flirtation that had started years earlier, and Kate might forgive them.
