At the same time, I find myself waiting for a thunderstorm. I breathe when the rain is pouring down, defying the indoor feeling of the streets. When the light flashes and the sky crackles, Dave and I look at each other, and think about another part of the planet.
I don’t speak with Hilary much, she’s rarely home. It’s hard to keep in regular contact now that we live in the same city, but we manage. She continues to date and, occasionally, to pine. She continues to receive promotions, and the last time she tried to explain her new job to me, I pretended to understand. I suspect she knew I was pretending.
Several weeks ago Hilary invited me to join her and what she expected would be “a few friends” at a quirky bar in Tribeca to celebrate her birthday. I arrived and was not at all surprised to see under the smoky lights a crowd of about fifty people, many gathered around her as she told a funny story about how she has no life. She stood there in the center of the circle in a gauzy black dress and glittery blue eye shadow talking and gesticulating, at her side an enormous pile of candy—lollipops, circus peanuts, gumdrops, and candy corn—all gifts. She smiled at me as I arrived and went on with her story, and I knew that soon she would come over and just have time to point out a few of her promising suitors before she would again be swept away amidst the murmurs. I knew this was the quintessential Hilary, and she would excuse my inappropriate attire and early departure, as always. We exchanged looks twice more before I left, once when I caught her eye as she swore she would never again eat a piece of candy, and again when she, knowing of my pregnancy, smiled at me as I refused a drink.
I’d like to believe there will be a time in the not-so-distant future when we’ll sit, I with my bulging belly and she in her wool suit, sipping water or coffee, eating bread or cake, and we’ll have more time to talk.
—Kate Montgomery
A c k n o w l e d g m e n t s
Thanks to Cindy Klein Roche, who is so much more than a perfect agent; Robin Desser, who knew how to make these letters into a book; and to the people without whom this book wouldn’t be the same: Sarah Burnes, Amy Capen, Semi Chellas, Susan Choi, Chris Fendrich, David Fore, Matt Love, Ben Moser, Betsey Schmidt, the people at Vintage, our always-supportive families, and the boys on the board, who know what they did.
This book is dedicated to David Hackenburg, who is Kate’s everything and Hilary’s something.
About this Title
A funny and moving story told through the letters of two women nurturing a friendship as they are separated by distance, experience, and time. The letters between them transport you to worlds as different as an isolated Kenyan village and the New York real estate market. Both Kate and Hilary and reading their personal correspondence makes you feel like you can call them by their first names. But beyond being a collection of colorful, well-written stories, Dear Exile is a relationship.
Dear Exile Page 14
