The Cast

by Amy Blumenfeld

  “Will do.”

  Jordana stood as soon as the doctor exited. “I’ll go get the car while you guys sign the discharge forms. I’ll meet you in front.”

  Adam and I signed the paperwork and walked out of the room. As soon as we got in the car and I was attempting to get the seat belt around my midsection, Jordana’s phone rang.

  “Lex! Hey, what are you doing up so early?” she said. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence; then Jordana said, “Are you sure? Okay. Yes. Fine. No, no—they’re both with me. We’ll be there soon.”

  “Everything okay?” I asked after she hung up.

  “Lex is leaving,” Jordana said, and let out a long sigh. “She rebooked herself on an earlier flight back to Chicago.”

  Chapter 18: Jordana

  By the time we returned from the emergency room, it was nine o’clock and Sal was standing alone at the kitchen island, arranging a lovely breakfast buffet. He had already dotted the perimeter of the cream cheese tray with sliced cucumbers, organized the utensils in an aesthetically pleasing diagonal pattern, and picked some catmint flowers from the garden and placed them in a vase as a centerpiece. He had even remembered to go down to the spare fridge in the garage and bring up the smoked-fish platters I had ordered from Barney Greengrass on the Upper West Side as a surprise for Becca.

  “Oh, honey, thank you!” I said. I’d texted him to ask if he could get the food on the table in time for Lex’s unexpected early departure.

  Sal stole a piece of whitefish from the platter and rolled his eyes in ecstasy after dropping it into his mouth. “Listen,” he said, licking his fingers clean, before wrapping them around my waist, “this is nothing. You’re the one who has taken care of everything this weekend. I know it hasn’t gone exactly according to plan, but still, it’s just beautiful.”

  “I’d kiss you, but you have herring breath like my grandfather,” I said. He exhaled heavily over my nose as payback.

  I looked across the great room and noticed the New York Times strewn across the coffee table beside the sofa. When I walked over to tidy up, I saw Nolan curled up in the cushions, drooling onto one of my throw pillows.

  Did Becca kick him out of bed? I hated to rouse him from what appeared to be a peaceful slumber, but the thought of his waking to a crowd encircling the couch made me cringe.

  “Rise and shine; it’s time to get up,” I whispered, touching his shoulder as if I were waking my seven-year-old sons for school. Nolan’s body remained still, but his eyes popped open and dashed around to survey his surroundings.

  “Oh, shit,” he grumbled. “I’m sorry. What time is it?”

  “Nine.”

  “Okay. I’m rising and shining.” He yawned and slowly sat up. “You need help with anything?”

  “Nope, it’s all under control.”

  “Of course it is,” I heard him mutter, as he rubbed his eyes.

  “Just get dressed before everyone comes in, okay?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He saluted and rose to his feet. He began to walk away but after a few steps pivoted back to face me. “Jord?”

  “Yeah?”

  His eyes were fixed on the area rug by the couch. “You think,” he whispered, “you know . . . they could actually, like, fire me?”

  I puffed out my cheeks. Absolutely, I thought but didn’t have the heart to verbalize. “Oh, Nol,” I sighed. “What do I know? I’m not a corporate person. I’ve been a public defender my whole career. I have no idea how firm politics work.”

  “Yeah, that’s sort of what I figured you’d say.” In all the years I’d known him, never had he appeared so sullen.

  Just as I was about to ask if he had plans to tell Becca about his work crisis, she walked into the kitchen.

  “Nope! We’re all good, Nol, but thanks for offering to help set up brunch! Now, go get dressed!” I declared way too loudly, and gave him a gentle nudge for good measure. I’d never been a good actress. I detested the weightiness of overcompensation.

  Nolan blew his wife a kiss and scooted off down the hall. Her brow furrowed curiously, and I knew I needed a distraction before her mental calisthenics took over. I quickly walked over to the kitchen island and gracefully positioned my arms beside the fish platters like Vanna White on Wheel of Fortune. “Ta-da!” I sang, and shimmied my hands.

  “You brought Barney!” she exclaimed. I knew Barney Greengrass was Becca’s absolute favorite. With its no-frills fluorescent lighting, vinyl chairs, and uneven table legs, the century-old eatery reminded her of her grandparents, who practically subsisted on lox and sable and whose kitchen was nearly identical to the restaurant’s decor. Plus, it had been the site of Becca’s, Nolan’s, Sal’s, and my first double date, which was why I thought a little bit of Barney would add an extra-special touch to the weekend’s final meal. She walked over and gave me a hug. “You’re the best. And”—she began to sniff my clothes—“you smell . . .” Her face scrunched up. “Why do you smell like a doctor’s office?”

  I smiled. “Your nose really is incredible.” Becca’s sense of smell was on par with that of a police dog working in a narcotics unit. It was one of the long-term side effects of her chemo treatments as a kid and significantly more useful than the heightened sensitivity to cold in her extremities. “I was in the hospital this morning with Adam and Holly. Everything is fine; it was false labor. She and the baby are totally fine. I waited with them while she got checked out. Anyway”—I lowered my tone—“you’re not going to believe what happened.” I couldn’t wait to tell her about my reconciliation with Holly, but just as I was about to dish, everyone started shuffling into the kitchen.

  Seth, Adam, Holly, and Nolan filled their plates and found spots around the dining table, Seth and Nolan selecting seats at opposite ends. There was an undeniable chill between them, and I had noticed an avoidance of eye contact and of morning pleasantries while maneuvering around the buffet. At nine thirty, exactly thirty minutes before I knew she needed to leave, Lex finally entered the great room, her luggage in tow. She set the roller bag upright by the front door, and it promptly tipped over.

  Seth leaped from his chair. “Hey, you need a hand?” he asked.

  “No, thanks, I’ve got it,” she said, righting the suitcase.

  “Then let me make you a plate,” he said, heading toward the stack of dishes on the counter.

  “That’s okay, I can do it,” she said dismissively, and raised her hand to stop him.

  Their interaction played out like the breakfast version of dinner theater, complete with a rapt audience seated at the farm table. Though I couldn’t avert my eyes, watching them act like bickering lovers made me squirm. When I turned to grab a glass of juice, I noticed Nolan subtly shaking his head disapprovingly.

  “So,” Lex sighed, addressing the group at the table. “Looks like I’m gonna need to take an earlier flight today. I’m sorry, guys.” She made an exaggerated frown. “Lots of stuff going on with the kids. I need to be with my family.”

  My eyes instinctively volleyed to Seth, who appeared crestfallen. “What time’s the flight?” he asked.

  “Two o’clock from LaGuardia.”

  Seth looked at his watch. “You’ll need to leave really soon!” he said, his eyebrows arched in surprise.

  “I know,” she said coolly. “I called a car service.”

  Something about this dynamic reminded me of the college “walk of shame.” I couldn’t make sense of it.

  “A car from here will cost you a fortune,” Sal chimed in. “It’s two and a half hours away.”

  “I’m driving you,” Seth interrupted.

  “No, no, it’s fine.” She scooped fruit salad onto her plate.

  “I insist,” he said firmly.

  She tucked some hair behind her ear but didn’t say a word. It seemed to me that Seth was trying to please her, and that Lex wanted nothing to do with the guy who’d been her sidekick all weekend.

  With the clock ticking, I realized I wouldn’t have time for the ent
irety of my surprise presentation. It was now or never. I clinked my juice glass to silence the room.

  “I’d like to make an announcement,” I said, standing at my seat. “I had hoped that we would all be able to watch Becca Night Live this morning—which I had transferred to DVD—but since some of you will need to leave shortly, I would like instead to present it as a gift to Becca to watch at home.”

  “That’s awesome!” Becca exclaimed, inspecting the case I had just handed her.

  “But wait, there’s more,” I said, and nodded to the rest. “Ready, guys?”

  Seth, Lex, and Holly joined me at the head of the table.

  “Well, Bec,” I said, “we didn’t have time to make a ninety-minute tape, but we wanted to do a little something in honor of the anniversary, as well as your upcoming fortieth birthday.”

  “So, naturally,” Seth deadpanned, “we wrote a rap.”

  “A rap?” Becca asked in disbelief.

  “We did it over email. It’s pathetic. Keep your expectations very low,” Holly warned. “Seriously, no one should record this. This is guaranteed blackmail material.”

  I surreptitiously tugged on my earlobe—the signal I had arranged with Sal to remind him to press PLAY on his phone’s camera.

  “Without further ado,” I announced, “we’d like to present ‘Becca’s Rappin’ Tribute.’ One, two, three, go.”

  All:

  Now here’s a little ditty ’bout Becca Anne

  Could she really be forty? I guess she can.

  Then we got to show respect with a proper toast

  To our bestie from way back, whom we love the most.

  Lex:

  Yes, I’m a girl from Queens, but I rap like a clown

  Which you’ll see in a minute when I break it down.

  But for a dear friend, I’ll gladly play the fool

  ’Cause I’m just so grateful for that day we met in school . . . school . . . school . . . school . . .

  Seth:

  On . . . the . . . playground of pre-K we did meet

  Swingin’ and a-slidin’ and a-snackin’ on treats.

  I jumped in the sandbox, you did too,

  Diggin’ for treasures, gettin’ sand in our shoes.

  Jordana:

  House went up for sale over there on your block

  I moved right in, every day you did knock.

  Just across the street from the time we were four

  And it changed our lives forevermore.

  Holly:

  Chicken pox, driver’s ed, sleepovers, and lice

  We shared it all, even tonsillitis twice.

  Then eighteen came—time to leave the ’hood

  But with email and Greyhound, it was all good.

  As an interlude, Seth stepped forward to perform a beatbox solo. Adam slapped his hands on the table to drum an accompanying beat.

  Jordana:

  Fast-forward a few and we’re walkin’ down the aisle

  Bridesmaids with bouquets, toasts, and a smile.

  Even at forty, we girls got game . . .

  Seth:

  And what about me?

  All girls:

  Good thing you don’t look the same!

  Lex:

  Though I moved away, love you same as I did

  In my mind, in my heart, just like when we were kids.

  Holly:

  No matter where we go or how old we grow

  We all got your back, just sayin’ so you know.

  Seth:

  Our skits still suck and our presentation’s lackin’

  But you’re stuck with The Cast, can’t ever send us packin’.

  Jordana:

  Congrats to Bec. We toast to you,

  Our friend for life, and that is true.

  Lex:

  So put your hands in the air, get on your party suit . . .

  Holly:

  Keep on rockin’ your life . . .

  Seth:

  Like this superdope tribute!

  Becca, Nolan, Adam, and Sal erupted with applause as we stood there, frozen in position, our arms folded across our chests like we were Run DMC.

  “Oh my God, that was priceless!” Becca panted. “My face hurts from laughing. Please tell me someone recorded that!”

  Sal winked at her reassuringly. “I got it,” he said.

  I was thrilled. The weekend hadn’t turned out as planned, but this was one of the moments I had really wanted to go smoothly, and it had.

  Just as I was basking in my success, Nolan cleared his throat.

  “So, um, I would like to make a presentation of my own to my wife, if you guys don’t mind joining me over here.” He got up from his seat and walked over to the iPad in the living room wall—a design element, like the one installed in the basement, that I had initially vetoed but ultimately conceded to my tech-savvy husband.

  Oh no. Where is he going with this? A pit formed in my stomach, and I felt compelled to remind Nolan of his right to remain silent. Becca remained seated at the table, and the rest of the bunch slowly walked over behind her chair. Again, Nolan appeared to be one man against an army. Sal and I were the only ones to join him. He was, after all, a guest in our home. Please prove me right, Nol. Please come through and be the man I know you are. Don’t dig a deeper hole for yourself.

  “So, uh, last night, I had a hard time falling asleep,” Nolan began. “I got to do a lot of thinking, and, uh, well, I made this.” He pointed to the iPad. “If you could all just gather around, I’d like to show it to you.”

  Slowly, everyone shuffled over. He tapped the tablet, and the movie began to play. At first, all we could see on the screen was Nolan holding a stack of papers in his hands and sitting on a kitchen counter barstool that he had clearly relocated in front of the iPad’s camera. And then, like a blast, the volume kicked in.

  “Good evening, and welcome to Weekend Update.” His voiced boomed like a television news anchorman’s in surround sound throughout every speaker in the house. I was impressed by his ability to navigate Sal’s complicated audio system. “I’m your host, Mr. Subliminal, and here is today’s top story.”

  I clenched my fists. He’s lost his mind. I myself was no stranger to those 2:00 a.m. ideas that in the moment were brilliant pearls of wisdom but that after some sleep and caffeine always proved to be pure drivel. It took every ounce of restraint not to lurch myself past the group and bang a fist onto the screen to spare Nolan the humiliation. I had no idea why he was trying to mimic Mr. Subliminal—the Saturday Night Live character who mutters subliminal messages under his breath—but I did know that the weekend was nearly over and a peaceful farewell was so close I could nearly touch it.

  “On Friday,” Mr. Subliminal began, “Jordana and Sal (check out his big zucchini) graciously opened their lovely weekend retreat (freakin’ mansion) to several guests in celebration of Becca (totally hot) Scardino.”

  “Ha.” I giggled a bit too loudly. Silence was the only reaction from the rest of the group.

  “Unfortunately, her husband (selfish asshole) was unable to attend the opening festivities due to work obligations (ran home to his mommy). When he did arrive on Saturday (looking like a cannoli on wheels), he managed to piss off several guests in a matter of hours. And now”—Mr. Subliminal put a finger to his ear—“breaking news from Nolan Scardino.”

  Nolan reached out of the camera’s view, as if someone were handing him a report hot off the presses.

  “It says here that Nolan (repentant jackass) would like to let his wife know how sorry he is for hurting her (wishes he could take it all back).”

  I noticed Becca lower her head and look down at the floor. There was no doubt that publicizing a painful and private moment like this made her uncomfortable, even within her inner circle.

  Mr. Subliminal continued: “Nolan wants Becca to know that he loves her unconditionally (totally lost without her), and that no matter what she decides (Dolly Parton or Kate Moss), she will always be a beauty. His beau
ty. Inside and out. Nothing has ever given him greater pride than being Becca’s husband and Emma’s dad (true story).”

  My eyes welled, and I could hear someone else sniffle. I searched Becca’s face for a reaction but found none. Her affect was flat, and her eyes remained fixed on the screen. If it had been possible to become invisible in that moment, I was sure she would have. I wondered if Nolan’s mea culpa was too late.

  “And that, America, is all the time we have tonight. On behalf of the entire team here at Weekend Update, this is Mr. Subliminal signing off: I. Am. Outta here!”

  The screen faded to black. Just as I was about to applaud, a beautiful song I couldn’t place—perhaps Coldplay or U2—began to play. For the next two minutes, we stood there at my dining table, watching a photo montage of Becca’s life—pictures from their engagement, their wedding, birthday parties, vacations, Emma’s birth, and just random everyday shots throughout the years that he must have downloaded onto the iPad. It was the type of thing you’d see at a bar mitzvah reception or at a fiftieth-anniversary party.

  There was no hiding the tears streaming down my face. I grabbed a stack of napkins from the holder on the table and wiped my cheeks. As soon as I did, Holly and Lex held out their hands so I could pass one to each of them.

  I looked over at Becca. She was biting her lip—a surefire sign she was suppressing a cry and trying to avoid a spectacle—and I saw her reach for Nolan’s hand and their fingers interlace. Oh, thank God! Holly and I caught each other’s eyes and smiled. She’d seen the hand-holding, too.

  Becca pulled Nolan away into another room for several minutes, and when they returned, Holly raised a champagne flute of orange juice. “Everyone, I’d like to make a toast,” she announced, dabbing the corner of her eye with the crumpled napkin in her free hand. We all grabbed our glasses from the table and held them in the air. “That was some audition tape, Nolan,” she chuckled. “I’d like to officially congratulate and welcome you, the newest member of The Cast!”

  “Hear, hear,” I cheered.

  “That was really great, Nolan,” Sal said, patting his back.