by Liz Fenton
“You tried to go back to school,” Annie huffed. Lauren knew why. They’d had this same conversation the week before. And the week before that.
Lauren bowed her head, feeling ashamed. “I let him talk me out of that too,” she said, remembering how he’d reacted when she’d told him she’d decided to go back to get her teaching degree. He told her no. It had not felt like she had a choice.
“Are you surprised about Jason and Ashley?” Annie asked.
“I am,” Lauren said. “I mean, I never thought they were perfect—but maybe I was so caught up in my own drama that I didn’t notice theirs. Or maybe things started to fall apart in the last year? I think she would have said something to me had it been going on when we were still close.” She hoped that was true, anyway. “And then there’s this whole thing going on between her and Nat about selling their company.” She filled Annie in on what she knew about the Revlon offer, leaving out the tension she’d felt between Ashley and Natalie. It had surprised her, really. She’d seen them argue before, but this was different. She got the sense this deal had high stakes for both of them.
“Anyway, I’m sitting there, my stomach twisting, feeling stupid because I thought she invited us here to make peace with me. But of course, it’s all about Ashley. She came here to think. For ‘soul-searching.’”
“The two don’t have to be mutually exclusive. She can want to figure herself out and make peace with you as well.”
“You really believe that?” Lauren asked, hopeful. “Why not lead with that then?”
“Well, you were being cold to her, right?” Annie asked.
Lauren thought about the way she’d purposefully sided with Natalie whenever she could. It had made her feel powerful, like she was sending a message to Ashley. You’re going to have to work harder for my forgiveness. “I suppose I could have been nicer.”
“Okay then. So maybe she wants to settle in with you first,” Annie reasoned. “That’s what I’d do anyway. It sounds like she has a lot going on.”
“She does. But is it bad that I still want to be a priority? It’s so simple. Two words: ‘I’m sorry.’”
“Did you apologize to her?”
“No,” Lauren said heavily. “I know how this is going to sound. But I wanted her to say it first. Like it would mean more if she did.”
“Well, maybe she was thinking the same thing about you,” Annie said. “Because from the story you’ve told me, you both could stand to apologize.”
“You know, I really hate you sometimes,” Lauren said sarcastically. “It’s irritating how rational you are.”
“Hey, if all else fails, have a margarita. Margaritas fix everything.”
Lauren didn’t laugh. She still couldn’t get there.
“After thinking about it, I don’t know if I’m ready to put on my bikini and drink with them,” she said. “I thought I was better than this. That I was beginning to move on.”
She heard Annie inhale, and Lauren imagined her tapping her fingers on the vintage desk in her office. Annie was a ghostwriter and had written several memoirs of celebrities and sports stars. She had this magical way of sitting with someone and seeing right through them. Lauren both loved and hated this about her. It made it hard to hide when she didn’t want to face the truth.
“Where is the anger focused? On Geoff? Ashley? Or yourself?”
Lauren stared out at the coastline. It was humid, and a trickle of sweat had begun to glide down her back.
“All of the above. You know that,” she said irritably.
“I know it’s complicated,” Annie started.
“You think?” Lauren laughed bitterly. “I never know who I’m angrier with—Ashley, for forcing my hand, or myself for getting involved with him in the first place. And then not leaving.”
She heard Annie sigh softly on the other end. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation. Annie understood the boundaries of what she could and couldn’t say. She got that when people died, it was easy to change who they’d been while alive. Annie’s husband’s death had been the opposite of Lauren’s husband—a slow and painful death from brain cancer. Annie had been thinking about leaving him before his diagnosis—he could be selfish and childish, and she was ready to be on her own. They’d been together sixteen years and she wanted to get out while she still had some good years left. She’d admitted once, after several glasses of rosé, that she sometimes felt like she was robbed of those years. The ones where she could have become someone else entirely. Now she was just Matthew Gordon’s widow.
“You know why. He swooped in and saved the day.”
Lauren nodded, hating herself for needing to be saved.
“This is why I was worried about you going to Tulum. There’s so much baggage,” Annie finally said. “But I do want you to work it out with them. I do. The real question is, Do you want to? Because if you don’t, you might as well get on the next plane home.”
Lauren bit her lower lip, conjuring up Ashley’s words from a year ago. You deserve better. I’m just trying to protect you. You have choices here. “Would you believe me if I told you that I really do want to get past this?” Lauren asked Annie while leaning against the railing of the balcony, quickly wiping away a lone tear.
“I would. I know I’m really super awesome and everything,” Annie said, and Lauren chuckled. “But I’m your death person.”
“No—” she began to argue.
“It’s okay,” Annie interrupted. “I’m glad to be the person who gets that side of you. But you also owe it to yourself to reconnect with the person you were before all this happened. And maybe you need Ashley and Natalie to help you do that.”
“But that person was weak. I don’t want to reconnect with her.”
“But she’s still a part of you. And to resolve this, you have to deal with her. With what happened.”
Lauren knew her logic made sense. But in many ways she’d been on pause since Geoff’s funeral, when she’d lost her shit on Ashley in the coatroom while being poked in the back with a Burberry umbrella. Ironically, it had all begun with the words Lauren had wanted to hear from her so badly today. I’m sorry.
Lauren tugged herself out of the painful memory. Why couldn’t she forgive Ashley? Had she become addicted to how the anger felt, how it slid into the small chasms of her budding happiness, crushing it? Maybe. But the only thing she knew for sure was that saying she wanted to forgive Ashley and actually forgiving her were two totally different things.
“You still there?” Annie asked.
“Sorry, yes, I am. I was just thinking about the funeral. And yes, I really am going to try to get over this.”
“You promise?”
“I do,” Lauren said, and felt a weight lift in her chest as she said the words. “Enough about me—how are you?”
“Same. I’m still trying to decide if I should join Match.com. It just feels so . . .”
“Weird?”
“Yeah, strange. ‘I’m Annie. I like strawberry daiquiris and romantic comedies.’”
“You hate both of those things.”
“But isn’t that the point—to lie?” Annie chuckled. “No one wants to hear that I actually prefer whiskey and slasher movies, do they?”
“Knock, knock?” José, the hot bartender from the restaurant, appeared at the top of the stairs. “Complimentary margarita,” he said, holding a thick glass with blue trim, a ring of salt on its rim, and a lime. Just the way she’d ordered it at the bar.
“I’ve got to run,” Lauren said, smiling at José. “I’ll keep you posted, okay? And hey, I think you should join Match—and write an honest profile. Who knows, maybe the right guy will show up with a bottle of Jack Daniel’s and Saw II! Just be open. That’s all I’m saying.”
“Advice you could take yourself,” Annie admonished gently.
“Touché,” Lauren said before hanging up and turning to the handsome man on her balcony. “How did you know that was exactly what I needed?” She took
the margarita off the tray.
José’s lips curled upward, his white teeth a stark contrast against his caramel skin. “I aim to please,” he said, and raised an eyebrow. “Do you and your friends have plans tonight?”
Lauren held up her drink. “More of these. That’s my game plan anyway.”
“Well, this is Tulum. Margaritas at every turn.”
She noticed the way his eyes trailed over her, pausing on her legs, which were her best asset. Small and firm and strong.
“I already know I’m going to like yours the best.” She looked him over, imagined running her hands across his body. “We’re going to hang out on the beach. Can I request you make our drinks and hand-deliver them?” she said brazenly.
“I wish—but I have a second job I work at tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “But I’m off my shift here right now. And have an hour before I have to be at my next gig . . .” He peered toward the open slider behind her.
She thought of her therapist. They’d made so much progress. This would be a setback.
Her phone buzzed. She saw it was a text from Natalie to meet her and Ash on the beach for drinks. She felt a surge of hope.
“Well, a lot can be accomplished in an hour,” Lauren said as she slipped into her room and beckoned him inside, deciding that she would only let it happen the one time.
CHAPTER SIX
FOUR DAYS BEFORE
ASHLEY
“You have to admit this is paradise,” Ashley said, surveying the drink menu as they sat in a cabana on their hotel’s private beach. The sky was streaked with faint clouds, the late-afternoon sunlight shimmering on the tips of the waves.
“Amazing,” Natalie agreed, exhaling loudly.
“Oh look, there’s a drink called the Pink Flamingo.” Lauren giggled. “How cute; I’m going to try that. It’s made with grapefruit juice, lime, and vodka.”
Natalie peered at Lauren over her menu. “You’re glowing.”
Ashley had noticed it too—Lauren’s ivory skin was tinged with a rosy sheen that hadn’t been there earlier.
“Am I?” Lauren asked, twirling the jade necklace Ashley had rarely seen her without. Her mother had given it to her as a gift; it had been hers when she immigrated from Korea. “Must be the sun—you know me, I’m fair, so a little goes a long way.” She grinned.
For the first time since they arrived, Ashley saw all of her teeth. She suspected the glow and the giddiness was from more than the sun, but she wasn’t going to push to find out. If she told Lauren she seemed lighter, friendlier, happier, it would suggest that she hadn’t been those things earlier. And Ashley was just happy she seemed happy.
They all ordered Pink Flamingos when Emmanuel, who’d said he’d just started his shift, came by.
“He’s not nearly as cute as José,” Ashley said when he walked away. She recalled his brown eyes framed by thick black lashes. His dimple when he smiled. “I think José might have a little thing for you, actually.” She looked at Lauren. “He was checking you out earlier.”
“I doubt that.” Lauren waved her off, but Ashley noticed a sparkle in her eye.
“This place is so peaceful,” Natalie said, reclining in her chair. “Can we stay here forever?”
“I know,” Lauren said. “I was on my balcony earlier, staring out at the Caribbean. I don’t think I’ve been anywhere so beautiful.”
“I saw you!” Natalie grabbed her arm. “You were talking to someone . . .”
“Yeah, that was my friend Annie,” Lauren said, putting her sunglasses on.
“Annie?” Ashley asked, trying to recall if Lauren had ever mentioned her. “How do you know her?”
“She’s my death friend.”
“Your what?” Natalie frowned.
“What’s a death friend?” Ashley scrunched up her nose. “A good thing, I hope?”
“It is. She is. She gave herself that label, and it just kind of stuck. It’s our way of adding humor to an otherwise grim situation, if that makes any sense.”
“I get it,” Ashley said in an attempt to connect, even though she didn’t really understand.
“I met her in my grief group,” Lauren said.
“Oh, I didn’t realize you went to . . . ,” Ashley started. She tried to picture it—Lauren sitting in a circle with other people, their collective sadness spilling out and pooling on the linoleum floor.
“It’s okay—it’s not something I usually talk about. You know?” Lauren said lightly. “Anyway, her husband died of cancer, so she gets what I’m going through. I don’t know what I would have done without her.”
“That’s so great,” Natalie said sincerely. “I would love to meet her sometime.”
“Me too,” Ashley said brightly, trying to separate her conflicting feelings—she was happy that Lauren hadn’t been alone, but she also registered a healthy dose of fear that she’d been replaced by someone who understood a part of her that Ashley could not.
“Oh, you guys would love her. She’s hilarious. She has so many stories—she ghostwrites celebrity memoirs.”
“Three Pink Flamingos,” Emmanuel said, handing each woman her drink carefully.
“Thank you,” Ashley said, taking a sip. It was tart.
“Oh my God!” Lauren said, staring at her phone. “Guess what just popped up in my TimeHop?”
“What?” Natalie and Ashley said in unison and then laughed.
“Jinx.” Ashley pointed at Natalie. “You owe me a Coke.”
“Four years ago today was the viewing party,” Lauren said.
“No way! Let me see that.” Ashley swiped the phone out of her hand and studied a picture of a group of people standing in front of the flat-screen TV on the wall in Ashley’s living room, Natalie and Ashley in the middle, their arms wrapped around each other so tight it was hard to tell where one ended and the other began.
Ashley couldn’t believe it had been four years since their episode aired on Shark Tank. Since their company went from being on the cusp of something to being huge. They’d practiced for months, hoping to get their pitch just right—Ashley could still recite it. She leaned toward Natalie’s chaise. “So, Sharks, which one of you is ready to take the cry out of blow-dry?”
Natalie’s eyes brightened. “That was a great line.”
The set had been so much smaller than it looked on TV when Ashley and Natalie walked out of those double doors, arms linked. “Hello. I’m Ashley Green and this is Natalie Sanders, and we’re seeking 500,000 dollars for a 10 percent equity stake in our company, BloMe.” Ashley paused as the Sharks laughed at their company name, glancing over at Natalie, who looked nervous. Ashley had tried to catch Natalie’s eye to wink at her, but she couldn’t.
“We are always on the quest to achieve the perfect blowout at home. But no matter how hard we try, we end up quitting midway through, our arms tired from holding the blow-dryer and the brush—or if we do finish the job, it looks frizzy and amateurish when we’re done. And that’s where this comes in. The BloBrush.” Ashley held the brush out in front of her. “It’s a cordless blow-dryer and brush in one and will give you a sleek, salon-quality blow-dry that lasts for several days. And will save you many tears of frustration. So tell me, Sharks, which one of you is ready to take the cry out of blow-dry?”
“Remember we had that drinking game at the party? Every time you said ‘blow,’ we drank,” Lauren said as she sipped her pink drink.
“We drank a lot,” Ashley said. “In fact, I’ll drink to that now.”
“Drinking to drinking. I love it,” Lauren said, her tone relaxed.
Finally, Ashley thought. “Remember the tutorial, Nat? Trying to figure out how to show them how the BloBrush worked? I think that was harder than designing it.”
Natalie’s eyes grew wide. “Yeah, you worked really hard on that design.”
Ashley gave her a look, that old feeling of inferiority tickling her. Natalie had been the one to think of and then design the BloBrush, and it had always made Ashley sligh
tly uneasy. Sure, she’d been a huge part of its success as well, her tenacity and natural moxie getting them into big-box stores and developing BloMe as a brand, rather than just a product. But still, she hadn’t invented it.
“I’m kidding,” Natalie sang a moment later, but Ashley wondered whether she really was. Natalie always overlooked that it had been Ashley who’d won over the Sharks.
“The BloBrush speaks for itself.” Ashley had pushed “Play” on the remote control she’d been holding as she made eye contact with Mr. Wonderful, who looked at her, humor dancing in his eyes. Clearly hair products were not his area of expertise. “Just watch this video. You put a section of your hair on the brush, press this button, hold it for a couple of seconds, then let it go. As you can see, each finished piece is perfect.” The video started to speed up as Ashley finished her hair, and then spun around to show the finished result. “We patented a special rechargeable battery that is like nothing else out there—it gives the blow-dryer the heat and power you need so you don’t have to be plugged into an outlet.” She’d paused to show them the battery.
Once negotiations had begun, all of the Sharks made an offer, but they each wanted at least 20 percent and Ashley was adamant they’d take no more than 10 percent. Their bottom line had been they would leave with an investor; their top choice was Lori Greiner. But the Sharks wouldn’t budge. And neither would Ashley.
“My jaw dropped when you guys walked away,” Lauren said.
It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision—one Ashley hadn’t consulted Natalie about. And for that she still felt bad. Even though it had all worked out, she should have asked to speak to Natalie privately first. She knew this.
“Yeah—we weren’t allowed to tell anyone what happened,” Ashley said, glancing at Natalie, thinking about the tension between them for months between the taping and the airing. Ashley questioning herself. Natalie questioning Ashley. Ashley hoping she’d been right.
