by Jenny Lee
His first thoughts when he hit the ground were of Anna. Whether she was watching, which he knew she was, and whether she would still love him now after witnessing the folly of his stubbornness. Only later, after the X-rays showed no internal bleeding, and his ribs were taped up by the ER doctor, did Murf and Beatrice tell him what had happened with Anna. How everyone there had seen her run out onto the field in a blind panic, desperate to know if he was okay. When he heard it, he smiled for the first time since, but Beatrice went on to tell him that Alexander and Eleanor had shown up minutes before the race and witnessed the whole spectacular fiasco. “The proverbial cat,” Beatrice said, “just managed to claw its way out of Anna’s bag. I’ve never seen the unflappable Greenwich OG so, well … flapped.”
Vronsky texted her through the WWF app over and over that night, but she never texted him back.
XVIII
Vronsky loved high tea, though he’d never admit it to any of his male counterparts. He loved the beauty of the details, the three-tiered silver trays, the beautifully sculpted petits fours on the top tier, the delicate crustless sandwiches in the middle, and the crumbly warmth of the scones that sat on the bottom. He adored the tiny ramekins of clotted cream and flavored jams, but most of all he loved the tangy sweet and sour of the lemon curd, his favorite. He had shared high tea with his mother countless times all over the world, but their favorite teas were still after a weekend matinee of a Broadway show.
This teatime with Geneviève ranked as his least favorite right away. As soon as he sat down across from his mother, she scowled. “You look horrible, Alexia,” she said. “You need a haircut and some sun, your coloring is abysmal.”
“Lovely to see you, too, Mother,” he replied, looking around the room to see if he recognized anyone in the crowd who could act as a buffer for him. His attention flew back to his mother when she slapped the palm of her hand down hard enough to make the Limoges china jump and rattle.
“I’ll slap that sarcasm right out of your mouth if you’re not careful,” she hissed. “Today is not the day to test my patience, I’m not feeling jovial.”
“Well that makes two of us,” he said. “Get on with it.”
Though Geneviève’s ankle was healed, she had purchased an antique gold-topped walking stick that had once belonged to a Russian emperor at Sotheby’s and hadn’t tired of its beauty yet. She now wielded it to slap the legs of her son’s chair. The noise made every patron at the surrounding tables turn and gape, including Vronsky, who sat up straight in his chair, sucking in a deep breath that did no favors for his sore ribs. “Mother, you’re causing a scene,” he whispered. “Please.”
“Alexia,” his mother said, her voice loud for emphasis. “You’re the one who should be ashamed for making scenes, not I.” She went on to tell her youngest son that she had been patient long enough with his girl-crazy antics, but she was angry enough to intervene now. Knowing that her niece, Beatrice, would never betray her cousin’s confidence and tell her what was going on, Geneviève had demanded that Kiril find out what he could about his brother’s recent behavior.
“I am a firm believer that men should sow their wild oats when they are young,” she continued. “But making a fool of yourself over a young woman of high breeding who is not yours for the taking is as unacceptable as it is repugnant. Your chasing around Anna K. like a puppy panting after a squeaky toy is all anyone can talk about in Greenwich, and now the rumor mill has set up shop in Manhattan.”
“I love her,” Vronsky said brazenly, meeting his mother’s disapproving eyes with his own. “And it’s not my fault.”
“And whose fault is it?” she enquired. “Is it Greenwich’s favorite son’s fault that while he convalesces from a terrible car accident, his once loyal girlfriend is running all over town with you? You could have killed yourself during that race, but instead you killed the horse!”
At the mention of Frou Frou, Alexia lowered his eyes in shame. He knew his mother had heard about the timber race tragedy because she had been traveling with Beatrice’s mother, her sister-in-law, at the time. When she hadn’t reached out to him, he’d hoped that she was so relieved he came out unscathed that he wouldn’t be punished.
“I’m buying Penelope a new horse,” his mother informed him. “With your money, of course.”
“It was an accident and I’ve apologized to my aunt many times,” he said, unable to meet his mother’s eyes when the subject wasn’t on his beloved Anna. “I feel terrible about Frou Frou.”
“And you should,” she snipped. “But you’re not here to discuss that. You’re here to tell me you’re done chasing Anna and are moving on. Why not go up and visit Kiril at school? I’m sure a college girl could bring back some color into your cheeks.”
Vronsky shook his head slowly, appalled at his mother’s suggestion. The thought of any girl that wasn’t Anna was ridiculous to him and had been since the moment he had seen her at the train station. He picked up a cucumber-and-cream-cheese finger sandwich and folded the entire thing into his mouth. “Forget it, Mother. I have zero interest in anyone else.”
His mother sighed and sat back in her chair, staring at her youngest son. He looked terribly sad and far more pathetic than she had expected, which pained her. She was all too familiar with the heartache of love affairs gone wrong. She had cheated and been cheated on too many times to count.
“Having met the girl, I understand the appeal,” she said softly. Geneviève had no problems staying angry at her oldest son, but there was something about her youngest child, who so clearly took after her with his good looks and mischievous spirit, that made it impossible for her to give him the tough love he needed. She had been sent a video of the crazed Anna K. running out onto the field after Vronsky’s fall from the horse, and even though she couldn’t see the young girl’s face, Anna’s anguish was apparent in her stricken posture and gait.
Geneviève had always known Alexia would grow up to be a heartbreaker, but she never expected he’d be such an accomplished lothario by the tender age of sixteen. Anna K. was quite a trophy for his wall, and while she respected what it probably took for him to get her, it was her job as his mother to make sure he understood that her notch should be carved on a bedpost, not in the chamber of his heart.
Hearing her son use the word “love” for another woman was not to her liking. She wanted to be the sole owner of his deepest affections for his entire life, and she had no plans to let go of him so easily. Geneviève knew she should send him away to school and that geographical distance was what was required in this case, but looking across the table at him, she knew he wouldn’t go. His older brother Kiril only lasted two days without money, but she knew Alexia was made of stronger mettle than his brother and was crafty enough to get by for much longer. She needed to handle this situation very delicately, using all the wisdom and savvy she had accrued in her own life. One wrong move on her part could drive a wedge between her and her favorite son, which was not her intention. “Alexia, darling, the whole ugly business has become too public. Stop seeing her for a while, and if you still feel the same way about her in a year, I’ll be the first one to offer you both my blessing.”
“I haven’t seen her in nine days, Mother,” he said, as if nine days was nine years.
“That’s a great start! Only three hundred and fifty-six left to go…”
“It’s killing me!” Vronsky continued, ignoring his mother. “And it’s not by my choice. She promised Alexander she’d take some time to decide what she wants.”
“You’re certainly the better man, my darling,” his mother conceded. “But she’s a young woman and Alexander W. could secure her entire future. He’d be a wonderful first husband.” Geneviève was tired of the glumness, and too much talk always made her tea go cold. It was time for her to bring a little levity to the discussion.
“And I could give her nothing?” he asked. The thought of his mother siding with Alexander made him want to sweep his arm across the table and send the s
ilver trays and fine china crashing to the floor, giving the patrons a juicy morsel to pocket and feast on with their gossip-loving friends later.
“You’re a child, Alexia,” his mother said. “Why would you want the headache of a girlfriend now? You have the whole world at your disposal and there are plenty more girls out there who’ll make you say, ‘Anna who?’”
“Mother, don’t!” he interrupted. “She’s the one I want. There is no other girl for me.”
“Fine, but if she doesn’t choose you, my dear, don’t come crying to me. I’m offering you the chance right now to go to any school anywhere in the world. The offer expires as soon as we’re done here.”
“Thank you, but no thank you,” he said, drinking the last of his oolong rosehip tea.
“Very well…” she said.
Vronsky waited for his mother to finish her tea and was relieved there was no further discussion of his love life. Instead Vronsky’s mother recounted all the new couture pieces she had just purchased in Europe while Alexia listened dutifully. Only later, when they were outside waiting for Leonard to pull the car around, did Geneviève tell her son about Claudine, the daughter of her Parisian friend, who, she informed her son, he’d be escorting to Coachella. “I’ve already told Beatrice about her and I know there’s room on the plane.”
“I don’t know if I’m going anymore, and even if I do, I’m not a babysitter,” Vronsky said, his anger returning now that his mother’s meddling had resumed.
“You are going, and you’re going to make sure Claudine has a wonderful time,” his mother said. “You need some sun, and the distraction will do you good. Trust me, I know all too well the agony of awaiting your fate from a lover. It’s its own special circle of hell.”
XIX
Kimmie stood outside in the dark smoking a cigarette across the street from Dustin’s mom’s apartment, while she waited for Steven and Anna to leave. She had heard from Lolly that Steven and Anna went and sat shivah with Dustin and his family every day after school. Kimmie had wanted to be there, too, but she wanted to see Dustin alone more. So, she waited. She placed the small terra cotta–potted cactus on the ground next to her feet and stared down at the round prickly plant she had picked out. She had planned to buy flowers, but as she stood in the florist’s, none of the bright fragrant flowers seemed like the right gift to bring for the occasion. A cactus was probably too far in the other direction, but something about it spoke to her, and these days she was navigating her life by her gut instincts.
Finally, Kimmie saw Steven and Anna emerge, and she stepped into the shadows, not wanting to be seen. She was wearing her Natalia jacket, black jeans and boots, and a black beanie over her new short haircut. She had spent five hours at her mother’s hair stylist after school, and her hair was back to her normal blond shade. She’d insisted on retaining a touch of color and so had two strips of hair dyed pink on either side of her part. After her color was finished, she told Angela that she wanted to get a haircut as well. Something short, rebellious, and easy to care for. She showed the stylist a picture of Molly Ringwald in Pretty in Pink, but Angela had insisted on texting her mom before undertaking something so drastic. Kimmie’s mom texted back a hard pass on the Ringwald cut and sent over a few approved pictures to choose from. Kimmie pointed to a cute blonde with a shaggy above-the-shoulder cut.
“Who is that?” Kimmie asked. “She looks familiar, but I don’t know her name.”
“That’s America’s sweetheart,” Angela said. “Meg Ryan. When Harry Met Sally? God, I feel old right now.”
Kimmie didn’t like the sound of America’s sweetheart, but she did like how happy this Sally person looked. “Happy” was Kimmie’s new goal, because she had begun to realize that while Natalia pulled off the whole fuck-the-world attitude with edge and aplomb, on Kimmie it just looked as if she was making an I-stepped-in-dogshit face 24/7.
When Kimmie got the text from Lolly that Nicholas had died, the first thing she did was call Natalia, but the phone number was suddenly and suspiciously out of service. She then checked Natalia’s Instagram and Snapchat accounts, but they were gone as well. Clearly the wine coolers at her going-away dinner were an ominous sign of the trouble to come. She wondered if Natalia had tried heroin with Nicholas, worrying that she might have OD’d, too, but she felt like she would have heard about it by now. Plus, Natalia had told Kimmie that heroin was the one drug she feared the most. Her mother had told her if she ever caught her daughter sticking a needle in her arm, she’d shave her head as punishment. Since Natalia’s favorite pastime was coloring her locks, that was reason enough to take her mother’s threats seriously.
Kimmie stubbed her cigarette out on the sidewalk, opened a pack of gum, and chewed several pieces at once. She waited on the corner for the walk signal and then she crossed the street, taking her time. What am I going to say to Dustin’s mom? What am I going to say when I see his dad? “Hello, sir, you don’t know this, but we were in the same apartment the last time you saw your oldest son alive. I heard you yell at him. I heard you reveal something that your other son asked you not to tell. I heard you say you were done with your son, and even if you hadn’t really meant it, you said the words and will never have the chance to take them back.” What am I going to say to Dustin? She knew she had to tell Dustin she was there in Arizona, hanging out with Natalia and his brother, but she really didn’t want to. This never would’ve happened if Vronsky hadn’t screwed me over. My god, why are you even thinking of that little punk right now?
Kimmie was really working hard on owning up to her own shit, but it was so easy to fall back into her childish habit of blaming everyone else for her problems. Why was it so hard to be the person she wanted to be? She’d felt so much better after she told Vronsky off that day. Her therapist had been proud of her for saying what she needed to say without too much drama, and she honestly hadn’t thought of Vronsky at all since then, which was a relief because that proved she had never really been in love with him like she had thought. True love lasted way longer than just two months, right?
She took a deep breath.
Dustin was alone in the living room when the buzzer sounded. He glanced at the kitchen clock and saw it was after eight, which meant shivah was officially over. But as he walked over to answer the intercom a calm came over him. He knew who was at the door.
When Kimmie announced herself, Dustin smiled as he pressed the button. He was pleased that she had stayed true to her word about coming to visit at some point during the week. He had only said four words to Kimmie after the funeral, “Thank you for coming.” It was what he said to everyone that day. He had been so drained by the whole ordeal he wasn’t able to say anything more, even to her.
He remembered Kimmie’s purple hair from the funeral, but when he opened the door and she pulled off her hat, she revealed her normal blond color, only her hair was much shorter. He must have been staring, because she immediately announced she had just gotten it dyed that day and then decided on an impromptu new haircut.
“You look like Meg Ryan in my favorite movie of hers,” Dustin said. “She was…”
“America’s sweetheart?” Kimmie said with a smile, not the one she had been practicing in the elevator, but a real one. She was happy to see Dustin and thankful it wasn’t as awkward as she had feared. “I have to admit I don’t know who she is. My mom sent her picture to my hair stylist.”
“You’ve never seen When Harry Met Sally?” Dustin asked. “My mom dragged me and Nicholas once for…” He trailed off, his face crinkled in a mix of surprise and sadness at his casual mention of his brother’s name. It had been the first time since Nicholas died that he had spoken about him and not remembered he was gone. He took a deep breath and continued. “She made us see it with her on Mother’s Day once. Nicholas and I watched it every time it came on TV after that, but we would never admit we liked it, saying we were only watching it out of respect for the woman who raised us.”
“Let’s watch it,” Kimmie j
umped in. “I mean, if you’re not busy or anything.”
“When Harry Met Sally?” Dustin asked. “Don’t you have school tomorrow?”
“I do, but I’ve finished my homework already,” Kimmie said. “Public school is way easier. My mom’s out with her boyfriend, and Lolly’s home online shopping for Coachella, so she’ll cover for me. But if you don’t want to, we don’t have to.”
“No, let’s do it,” Dustin said. “I’m sure my mom owns it on Apple TV. It’s one of her favorite movies. She’s watched it like a hundred times.”
