But How Are You, Really

Chapter 1

TEXT MESSAGE FROM JACKIE SLAUGHTER TO CHARLOTTE THORNE, 3:10 PM:sorry flight delayed will be there as soon as I can!!

TEXT MESSAGE FROM CHARLOTTE THORNE TO JACKIE SLAUGHTER, 3:16 PM:Can’t wait to see you. Please do not make me face these people alone.

During their senior year of college, Charlotte’s roommate Jackie printed a color wheel on a sheet of canvas. Each slice of the pie was labeled with an emotion: the burning crimson of hostile, the spiky cobalt of depressed, the vibrant, consuming orange of joy. The Feelings Chart, as they called it, hung in a place of honor on the living room wall. Whenever Charlotte crossed her arms over her chest and withdrew from a tense conversation, Jackie would point to the chart and demand, “Use your words!”

Now, standing in front of a nondescript door on the ground floor of their old dormitory, Charlotte looked at the tiny envelope in her hand embossed with the Hein University crest and realized that déjà vu hadn’t been on the chart.

She held her breath as she unfolded the flap of the envelope. A thick metal key fell into her palm, then slid into the lock with a familiar give and tumble. Muscle memory returned like it had been days, not years, since she last lived in a dorm.

When the door swung open, her déjà vu only intensified. Her eyes swept over the high popcorn ceiling and cinder-block walls. The dull gray square contained two sets of chipped wooden furniture: narrow single beds, heavy desks, and chairs that complained against the linoleum floor. Twin dressers sat on either side of the door, and a squat bookshelf lined the far wall underneath a wide window. Every room on campus looked the same, dated and utilitarian, differentiated only by the furniture arrangement.

The smell hit her the hardest: that old fog of industrial cleaner, rubber mattresses, and spilled beer. It brought back late nights working on papers, her desk covered in coffee cups and empty bags of Doritos.

Charlotte flicked on the overhead light and listened to its fluorescent buzz, the soundtrack of her college years. Cold spread through her chest, blending indigo (astonishment) and a flat pale blue (dread). For the next four days, she was back at Hein University. Nothing whatsoever had changed, except for her.

With a grunt, Charlotte dropped her duffle bag on one of the beds. When she rolled up the blackout curtain, a thicket of trees greeted her outside. The forest helped orient her in the dorm’s labyrinth of twisting hallways—this side of the building faced north. She shoved the window open, and the smell of mulch and damp leaves poured into the room.

Charlotte breathed in deep and slow. She had always preferred the earthy aroma of the suburbs. Her life in New York City smelled like humid garbage and subway exhaust. The closest she had gotten to nature since graduating was pigeon poop drying on the fire escape outside her bedroom window.

She never expected to miss living in a dormitory, least of all the reviled Randall Dormitory for freshmen, but she couldn’t remember the last time she had this much space. Room 107 easily dwarfed every apartment she called home since graduation. It could fit her old place in Manhattan’s Financial District, the illegal three-bedroom with the partition walls that didn’t reach the ceiling. Then came the roach-infested loft in Bushwick after she lost her job at ChompNews…and the sublet in Queens with a colony of feral cats in the attic.

At least her current place in Crown Heights had a bedroom window. She lived with just one roommate—a high-strung publicist named Kit—and she didn’t need to worry about her packages getting stolen in the vestibule. But the new place was still teeny: Room 107 would contain her bedroom, Kit’s room, their shared kitchen-slash-living-space, and the coat closet stuffed with Kit’s camping equipment.

Until Jackie arrived, Charlotte practically had a luxury SRO all to herself.

Brutalist charmer bursting with natural light!the Craigslist post would say. Spacious square footage, complete with vintage industrial furniture! 420 friendly! NO PETS, NO IN-UNIT LAUNDRY. COMMUNAL BATHROOM SHARED WITH DIVERSE YOUNG PROFESSIONALS.

Her phone bleated in her pocket. Her shoulders tensed at the electronic chirp. She fished a charger out of her duffle bag and plugged her phone into the outlet beside the dresser, scanning the notification.

SLACK MESSAGE FROM ROGER LUDERMORE TO CHARLOTTE THORNE, 4:47 PM:interns yelling again. what happened w HR about the quiet policy?

Charlotte swiped to dismiss the message and turned her phone upside down. As she stared at the mirror anchored to the cinder-block wall, she gave her reflection a can you believe this glare.

Her phone vibrated again. She reached for it reflexively but caught herself, clenching her fist. The phone stilled, only to skitter across the top of the dresser a third time.

A Roger Ludermore classic: If at first you don’t get a response on Slack, even when there is an away message up, call your assistant again and again. A piece of wisdom that would not be included in his commencement speech this weekend.

Charlotte worked at The Front End Review, a business and technology magazine favored by the venture capital set. It was the kind of publication most folks in her generation had heard of but few actually read, an industry-specific dinosaur behind an expensive paywall. Her petulant boss sat at its helm as CEO and editor in chief. Roger fell into the amorphous professional category of “thought leader,” which as far as she could tell meant he was a rich white guy with endless opinions. Charlotte’s job, as his executive assistant, was to make sure he paid his ghostwriters, showed up sober enough at his speaking engagements, and didn’t murder anyone.

She performed a cost-benefit analysis of sending Roger to voicemail. If she ignored him now, she’d just have to clean up his mess later. Once upon a time she skipped answering a late-night call in an attempt to establish a healthy work-life balance. The next thing she knew, her boss was being detained by customs after trying to cross the Canadian border with his Amex instead of a passport.

With a sigh, she turned her phone over and accepted the call on speaker.

“How am I supposed to get any work done with a daycare in the kitchen?” he barked into the phone. “This is unacceptable, Charlotte. Unacceptable!”

Health insurance,she reminded herself. You need health insurance.

He continued: “Isn’t there a closet we can shove them in? What about the East Conference Room?”

Charlotte adopted her neutral work voice. “We can’t, sir.”

“Why not?”

“You converted the East Conference Room into your podcasting studio.”

Thin silence greeted her words. She poked at the worry lines etched into her forehead as she waited for Roger to realize that he was the one who displaced the interns.

“Are you saying this is my fault?” he finally hissed.

You need to pay your heating bill,Charlotte thought. And your electric bill.

“Of course not, sir. We just need to find a more permanent spot for them.”

Or they could cancel Roger’s vanity podcast and put the interns back in the conference room. But what did Charlotte know? She was just an assistant.

All the way in Manhattan, Roger muttered under his breath.

For the last three years, this was Charlotte’s life. It infuriated and suited her in equal measure. Her boss’s previous assistants hadn’t lasted more than a year, but she had a knack for organizing details and managing egos.

Her salary, while not great, could certainly be worse. She knew from experience.

The line went quiet as Roger shuffled around his chrome-and-glass office. She squinted at her reflection in the mirror while his attention wandered. If she needed evidence that she wasn’t a fresh-faced teenager arriving for orientation, the dead-eyed woman staring back at her offered ample proof. An early suggestion of silver started at her temples and wove through her blond hair. When she adjusted her part, she revealed an insurgent force of grays. Her skin was dull from sleep deprivation and too much time spent indoors.

Twenty-seven was still young, she knew. But she looked tired.

Charlotte pulled a tube of concealer from her purse and dabbed at the circles under her eyes.

A sharp snort burst from her cell phone speaker. She flinched and accidentally swiped the cream across her ear.

“Peter’s new draft makes me sound like a guidance counselor,” Roger snapped.

Charlotte sucked her teeth, fighting the urge to hang up on him.

Think of that direct deposit twice a month into your checking account. Think of how much bigger that direct deposit will be once Roger gives you his blessing to move to the art department.

“Is it too late to find a new speechwriter?” he asked. She hoped this was a rhetorical question—his commencement address was only three days away. Roger’s voice sank into a playful purr. “Charlotte, why did I agree to do this?”

Because you’re a narcissist who can’t say no to a microphone,she wished she could say. Because the universe is conspiring against me.

She found a tissue in her pocket and tried to wipe the concealer out of her ear. “You’ve been wanting to come back to campus for a while,” Charlotte reminded him gently as she turned to her duffle bag. What exactly did one wear to relive her not-so-glory days? She frowned at her mediocre packing job: a jumble of bland work clothes and clean underwear. Nothing that said I am a successful and interesting adult now, thank you very much.

“Hmm,” Roger granted. A rare win.

Charlotte picked up a pencil skirt she wore at the office. As an undergrad, she’d have thrown on a men’s button-down and a pair of ratty denim shorts. Her style as a Hein youth was lazy-’80s-movie-heartthrob-but-gay, combat boots and denim jackets with greasy hair and aviator sunglasses she stole from her mom. When they became friends their freshman year, Jackie called Charlotte’s look “thrift store dirtbag.” It was the coolest she had ever felt.

She dropped the skirt and put her blazer back on over her tank top. It smelled like sweat and Amtrak, but hopefully no one would stick their nose in her armpit. She could always take the blazer off and swing it over her shoulder like a finance bro on the subway during his evening commute.

“How’s the weather up there?” Roger asked.

“It’s New England in May,” she said.

“So, cold and withholding.”

Charlotte chuckled. An accurate description, she’d give him that. Roger could turn his charm on and off, and she fell for it more than she liked to admit.

“Aubrey will pick up your suit from the tailor tomorrow morning. It should be nice here on Sunday.”

“It better be. This speech is important. The podcast still hasn’t broken the charts.”

Sure, because a commencement address at a liberal arts college in Massachusetts would send subscriptions to The Ludermore Power Hour surging.

“Of course, sir.”

Her boss had become a media darling over the winter when he gave a talk about philanthropy at the World Economic Forum in Davos. His impassioned, heavily ghostwritten case for helping as many people as possible, as efficiently as possible, won him new fans in Silicon Valley. It was all bullshit, as far as Charlotte could tell, but Roger’s face clogged her LinkedIn timeline for weeks after a hustle culture guru shared a clip of the speech to his millions of followers. Roger launched the podcast shortly after, eager to capitalize on the attention. Charlotte found it unlistenable, but Hein’s Reunion Commencement Committee probably hadn’t gone beyond a cursory Google search before booking Roger to speak at graduation. It helped that he was a Hein alum too. Class of 1981.

She considered her sneakers. Too dusty. She replaced them with her favorite pair of loafers, the leather worn and soft.

Roger’s voice flattened into a sneer. “You have a lot riding on this weekend too. Don’t forget I make my recommendation for the art job on Monday.”

Charlotte stiffened at the warning-slash-threat. Her thumb rose to her mouth, teeth worrying the skin at the edge of her nail.

Of course, she wouldn’t forget. If everything went smoothly during the next four days, she would finally be free of Roger’s petulant tyranny. The potential transfer to the art department was the only reason she hadn’t told her boss to go fuck himself when he instructed her to book a train ticket so that she could live-tweet his address. Nothing else would have gotten her to come back to Hein University.

Deep breath in. Hold it. Release.

“Yes, sir,” she recited in her best Siri impression. “Aubrey booked you a taxi from the train, and I’ll meet you on campus when you arrive on Sunday.”

“Excellent.” She heard ice clatter into a glass on the other end of the line. Then the hiss of alcohol meeting the cold. Vodka, if she had to guess. “So lucky you’re a Hein grad too, Charlotte. I didn’t even have to get you a hotel room.”

Roger laughed at his own joke as she willed him to burst into flames. The line went dead; he’d hung up.

Charlotte returned to the mirror and let out a sigh of relief. There. That worked. She could pass as fine. Older, but put together.

Adulthood looked nothing like she’d expected it to when she walked across the President’s Lawn and received her diploma five years ago. She had four pairs of pantyhose, a roommate who communicated through rude Post-it notes, and a moderately helpful antidepressant. Whatever she’d imagined of her future, it wasn’t working for a man like Roger Ludermore.

As long as no one asked her, “No, really, how are you?” she would get through this weekend with a guaranteed promotion and her dignity intact.

TEXT MESSAGE FROM NINA DORANTES TO CHARLOTTE THORNE, 5:03 PM:Are you here yet?

TEXT MESSAGE FROM CHARLOTTE THORNE TO NINA DORANTES, 5:08 PM:Yes, room 107. Meet you in front of Randall?

TEXT MESSAGE FROM NINA DORANTES TO CHARLOTTE THORNE, 5:18 PM:YAY

“Look who it is,” Nina boomed from her perch on a stone bench outside the dorm. “The queen of Brooklyn!” She stood to her full five foot eleven in a black jumpsuit and bright hoop earrings, her dark hair swishing in a perfect curtain, and threw her arms out for a hug. Charlotte had a moment to blink up at her before Nina squished her tight.

“Hi, Nina.” Charlotte untwined herself from her ex-girlfriend’s grip. “You look amazing. You’re so jacked!”

“You’re a sweetheart.” Nina flexed a biceps. “You can thank six months in Peru for that.”

Nina had just returned from a research assignment in the Amazon. Charlotte followed her adventures on Instagram, scrolling through pictures of water lilies and poison dart frogs as she waited for the subway. They hadn’t talked in…

Oh jeez, how long has it been?

But social media made it easy to keep in touch without keeping in touch.

“You put the bod in botanist,” Charlotte joked.

Nina snorted and nudged Charlotte’s shoulder with her own. “You’re terrible. Where’s Jackie?”

“Stuck in L.A.”

Nina tutted and folded her arm through Charlotte’s. “You’ll just have to settle for me, then.”

Nina and Charlotte met during orientation at Acronym, the LGBTQIA+ program house at Hein. They fell madly in lust during a mixer for queer freshmen and transfer students, wisecracking about the baseball bros in Nina’s dorm who’d already gotten in trouble for mooning the university president. Charlotte was too enchanted to be annoyed when Nina teased her about their height difference: I’d like to kiss you, but we might need a step stool.

Nina held herself with bulletproof confidence. Under the surface, she struggled with feeling unwelcome just as much as Charlotte did—even more so as a woman of color at a fussy New England school. But she presented a strong front, asserting her right to belong in every room, an energy that Charlotte found deeply appealing. She glommed on to Nina like a life preserver.

They delighted in flirting openly, holding hands in the cafeteria and fooling around back at Randall Dorm when Charlotte’s roommate was at the gym. Charlotte didn’t have to worry about her mom catching them together or explain why she returned home wearing last night’s clothes. Plus, she could tag along with Nina to parties without feeling like a clueless, uninvited frosh.

And what a joy it was to be wanted…Charlotte liked to watch Nina from across the room and think, That woman picked me. Acceptance was a heady drug.

But Nina didn’t just want to be wanted—she wanted a real relationship, one rooted in commitment and vulnerable conversations. Nina addressed conflict head-on and maintained healthy, firm boundaries, while Charlotte dreaded advocating for her needs. She’d only just moved out of her mother’s house; dissecting her attachment style was the last thing Charlotte wanted to do. When Nina told Charlotte she wanted more, Charlotte balked.

Why her, really? Why would Nina choose her?

And college had only just started. Surely they were too young, and Hein was full of people for them to meet and make mistakes with. Settling down so fast had to be risky. It was better for them to stay independent, and heck, they could always change their minds.

“You’re an idiot,” Nina told her when Charlotte found the courage to break things off after Thanksgiving. Charlotte’s hands shook, but her new ex-girlfriend rolled her eyes and patted her on the shoulder. “But that’s okay. Give me three weeks of space and I’ll forgive you.”

That was exactly what happened, and they’d been friends ever since. Nina fell in love with Eliza, a temperamental butch in the computer science program, and they built the relationship she wanted. Charlotte found the best friend she craved in Jackie, who worshipped Nina’s sophistication from the moment they met. Charlotte and Nina had been platonic for so long that she almost forgot they used to date.

“Tell me about your fancy job!” Nina prodded.

On the walk to their class reception, Charlotte regaled Nina with the silly work anecdotes she saved for moments like this. The benefit of working for a magazine with name recognition was that people didn’t expect her job at The Front End Review to suck, and they only wanted to hear the glamorous gossip. She started with the controversial founder of a ride-sharing app with a surprise allergy to pineapple. His tongue had swelled up to double its normal size during an interview, much to the delight of the photographer assigned to shoot his portrait.

She saved her less fashionable work stories—Roger’s unrelenting phone calls, and the venture capitalist who left a spare hotel key on her desk with a vulgar note—for another time.

Preferably after several drinks.

Or never.

The Class of 2013 reception took place on the patio outside Fuller Dormitory. Fuller was a blocky brutalist building with a concrete fa?ade and odd, thin windows. During Reunion Commencement, older classes enjoyed professionally catered events at the beautiful, historic buildings on campus. As the youngest alumni in attendance this year, the Class of 2013 sat at the bottom of the food chain. The odds of wrangling generous donations out of the twenty-somethings, most of whom had yet to put a dent in their student loans, were low.

“At least they sprang for a keg,” Nina drawled, unimpressed.

Forty or so people milled about the patio clutching plastic cups of beer and rosé. Two mobbed underclassmen in bright blue staff shirts tended bar on a folding table. Some industrious member of the RC committee had strung white fairy lights between the outdoor lamps. What was meant to feel like a garden party looked more like a sad wine tasting on a glorified sidewalk, but Charlotte admired the effort.

“So this is where our four hundred dollars went.” She smiled as Nina laughed.

They scanned the reception for familiar faces. A few members of their informal support group from back in the day hid in the crowd. Officially titled “Dead, Divorced, and Otherwise Disappointing Parents,” the 3Ds was a clique of trauma survivors and alienated queer kids. Charlotte’s homophobic mother and absent father qualified her for admission, as did Nina’s controlling dad. Charlotte recognized Jio Vargas sitting on a bench with their boyfriend Matt Larsen. Amy Rosen, Nina’s college roommate, chatted with a cluster of English majors.

Charlotte let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding when she detected no asshole exes in attendance. Then again, she still needed a drink before she ran the gauntlet of old friends.

Nina found her hand and towed her toward the bar. They took their place in line behind a trio of girls from the lacrosse team.

Nina’s eyes narrowed as she studied the crowd. “I’m glad Eliza couldn’t come. I did not want to see what shape she’s shaved into her undercut this time.”

Charlotte resisted the urge to point out that Nina’s snark suggested otherwise. They must be in an off phase again. “Is she still in Cairo?”

Nina’s ex-girlfriend worked for the Department of Defense doing something that Charlotte had never understood. It was a lucrative job that Nina disapproved of, which probably contributed to her irritated tone.

“Nah, she’s in Dubai now. She sent me a weird WhatsApp message to get nacho fries in her honor at Terry’s.”

“We can do that.”

“That’s not the point.” Nina played with her necklace, the thin gold chain catching the light.

Charlotte bit back a smile. “I’m just saying, nacho fries sound great.”

“What about your love life?” Nina asked. “How are things with Merielle?”

Charlotte’s smile wilted at the mention of her longest-lasting relationship since college. “Uh, nonexistent. That ended ages ago.”

Her ex-girlfriend frowned. “Oh. I’m sorry. I guess it’s been a while since we caught up.”

An understatement, considering Merielle dumped her over a year ago. Charlotte met the cute UX designer on a dating app and enjoyed her company, but it hadn’t stuck beyond the six-month mark. “It’s okay. My work hours were crazy. She got sick of me canceling plans.” Charlotte put on a forced smile. “Plus she lived in Queens and that’s practically a long-distance relationship in New York.”

Nina didn’t laugh, her eyes narrowing with suspicion. Then again, she wasn’t a New Yorker. That joke would have killed in Park Slope.

“Amy said she hasn’t seen much of you,” Nina said. “Isn’t she in Brooklyn with you?”

“Fort Greene, I think. Yeah, I keep missing her book launches.” Nina’s former roommate was the only other member of the 3Ds who lived in New York City. Amy worked in publishing and invited Charlotte to endless author events. During their first year out of college, Charlotte would recruit a friend from work to come with her to readings at the Bluestockings Cooperative Bookstore or signings on the third floor of the Strand. Charlotte always had a blast, and it worked in Amy’s favor to have cool young media people at her events.

She and Amy had never been close, but Amy made an effort to stay in touch. Charlotte genuinely liked her: her determined ambition and sunny sweet optimism. Charlotte just hadn’t been free in a while—work hours, exhaustion, yadda yadda.

Charlotte shrugged. “I never have time to read anymore.” That would change soon, thank goodness. Folks in the art department at Front End had much better work-life balance than she did. Once her transfer came through, she could have a social life again. She wouldn’t have to sacrifice her happiness for much longer.

Before Nina could poke at her excuse, they reached the front of the line. Nina asked the girl tending bar for two beers.

Charlotte wedged a single into the tip jar. “I like your shirt,” she told the bartender, nodding at the Reunion Commencement staff logo on the front. The name tag beside it read Imani in poppy bubble letters. “I had one just like it.”

“Thanks!” the underclassman chirped, her baby face rosy with exertion. Imani poured them both generous cups of a frothy IPA. “I hope you enjoy the reunion!”

Charlotte winced and took a sip. “Please keep these coming, we need fortification.”

“You got it.” Their new favorite bartender beamed at them before turning to the guy next in line.

Nina licked some foam off the side of her cup. “Jeez, were we ever that young?”

Drinks in hand, they beelined to the corner of the reception where Matt and Jio sat alone. The couple leapt to their feet as they approached.

“MY GIRLS!” Jio wailed. Charlotte got a brief look at their crop top and overalls before they crushed her in a bear hug. “Charlotte Thorne, I thought you were dead! Where have you been hiding?”

“Hi, Jio,” she wheezed inside their iron grip. They let her go abruptly and engulfed Nina next.

“NINA! Did you get even taller?”

Matt chuckled at his partner’s enthusiasm before extending his hand to her. Where Jio gleamed, Matt offered warm formality. “Good to see you, Charlotte.”

She gave it a firm shake. “It’s been too long. How’s The Rock?”

Matt and Jio lived in D.C., where they both worked for nonprofits. They had an adorable French bulldog, the aforementioned The Rock, and a dozen houseplants with their own names and personality quirks. The Rock and his plant siblings were recurring guest stars on Jio’s Instagram.

Charlotte loved to imagine them in their cozy co-living house. Matt and Jio met through the support group in college and fell in love immediately. Matt’s parents were Disappointing—devout Mormons, they kicked him out as soon as he revealed he wasn’t entirely straight. Jio’s parents were Divorced but totally chill about them being nonbinary.

Charlotte had been meaning to visit them in D.C. for years, but she never got around to booking the train ticket. Leaving New York on the weekends required more energy and planning than she could summon these days.

“The Rock is an angel! Look what Matt found for him!” Jio took out their iPhone and thrust it under Nina’s nose. Charlotte leaned over to watch as they swiped through pictures of a pup wearing a black turtleneck and a silver chain collar.

“That’s amazing,” Nina laughed.

Jio pulled on Charlotte’s sleeve. “Look at this blazer!” They had yet to master their indoor voice. Their empty Solo cup probably didn’t help. “You look like a capitalist! I love it!”

Her face flushed as all three of them studied her outfit. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been around this many people interested in her existence. “Uh, thank you.”

“New York must be good for you,” Jio said. “Do you just love it there? We barely hear from you these days!”

The back of her neck felt hot. “It’s not bad,” she dodged. “Work keeps me busy. I can’t have a pet with my schedule. But The Rock is so cute!” She desperately tried to change the topic.

“Isn’t he? I want another dog, but Matt won’t let me get one!” They shoved their boyfriend’s shoulder.

Matt rolled his eyes. “We can’t afford another dog.”

“We could if we rescued!” But Jio had already turned back to Nina. They peppered her with questions about Peru. “Did you discover any new plants? How were the bugs?”

“It’s the vet bills that are the problem,” Matt murmured to Charlotte. “Dogs eat weird shit off the sidewalk.”

She nodded sagely. Matt looked nice—he’d styled his short brown hair into a professional-looking comb-over. Thankfully he also wore uninteresting business casual attire. As if on cue, he asked, “Are you still at Front End? I watched Roger Ludermore’s speech from Davos. The one about effective altruism? Interesting stuff.”

Here we go again.

Charlotte whipped out her safe Roger anecdotes. Matt laughed in all the right places, bless him. At the mention of a famous actor turned startup investor, Jio demanded that she start the story over, their blue eyes bright and eager.

Nina left to refill their drinks. When she returned, conversation moved on to gossip about their graduating class: who lived where, who dumped who, who sold out and took a job as a lobbyist. Charlotte stayed at the periphery, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She didn’t have much intel to contribute—staying in contact with folks didn’t come naturally to her.

Charlotte vaguely remembered the role she used to play in the group dynamic during their undergrad days. She and Matt were the quiet ones, but she could be relied on for a funny non sequitur and her memory for names and faces. Everyone texted her when they needed help assembling furniture or fixing a clogged sink, and she liked that. She liked to be helpful, and to talk about art or politics one-on-one with her hands deep in a practical problem. She and Jio once spent a whole afternoon discussing Beanie Babies and scarcity economics as they repainted Acronym’s attic. Perched atop the dusty folding ladder, Charlotte didn’t feel like the shortest and shyest member of the clique.

At parties and group hangs like this one, Charlotte was always half of a pair. Jackie made plans and Charlotte remembered them. When Jackie told an outlandish but mostly accurate story, Charlotte supplied the details she forgot.

What was the name of that Film Studies TA I hooked up with? The one whose entire personality was having thePulp Fiction soundtrack on vinyl?

Ted Casella.

Teddy Casella! Thank you, Char.

As the group chatted at the reception, peppering their gossip with references to their new lives that she didn’t understand, Charlotte felt like an actor who didn’t know her lines. Five years was a long time, and the dynamic of the group had shifted without her.

Thankfully no one seemed to mind when she just listened.

“Remember Batty Lawson?” Nina said sotto voce. “From the Philosophy Society? I heard he made a fortune in Bitcoin.”

Jio mimed retching into their party cup. Charlotte guffawed, and they winked at her.

Amy from the 3Ds (Dead mom, cancer) joined them. After she gave everyone the requisite hugs—and did not scold Charlotte for falling off the surface of the earth—she added her intel. “Thomas Irons lives in Tampa now,” she said in a discreet murmur. “He bought a condo on the water.”

“With what money?” Jio asked. “Did he go full tech bro?”

“I think he always had money. His family is from Chappaqua.”

Nina plucked a dog hair from the back of Jio’s crop top. “I don’t remember him.”

Charlotte grimaced and swirled beer around her cup. “He was tight with Ben Mead.”

The name felt large in her mouth, rusty from disuse. She tried to swallow through the dryness in her throat, and then, remembering her drink, took a long pull of pilsner.

Jio winced. “That asshole. Is he coming?”

Rancid yellow embarrassment curdled in her throat, the way it always did when Ben’s name came up around her friends. She shrugged like she hadn’t given the question much thought.

In reality, she had checked the list of alumni registered for Reunion Commencement over and over again in the weeks leading up to the event. Her ex-boyfriend’s name never appeared, but she found it hard to imagine that Ben would miss the chance to come back to Hein. When they were students, he stalked across campus like he owned the place…which he kind of did, because his father sat on the board of trustees.

Nina gracefully changed the subject. “I think Thomas was in my coding class.” She bit her lip while she searched her memory. “Did he have white-boy dreadlocks?”

“Yeah, and a perpetual smear of coke on his nose,” Jio leered.

Amy giggled into her rosé.

“Yes, that’s who I’m thinking of,” Nina said matter-of-factly.

Charlotte didn’t laugh. Purple, she thought as she wetted her lips. Shame. And…sludge green guilt. By the end of the night, she would have enough colors for an eye shadow palette.

Speaker feedback shrieked through their gossip. Amy hissed through her teeth as she pressed her free hand against her ear. Conversations died out as someone tapped a microphone across the patio.

Charlotte twisted to look over her shoulder in the direction of the bar. She couldn’t see anything over the crowd.

“Want a boost?” Nina asked.

Charlotte glared up at her without any real malice. “Har har.”

The person holding the mic hopped on top of the stone wall behind the bar. He smoothed down his jeans with his free hand as he straightened up.

Her fingers tightened on her cup until the plastic rim cracked.

“It’s Reece!” Amy chirped unnecessarily. Her curly hair bounced as she stood on her tiptoes to see their class secretary through the crowd.

Bathed in the glow of the party lights, Reece Krueger’s green eyes widened as he took in the crowd. Not that Charlotte could see his eye color from across the patio, but she was alarmed to discover that she remembered it: a lovely light jade like sea glass.

One side of his mouth still smiled higher than the other. Resting happy face, Jackie called it a million years ago.

A node of dread lodged itself in Charlotte’s throat. She’d been so focused on whether Ben would attend the reunion that she forgot to worry about her other boy ex.

She didn’t know what she felt, only that it was a dark, uneasy shade of blue.

“Good evening!” Reece said a little too loud, and the feedback hissed again. He laughed self-consciously as the alumni winced. “Sorry about that. This is, um, not my specialty.”

Even from across the party, she could see Reece’s smile wilt. He took a deep breath like he was steeling himself, and that millisecond of vulnerability sent her heart thundering in her chest.

“I’m Reece Krueger, your class secretary.” He played with the mic cord as he spoke—a nervous tell. He and Charlotte were both fidgeters. “Welcome to Reunion and Commencement Weekend!”

The crowd applauded. Charlotte put her battered cup down on the bench and brought her hands together halfheartedly.

“I don’t have remarks planned. This is supposed to be Kahini’s speech, but her flight was delayed, so you’ve got me instead.”

Someone wolf-whistled. Reece threw the corner of the party an easy grin. Charlotte could just make out the laughing face of Garrett Davis, former hockey team goalie, president of the Black Student Union, and Reece’s best friend.

“I’ll keep this brief,” Reece continued. “We’ve got a great weekend planned for you. Obviously you found your way to our reception. Our class dinner is tomorrow at Beckman Hall. Tickets are still on sale.”

Charlotte could barely hear him over the roaring in her ears.

He looked good. No, that was inadequate. Reece looked incredible. His dark brown hair was styled back from his face, a dramatic change from the shaggy mess of senior year. He wore the hell out of a V-neck under a knit sweater, the cozy kind popping up all over Instagram these days. She knew implicitly that the sweater was a hand-me-down from his dad.

A storage container of vivid emotions toppled over in Charlotte’s mind. More swampy green guilt. Sunny orange curious. The vibrant lilac of longing.

Nina touched her elbow, jarring her out of her thoughts. Her ex-girlfriend raised an eyebrow. Charlotte straightened up and plastered a smile on her face.

“You can find a full list of events on the website. The RC committee asked me to remind you that the official hashtag is #HeinRandC2018, but please don’t use it to post drunk selfies. Keep it PG for the students and their families.”

Garrett Davis booed at this request. Reece ignored him.

“Speaking of drunk selfies, the Lawn Party is on Saturday night.” This announcement earned a cheer. Reece’s responding grin seemed forced, but she doubted anyone else could tell. “You know the rules: Doors open at eight, cash bar. Alumni are welcome to join the new grads as they dance away their last night on campus. And in the morning, we’ll have a picnic on the quad.”

“I can’t wait,” Jio stage-whispered.

Charlotte chewed on her thumb, nodding automatically.

“Okay, here’s the part I’m bad at.” Reece took a deep breath. Her throat seized with secondhand anxiety as she watched him steady himself, his fingers gripping the microphone. The crowd waited patiently for him, and he seemed to channel their warmth as he launched into his pitch. “If you find yourself feeling the love for Hein this weekend, please consider showing it with a donation to the school. Our class has given the least to Hein’s capital campaign—”

“Yeah, ’cause we’re broke!” Garrett piped up, triggering a ripple of laughter. Reece’s smile didn’t slip, but she could see his eyes tighten.

“If you want to learn more about how to give to Hein, you can ask any of the class officers.”

“Fat chance,” Nina murmured. “He must be miserable up there.”

Amy nodded sympathetically. “He looks great, though!”

Charlotte picked her party cup back up and took a swig.

“The Development Fund supports the whole school, from the construction of new buildings to financing need-blind admissions, which I know y’all support. So if you have that cash, show it. I’m looking at you, Batty. Fork over some of that Bitcoin.” Reece grinned at his singled-out classmate, who gave a good-natured wave from the bar.

The smile on Reece’s face sent Charlotte’s heart lurching like the subway when some jackass pulled the emergency brake. For a moment she was a college senior again, dressed up and looking for Reece at some party. Sticky and nervous and hungry—practically starving for distraction.

Reece would smile at her when she finally found him. Like he’d been waiting for her to make up her mind and follow him out the door.

“Okay, that’s enough from me. Have fun, everyone!”

Reece hopped off the stone wall, and she lost sight of him in the crowd. The noise of the party dialed up again as conversations resumed. Her friends began chatting like nothing earth-shattering had happened at all.

“Are any of you donating?” Amy asked the group. “I feel bad for him.”

“I’ll do it for his sake,” Nina said. “They’re not getting more than fifty dollars out of me.”

Charlotte didn’t listen. Her brain churned over Reece’s big smile and the warm timbre of his voice.

He looked healthy. Filled out, better dressed, a new maturity in his posture. Strained but alert. In college, Reece only seemed serious when they were alone.

She remembered his hard stomach under her fingers, the way his muscles tightened as she breathed across his skin. His wide mouth open in a gasp, white teeth glinting. How he always knocked twice on her apartment door late at night.

Another memory followed like a bitter chaser. She cringed as she recalled the last moment she saw him at their own graduation day picnic.

In all the time she spent anticipating the reunion, she never considered what it would feel like to be around Reece again. She knew he was attending—as class secretary, he signed every email about the upcoming reunion. But any anxiety she felt when she read his name in her inbox paled in comparison to the terror of a possible encounter with Ben and the stress of preparing for Roger’s commencement address. She could only deal with so much, only feel so much, before her brain went dark like a blown fuse. Reece got bumped down the priority list, just as he did in college.

Besides, she didn’t have the option of backing out. Not with so much to lose at work. Roger had made it clear that she needed to be here if she wanted the art department gig, and so here she was, exes be damned.

Nina bumped her hip, jolting her out of her thoughts. “You good?”

“I’m fine.” Charlotte nodded curtly to reinforce the lie. Nina didn’t push.

Charlotte tried to pay attention to her friends, she really did, but her brain got stuck on Reece. Her heartbeat pulsed like radar as she tracked his party longitude and latitude. She caught glimpses of the back of his head until an amoeba of bros absorbed him. She didn’t want him to see her—dreaded it, even—but some part of her needed him to be as aware of her presence as she was of his.

It didn’t matter that she was now twenty-seven. It didn’t matter that five years had passed since she’d last spoken to Reece, six years since she broke up with Ben, and she had lived what felt like a dozen lives since she was last on this campus. Her face burned.

She felt small and pathetic and twenty-two years old again, the same jerk who left Reece behind without saying good-bye.

In that moment, there wasn’t a single thing she wouldn’t trade to be back in Brooklyn alone, wearing her sweatpants and watching reality television on her laptop.

TEXT MESSAGE FROM CHARLOTTE THORNE TO JACKIE SLAUGHTER, 6:18 PM:Have you landed yet? This is awkward.

(Message not delivered.)

TEXT MESSAGE FROM CHARLOTTE THORNE TO JACKIE SLAUGHTER, 6:19 PM:Thomas Irons owns a boat now.

(Message not delivered.)

“Private installations are where the real money is. Celebrity clients pay way more than what I made at TrackVest on the trading floor empowerment mural.”

Annika Gronlund had an irritating habit of gesturing with her wine as she rattled off accomplishments. Charlotte wanted to stab herself in the eye with a paintbrush, just like she did when they had Studio Art 311 together as juniors.

“That’s great,” Charlotte said blandly. If this conversation continued for much longer, she might move on from impaling herself to killing Annika. But then what other white woman would paint pseudo-progressive slogans inside Amazon’s warehouse?

She scanned the crowd for an escape route or a familiar face to flag down. No dice.

Annika tapped her cushion-cut diamond engagement ring against her glass. “What about you? How is your craft evolving?”

“Great!” Charlotte coughed, the lie catching in her throat like an allergy. “But I’m an assistant these days.” She left out where she worked. Maybe Annika would leave her alone if she thought Charlotte wasn’t worth her time.

Annika’s lip curled predictably. Score one for snobbery.

“Mind if I cut in?”

Reece’s voice was gentle and warm at the edges like flannel in the depths of New England winter. Charlotte’s mouth went dry as she found him by her side.

She had forgotten how tall he was. He smelled divine, like coffee and linen with just a hint of nice aftershave.

“Sorry to interrupt, Annika,” he said. “I’ll catch you later, yeah?”

Annika blinked at them, struggling to square Reece’s politeness with the firm ejection from conversation. “Oh hey, Reece. Yeah, of course!” She stalked away in search of more fertile networking opportunities.

Charlotte’s cheeks burned as she rediscovered the advanced human ability of speech. “Reece. Hi.” She bit back a nervous laugh. “Thank you for that.”

And then Reece was looking at her, right in front of her, finally. She felt all magenta and rose.

His eyes pored over her face for a long beat before he cleared his throat. “I was hoping you’d be here.” His words were refreshingly honest, no bullshit or playing coy. Confused hope sang in her chest. She had expected Reece to loathe her. She deserved it. “Jackie said she wasn’t sure when you were coming.”

“Oh yeah. It’s kind of complicated with work.” She waved her fingers with the what can you do exasperation Roger used at the office to convey his importance.

“Right.” Reece nodded. “Are you still at The Front End Review?”

Charlotte blinked. How did he know where she worked? Had he been keeping up with her life on social media? She wasn’t an active poster, maintaining a bare-bones Twitter presence for her career and an inactive Instagram of her old illustrations. Or maybe he asked their mutual friends about her?

Torn between flattery and embarrassment, she tried not to worry about what else he might know. “Three years now,” she answered. “What about you?”

“I’m working for my mom again.” He ran his hand through his hair, which had begun to escape the hold of his styling gel. “Mostly clerical stuff, but I like it.”

Reece’s mother ran an animal clinic in St. Louis. During breaks from Hein, he had worked at the front desk checking in patients and selling heartworm medication. His family often fostered rescues, and Dr. Krueger kept Reece supplied with puppy pictures throughout the school year.

Charlotte smiled at the idea of Reece in a set of paw-print scrubs. The job suited him. “That must be wonderful, being around animals all day.”

“Yeah!” Reece gave her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He stuffed his hands into his pockets. She tried to think of a question that would let him change the subject, but he surprised her by leaning forward and lowering his voice. “I’m not telling people this yet, I don’t want to jinx it, but I’m thinking about going back to school. There’s a good vet tech program nearby.”

“You want to become a veterinarian? That’s amazing!” Charlotte raised her beer.

“A vet tech,” he corrected her, his face a little red. “Please don’t tell anyone. I’m nervous.”

“What do you have to be nervous about?” This older version of Reece didn’t have the brash swagger of the boy she once knew. She wasn’t sure what to make of it. “Any school would be lucky to have you. You grew up in an animal hospital.”

He shrugged. “My grades here kind of sucked.”

Oh right. Grades. In her field she could skate by with Hein University on her résumé—goodness knows it was the only reason Roger had hired her—but technical programs cared about numbers.

“I think we both graduated in the bottom half of our year,” she joked to make him feel better.

Reece stiffened. He looked over her shoulder as if in search of a back button on the conversation.

Fuck. She’d brought it up. Graduation.

Charlotte apologized all the time at work, even when she’d done nothing wrong. I’m sorry that call caught you by surprise when Roger was late to a meeting. I’m so sorry I haven’t completed that project when her boss never assigned it in the first place. A good bullshit apology required taking full responsibility for mistakes that weren’t your fault. It was a trick she’d learned while living with her mother and honed further when she dated Ben. The important part was never to mention who was really to blame.

She owed Reece an apology. A real apology, not a phony one.

Charlotte looked around. They were insulated at the side of the party, but conditions for the conversation they needed to have were far from ideal. A gaggle of lacrosse girls were doing shots out of someone’s flask. Charlotte suspected her breath reeked of pilsner. Reece’s face defaulted to his usual resting half smile, even as his thoughts looked miles away. He was being so goddamn nice to her.

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t put the right words together. There wasn’t a crowbar big enough to open that Pandora’s box of regrets.

As she faltered, Reece took pity on her. “Tell me you have a fiancé and a golden retriever,” he quipped.

She snorted, surprised. Then she laughed from deep in her belly. The tension between them broke like fresh snow under a boot.

“No, I have nothing,” Charlotte said. She waved her hand at his raised eyebrows. “You know what I mean. I have a shitty roommate and my own pod at Front End.”

“You have a nap pod?” he asked, poking fun.

“No, it’s a desk that doesn’t touch any other desks.” She outlined a box with her hands, roughly four feet wide and three feet deep. “Like a cubicle but with no walls. Front End has an open-plan office.”

He whistled. “Well, that sounds less fun.”

“It’s loud and always smells like someone’s lunch. Whenever one person has a cold, the rest of us get it too. I used to wear noise-canceling headphones, but my boss said it made me look antisocial.” Charlotte pulled a face and Reece laughed, his eyes crinkling.

“Do you like your job? You’re an assistant, right?”

“To the CEO. He’s actually the commencement speaker on Sunday, Roger Ludermore?” She qualified her answer to explain its misery, not to show off, but he was nonetheless jazzed.

“Dude, that’s awesome!”

Charlotte grimaced. “Is it, though?”

“If Roger’s as smart as everyone says, he’s figured out that he’s lucky to have you around.” Roger was definitely not as smart as everyone said, but before Charlotte could crack a joke, Reece took her shoulder and gave her a congratulatory squeeze. Her skin hummed where he touched her and didn’t let go.

As much as she wanted to be honest with him, she didn’t want to shatter the glowing impression he had of her life. She’d also forgotten Reece’s knack for complimenting a person so sincerely that they were temporarily disarmed. She could tell he really meant it. And it meant something to her, that he’d see her that way. Especially when the version of her he’d known in college was such a live wire. When they met in support group senior year, she still flinched at sudden movements.

That was then, and this is now,she reminded herself.

“Thanks for that. But what about you?” she asked. “Perhaps a designer doodle and a condo by the sea?”

Reece chuckled. His hand fell from her shoulder. She missed it. “You heard about Thomas’s new place, huh?”

Charlotte rolled her eyes. The last time she saw Thomas Irons, he was passed out on the President’s Lawn in a unicorn onesie using his balled-up graduation gown as a pillow. “Seriously, what the hell. How is he the most stable of all of us?”

“I don’t know about ‘stable,’ but I ask myself that question every single day.”

She gathered her nerve to ask the question she told herself she was only posing to be polite. “How are things going with Jess? Jackie mentioned her a while ago. And that you were moving in together?”

Reece’s eyes fell to his sneakers. “We actually broke up a few months ago.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

Charlotte was not perfect. On occasion, stuck late at the office while Roger’s meetings ran long, she stalked her exes on social media. From the pictures Reece posted on Facebook, Jess was beautiful, full stop. She had flawless skin and volunteered every weekend at the local shelter for unhoused folks. The only thing Charlotte could complain to Jackie about was her rosé all day tank top in her profile picture. Even then, while Jackie agreed the shirt was cringe, they agreed that Jess made it work.

Charlotte liked Jess even more now that she wasn’t Reece’s girlfriend.

“It’s all good.” Reece shrugged. “It was a mutual thing. We figured out we were incompatible before anything got serious.”

She quirked her own brow, a courtesy are you sure? Despite how casual he made the breakup seem, incompatible was a meaningful word, the vocabulary of responsibility and adulthood. You only worried about compatibility when you were serious about someone, when you were planning your future and factoring in that other person.

A new insecurity twitched in her chest as she realized she’d never calculated her compatibility with a partner. Not since Ben, at least, and her math had been very off. There was only so much you could do with a corrupted data set. Ever since then she hadn’t been tempted to factor another person into her future, always breaking relationships off before things got too serious. Merielle came the closest to mattering, but every night they spent at bar trivia together meant at least six emails for Charlotte to answer when she got home.

Had Reece ever considered his compatibility with Charlotte? Before she bolted like a startled deer?

Reece nodded. He pulled on his collar to reveal a stretch of tan skin. “Anyway, we can talk about something other than my ex.”

She didn’t like the sudden stiffness in his voice. “No, it’s…” She trailed off, searching for something to say other than I’m glad she messed it up. Mossy green jealousy and sunrise yellow relief warred in her chest as she read the tension in his body. Jess’s loss was the rest of the world’s gain. “It doesn’t bother me.”

Heat spread down Charlotte’s neck under the intensity of his gaze. His lips parted as he took a deep breath, and for a moment it looked like he was about to say something important, something hard. Charlotte leaned forward, straining to hear his thoughts.

Suddenly, one of the lax girls shrieked and Reece jerked back. Charlotte’s heart heaved. It was so transparent, how his walls went flying back up.

“Who invited a feral cat colony?” she asked, deadpan, hoping to make him laugh again. He chuckled, thank goodness. Then his attention caught on something over her shoulder.

“Hey, listen,” Reece said, his voice low. “Garrett is glaring at me. I’m getting major stop talking to your ex eyes. This is supposed to be a boys’ weekend.”

“Oh, of course.” Charlotte tapped the side of her empty cup. “I should go get a refill anyway. And find Nina.”

“To be continued, okay?”

“Sure.” Charlotte gave him her best I do not desperately want you to stay fake smile.

As she watched Reece return to his friends, she chewed the inside of her cheek. Dewy heat gathered in her chest and spread through her limbs, just like it had when Reece looked at her a little too long in support group. Somehow the conversation she’d been dreading was the most enjoyable one she’d had all night. She could almost pretend no time had passed at all.

Almost, but not quite. She couldn’t figure out the vibe between them. Friendly, maybe even fond, but still cautious. Their conversation felt surreal, and it wasn’t just that they were surrounded by judgmental acquaintances at their college reunion, or that they were older, or that this wasn’t their real life anymore. Maybe it was that he was still Reece Krueger, the guy who wanted more from her at the end of senior year, and she was still Charlotte Thorne, the girl who wanted nothing from anyone at all.

Charlotte headed to the bar for a refill. Nina appeared at her side immediately, which only made her feel worse. The 3Ds must have watched their conversation from afar.

“How was that?” Nina asked, her curiosity at a low simmer.

Charlotte rolled her eyes and passed her cup to the bartender. “Another pilsner, please.”

Nina blinked. “That good?”

“That’s all you’re getting out of me.”

She patted Charlotte’s head fondly. “We’re about to head out for Amy’s panel. Want to come?”

“Amy’s on a panel?”

“English major thing at the career center. ‘Hein Voices in the World’ or something. They’ll probably have snacks.”

Charlotte wasn’t sure what sucked more: that she hadn’t achieved anything panel-worthy since graduating from college, or that she’d still go anywhere for free food. Or that she had botched, once again, another moment with Reece, whom she still owed an apology. Maybe Amy’s panel was exactly what she needed: an excuse to sit in silence and recharge her batteries.

“Fine. Count me in.”

TEXT MESSAGE FROM CHARLOTTE THORNE TO JACKIE SLAUGHTER, 7:08 PM:Reece is here.

(Message not delivered.)