13. Morningside Heights, USA
13
MORNINGSIDE HEIGHTS, USA
Before
I t was something of a tradition for the girls to get ready together before a big night out, even if Alex was clearly the third wheel. Sophie and Bee always hosted: they shared a sprawling two-bedroom apartment on Central Park West that put them within walking distance of the best off-campus parties. They also had a huge bathroom with double sinks and mirrors—much more appropriate for a multi-person beauty session than Alex’s studio in Hamilton Heights.
Tonight was the usual fare in almost every way: a painstakingly curated playlist from Sophie, a bottle of medium-fancy rosé, some breathless gossip about who was attending the party and what was likely to happen there. But this particular night had an added air of tenderness: it was the last big party of their college careers, the last time they’d all be together this way. Sophie was off to grad school in Paris, Bee was following Dev to Mumbai, and neither had plans to visit New York for the foreseeable future. Alex would miss them, of course, but she also looked forward to no longer feeling like she had to impress them. So much of her daily routine—even the fancy Sephora makeup she was currently using, because Bee had once asked her if she knew what they put in “that drug store garbage” —was curated to impress these girls.
She rubbed some pomade between her hands to warm it, working the product through the ends of her curls. Her hair had taken her years to fully understand—the photos of herself from before she learned that brushing was her enemy always made her cringe—but it was better late than never.
“Is it corny if I put on that Vitamin C song?” Bee scrolled through Sophie’s phone, which plugged into the speaker.
“Yes,” Alex responded, “but it’s also cute. The Green Day one, too.”
“The ‘I hope you have the time of your life’ thing?” Sophie asked, holding her jaw open as she brushed on mascara.
“Look at you, knowing American culture,” Bee smirked, pulling up the song.
“She grew up here,” Alex said, a nervous edge to her voice. She clocked Sophie, and the look of minor disapproval on her face, in the mirror’s reflection.
“I know, I know, I’m teasing,” Bee reassured, starting the song. “Can I use some of this?” she asked, Alex’s setting powder already in her hand.
“Of course,” she answered, knowing she would never dare ask to use some of their expensive products. “I have spray, too.”
The girls were, predictably, dressed in mostly black: a miniskirt and sheer blouse for Sophie; a jumpsuit with an intricate lace detail for Bee. Only after arriving did Alex realize that her black cocktail dress formed an unintentional trifecta.
Alex looked at herself in the mirror, more expertly made-up and coiffed than she’d ever been, her hair forming a lush mane around her heart-shaped features. Her lips, painted a glossy pink, were almost begging to be kissed, and she imagined Danial doing just that as they spoke in hushed tones about what she’d said in her letter. She imagined him leaning down, whispering something soft and beautiful in her ear as their cheeks brushed. Something like:
“ I love you, too .”
Tonight was the end of a lot of things, but to her, it also felt like the beginning of her real life.
“Okay, the song is cute,” Sophie admitted, moving to Vitamin C’s nostalgic lyrics. “I’m officially fucking sad.”
“Don’t be sad yet,” Bee replied, turning the volume up. “We have a whole party to get through, and then we can be sad.” She walked over to her best friend and took her hands in her own, leading the two of them in a dance. Sophie blinked back the tears in her eyes as she swayed, looking up at the ceiling to preserve her mascara.
They opened up slightly, gesturing for Alex to join them. The three girls raised their hands toward each other and spun in little turns, closing their eyes and bobbing their heads to the music. Alex rarely felt like part of their dynamic, but in moments like this, she was close enough. She wasn’t just Paul’s best friend: she belonged to these girls, too, connected to them in her own unique way. It was odd, her almost primal need for their approval and acceptance, her extraordinary joy when she received it.
Feeling emboldened, she wove her fingers through Sophie’s, spinning her gently as they mouthed along with the lyrics.
“I hate my hair,” Sophie offered in a rare moment of vulnerability, catching herself in the mirror as she turned. “It never does anything but sit there.”
“You have French girl hair,” Alex responded. “It’s chic.”
They looked at each other in the mirror again, a little smile quirking the corners of Sophie’s pink lips.
“Don’t inflate her ego any further,” Bee chided, bobbing over to top up their glasses of wine. “She already knows she’s gorgeous.”
Sophie tossed a crumpled-up tissue at her in faux outrage. The two of them smiled at each other, effortless in their friendship. Moments like this would usually create a small pit of envy in Alex’s stomach. But now, basking in the glow of her own excitement about the night, she felt nothing but affection for them—and a twinge of sadness that they would soon be on opposite ends of the world.
“You look cute,” Bee observed, touching Alex’s expansive curls from behind her.
“Thank you,” she replied, setting down her powder compact after a final pass on her nose. “I tried.”
“Well, you succeeded.” Bee’s warm words trailed off into distraction. Her eyes were now fixated on her phone, reading a new message. “DNR want to know what we’re wearing.”
“A black dress,” Alex offered automatically, as if Bee couldn’t see that for herself.
“Tell them we don’t know yet,” Sophie interjected.
DNR was their rather acerbic nickname for Daphne and Renee, a pair of ice-blonde sisters Bee knew from prep school. Daphne was the older of the two, a math genius currently studying at Carnegie Mellon. She was beautiful and delicate like Bee, while her younger sister Renee had a distinct harshness, a bratty reluctance to do anything according to expectations. And their father was one of the most powerful executives at Barclays bank, a man whose sheer wealth and access made their own successful futures a foregone conclusion. Their presence always reminded Alex that once you’re a certain kind of rich, it doesn’t matter what you do. You’ll always succeed, even against your own will.
“I didn’t know they were coming,” Alex chirped, feeling unusually generous. “That’ll be fun, I love Daphne.”
“Hah, that makes one of us,” Bee replied without looking up from the message she was typing.
“I knew she wouldn’t miss it.” Sophie cut in, casting a knowing look at Bee.
“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” Alex asked, dragging a nail along the edge of her lip gloss in the mirror.
“She and Danny are obsessed with each other.”
Alex had often heard the expression about blood running cold, but had never in her life experienced it until this moment. Every extremity was suddenly drained of color and strength, and her whole body felt weightless, floating above the scene with a terrifying clarity. Her breath failed her, collecting in her chest like a poisonous gas.
“They are so insufferable,” Bee continued, as if nothing of consequence had happened.
“They—” Alex gently placed her hands on the counter, using every ounce of her strength to sound normal. “Daphne is dating Danial?”
“I don’t know about dating,” Sophie replied with a smirk. “But they’re definitely doing something .”
“When did that happen?” Alex asked, her eyes fixated on a single spot of water on the bathroom mirror.
“In March,” Bee set her phone down, picking up an eyebrow pencil for a minor touch-up. “At that STEM conference in Philly—which was a total waste of time, I heard.”
“Unless you were there to find a boyfriend.” Sophie laughed, sipping her rosé.
“I didn’t know,” Alex replied, still staring at the water spot on the mirror, vision rapidly going fuzzy. Her mind raced with logistics: Was he home yet? Was Daphne meeting him there? Was there time for her to get into his apartment and take the letter back before it blew up her life? “That’s cool,” she added, her voice feeling a million miles from her body.
“Is it?” Bee sighed, pulling at her eyelid to draw a tighter line, “I mean, they’re fine, but he’s not exactly the kind of guy I pictured her with.”
“Oh?” Alex asked distractedly, feeling a toxic sludge of negative emotion churn within her. She looked at the time on Bee’s phone: 6:47, undoubtedly too late to undo what she’d done. She visualized the letter sitting on his desk, a spring-loaded trap waiting to destroy everything.
Bee and Sophie looked at each other subtly before Sophie spoke again, changing the subject back to something mundane. “Do you have any hairspray?”
“No.”
Alex quietly excused herself from the bathroom and walked into the living room, where she’d carelessly tossed her bag on an armchair. It seemed to taunt her, the Rebecca Minkoff Mini MAC her mother had found at TJ Maxx the Christmas before, the one she’d been so excited to wear. When I set that bag down , she thought, I still had time to fix this.
Shaking, she pulled her phone from her bag while the girls’ usual chatter rose behind her. Their voices had turned into a kind of buzz, melting into the deafening ring now overtaking her head. Everything felt simultaneously slow-motion and much too fast, spinning with an uncaring velocity as she tried to get her bearings. She had barely tapped her phone’s screen before she saw the seventeen missed messages from Paul, only the last of which was visible. In all caps, using every urgent emoji he could find on his keyboard, were just two words:
ABORT MISSION.