Chapter 26
NEW YORK CITY
NOVEMBER 20, 2016
AGE: 30
AT SOME POINT IN THE LATE AUGHTS, GEETA AND I STOPPED INVITING our significant others to our hangouts. We’d tried doing the whole double-date thing many times, but it never quite worked. Geeta made Hal nervous in a way that no one else did. He acted like a fool around her, going on endlessly about his obscure obsessions or—even worse—resorting to sarcasm that bordered on outright mockery. He didn’t want to be outside the orbit of his art-world friends. And I was never crazy about Matt, who mistook conversation as an opportunity to panic about vaccines and hidden plastics.
After one too many unsuccessful attempts, Geeta and I had an awkward but necessary talk. Enough was enough, we agreed. We loved each other and that was all that mattered. No big deal, right? We agreed on a solution: If we couldn’t change the dynamic, we could change the format. We would stick with girls nights, going forward. At least it meant more one-on-one time with Geeta, was what I told myself. Until life intervened—her babies, my move to another city—making it increasingly harder for us to get together in person. And then I started wondering if I’d have seen more of Geeta if we’d functioned as a quartet.
Now with Alex as my date, I found myself feeling shortchanged for all those nights that could have been. Conversation flowed easily around the beautifully set table at the Michelin-starred vegan restaurant where I’d managed to snag a reservation. Sure, I never loved hanging out with Matt—we weren’t even up to the appetizers and he’d already brought up the secret city that supposedly lurked beneath the Denver airport. But he was being slightly less insufferable than I remembered. The tension that normally buzzed between us was magically gone. It felt so good to be part of a group again and to see my new husband make the effort with my friends that Hal never cared to do.
A waitress—tall, blonde, her hair pulled back in a neat ballerina bun—brought us an amuse-bouche: a tiny brown gelatinous cube nestled in a spoon. It came with a clear, sparkling cocktail with a glass straw and what appeared to be dried algae clinging to the side of the glass for dear life.
“This is from chef.” Our server had the voice of a guided meditation instructor. “It’s faux gras, made from chanterelles gathered upstate at his biodynamic farm, paired with a celery spritz.”
“Gorgeous,” Geeta said. The waitress bowed her head and asked if there was anything else we needed.
“Could I see a wine list?” I asked.
Everyone froze and looked at me. Geeta finally broke into laughter.
“We’re an alcohol-free establishment,” our server said, sotto voce. “We do, however, have a water list.”
“That’s what I meant!” I said, wondering if I should make a joke about turning water into wine, but deciding against it. Geeta fixed her eyes on me and took a sip of her elixir. “Please, can we see the water list?” I asked. Our server bowed her head again and slipped away.
By the time our next course arrived, spirulina caviar in a fried sea moss nest, everyone seemed to have forgotten my faux pas.
“Amazing, right?” Matt said, tucking in.
“Beyond,” I told him. “It’s giving haute-couture mermaid.”
Geeta rolled her eyes at me. “You, of all people, should appreciate the art that is coming out of this kitchen. This is culinary storytelling.” She pointed to the open area in the back where white-aproned line cooks attended to their stations with military precision.
“No, I get it. I appreciate the effort involved. It’s impressive.”
Geeta’s face relaxed. “Thank you for pulling whatever strings you had to pull to get us a table.” With that, she raised her water tumbler (Greek, sparkling, 2005). “To Jenny Green.”
As I lifted my glass, I wondered how much of our previous dynamic had to do with my own failings to come to the table as an equal? Maybe Hal wasn’t the only one whose company Matt and Geeta collectively objected to. Maybe I was the problem.
Alex and Geeta started reminiscing about a retreat they had both been on, some getaway in the mountains of Idaho. Apparently there were tents outfitted with king-size beds and personal chefs who could fulfill any dietary request.
“They even managed to satisfy my spontaneous sushi craving up there in the mountains, hundreds of miles away from the ocean,” Geeta said. “They said it was all local fish sourced from the Snake River. I didn’t realize that sea urchin was available in Idaho.”
“That’s because it’s not,” I said, laughing.
“Did you get to talk to the shaman?” Alex asked. “She had such a wild story.” He began to fill us in on the spiritual guide’s backstory, which included an unfortunate accident involving circus parents and a baby elephant stepping on her big toe.
Alex shined in the company of others. He was an excellent raconteur. It was more than a great talent—it was a gift to me. I could lean back and not worry about Geeta shooting me the are-you-seriously-with-this-guy look that Hal used to inspire whenever he went off on one of his philosophical sermons. Most people were impressed by Hal’s breadth of arcane knowledge, but not Geeta. She could see right through him.
“Youdid the reishi mushroom experience, right?” Geeta asked. It took me a second to realize she was addressing me. Which meant that I had apparently been on this amazing retreat, too. I straightened my back.
“It’s such a crazy story,” Alex said, leaning over to rub my arm. “I can’t believe you haven’t told her, babe.”
“Jenny!” Geeta cried out. “Tell us what happened.”
“What happened,” I said unsteadily, “is something you will not believe.” I paused, unsure whether reishi mushrooms were hallucinogenic. “She and I made beautiful music on a bongo drum.” The group looked at me expectantly. “And then I took off my clothes and tried to do back walkovers.”
Alex’s brow furrowed. “You didn’t tell me that part.”
“You did naked gymnastics on a retreat with the Canadian prime minister?” Geeta snorted. “Are you sure you aren’t still tripping?”
“Might as well be,” Alex said, now rubbing my back. “The upcoming sale is making Jenny act all kinds of crazy.”
An upcoming sale explained all those suits back at my office who were desperate to talk to me about deal points. “The sale, yes. It has been very stressful,” I confirmed. I turned to my husband and twitched my nose.
“See?” Alex said. “She’s a nervous wreck.”
“The deal sounds bananas!” Geeta said. “I want to hear everything.”
“You don’t want to hear all the specifics,” I said. “Equity waterfalls, stock swaps, it all gives me a headache.”
Alex smiled at me like I was a prize. “Jenny doesn’t like giving up control,” he told our friends.
“Oh yes, we know that about her,” said Geeta. I stiffened at this characterization. When was I ever a control freak?
“Which is why,” Alex continued, “she’s decided to only sell a 49 percent stake—”
Just then our server came up from behind Geeta, bearing a breadbasket. I spotted olive sticks, my favorite. But Geeta held up her hand. “We’re fine,” she said.
The despondency must have shown on my face. “Sorry, Jenny,” Geeta said. “We don’t all have your discipline. The big party is only two weeks away and my new Victoria Beckham dress is not being my friend.”
“What big party?” I asked in a light tone.
“Uh... my engagement party?” Geeta said.
“The one that you and Alex are co-hosting,” Matt reminded me.
“Duh. I was just kidding,” I said unconvincingly. “It’s the sale. I am losing my mind.”
“Jenny.” Geeta angled her head toward the back of the dining room. I saw more than a hint of exasperation on her face. “Can you come with me? Now.”
The ladies lounge featured a wall-to-wall sink made of pebbles and enormous vases of hibiscus arrangements. The flowers were gorgeous, and I felt sorry for forcing my meal-delivery customers to ingest tiny versions of them.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Geeta said.
“Yeah, I told you, I’m great,” I said. “I’m just overwhelmed.”
“It’s not that. I know we don’t get to see each other that often, but I can still tell when you’re not, um, yourself. I thought you were on the edge of a nervous breakdown, but I’m starting to wonder if you’re in the midst of one.”
“I’m just go, go, go all the time. You know how it is.”
“I do know how it is. Sometimes I feel like I know too much.” Geeta pressed her lips together and stared at me. “Look,” she whispered. “You can still change your mind.”
Was she talking about the Memo?
“Change my mind about what? Selling my business?”
Geeta gave a shake of the head. “I just want you to take care of yourself. There’s more than one way to keep moving forward.” Her eyes moved side to side, as if she was scanning the restroom for spies. “I know you’re not a quitter, but you can say no. Rules aren’t always meant to be followed. You know you can still write your own. The way you used to.”
“But you’re the one who always said you had to do certain things to get where you needed to go. I’m doing the same thing, following my... path. I want to be a disruptor!”
She cocked her head. “Back in college, you were an OG disruptor.”
“I’m an OG disruptor now,” I corrected her. “In college I was just OG.”
“You were happier.”
“Isn’t that for me to say? I feel pretty happy right now.”
Her brown eyes bore into me. “I’m only saying this because I love you, Jenny. You don’t need all of this.”
There was little doubt what Geeta was trying to tell me. Memos were for people like her, not me. In her view, I wasn’t cut out for the fast lane. Desiree and her silver-haired associate had warned me about this. There was only enough room for so many winners, according to Geeta.
“The thing is, I like this,” I told her with more force. “I really do.”
“You were doing great, without the...”
“Without the...?” I kept staring at her, waiting for her to utter the forbidden word. Geeta tilted her gaze down to the ground.
“Why do you keep doing this?” I pressed.
Geeta had talked me out of taking my Memo at college, and now here she was, in a luxe powder room of an exclusive restaurant where we could both finally afford to dine, trying to convince me to get out of her way. Geeta loved me, but never as much as when she was the top banana. She preferred the nights we went out to dinner by ourselves, her treat. Now I was on her level, with an amazing man and a skyrocketing career, able to get a table at Le Lapin Vert and pay the tab, and she didn’t seem thrilled by it. Deep down, she wanted a best friend who was stuffing her face with buttered bread and despairing about the mess of her life.
Geeta’s phone buzzed and her expression changed when she glanced at the screen. She broke out into the kind of smile I had only seen her give her daughters—daughters who weren’t born yet. I knew it couldn’t be Matt texting her since he was sitting at the table bonding with Alex. Plus, she never looked at Matt that way.
I watched Geeta as her fingers flew over the screen. “We should probably get back to the boys,” she said at last, stuffing her phone back in her bag. “But, first—I have to pee.” With that, she placed her purse on the edge of the sink and headed into a stall. I waited a beat, then helped myself to the phone sticking out of the bag pocket. The phone was locked but that didn’t matter, I knew the code: 2543, the last four digits of our college apartment landline.
The most recent text was from somebody named Sharon.
I dreamed you and I were skinny-dipping in a fish tank.
Geeta had replied with a fish emoji and a blushing face.
I felt a wave of revulsion. Levi Fischer had sent the same text to Alice. Apart from that drunken New Year’s Eve in college when she kissed a gorgeous transfer student named Chiara, Geeta was pretty far on the straight side of the Kinsey scale. I clicked on the “info” button to see if “Sharon” was who I suspected “she” was. The email address that came up was [email protected].
What a loser. Levi couldn’t even be bothered to come up with new material. Geeta was the woman he’d been bragging about, the one with whom he had been “diversifying his portfolio.” I felt none of the satisfaction that usually came with being right.
How did their relationship date back this far? After all, we were currently in 2016, so Levi and Geeta had been engaged in some kind of escalating flirtation for what... six-plus years? And she hadn’t told me about any of it? I seethed with anger. I always told Geeta everything. But there was so much she had been hiding from me.
I returned the phone to her bag just in time for Geeta to emerge from the stall. She couldn’t resist checking her texts one last time.
“What’s going on?” I asked, watching her cheeks flush.
“It’s just this friend I met in Deer Valley... Sharon. She’s hilarious. You’d love her.”
“You should invite her to the engagement party,” I said chirpily, concealing my wounded ego.
“She’s pretty busy, but yeah—good idea,” Geeta muttered as she strode out of the bathroom.
Alex and Matt were having so much fun they barely acknowledged our return. Matt was slapping his thigh while Alex spoke in a wheezing voice, doing an impersonation of a winded old man. “You’re outta your element, Donny,” Matt said.
Geeta rolled her eyes at me and smiled warmly, as if nothing had happened on our bathroom break. “And to think, we almost missed the Big Lebowski appreciation segment of the evening,” I said. Now it was Matt’s turn to send Alex into a fit of laughter. I’d never noticed how deep my husband’s dimples were.
“Oh my god, this is transcendent,” Geeta said. “Try it, Jenny.”
I saw the tasting spoon in front of me. Nestled in it was a pea-colored blob studded with what appeared to be razor-thin radishes.
It was subtle at best, bordering on tasteless. But I wasn’t going to give Geeta any more cause for concern. If I was going to abide by the Memo, I had to prove that I could play along too.
“Damn, that’s exquisite,” I said, widening my eyes. “We are so coming back here.”
After the meal was over, the rest of the group waited outside while I fumbled in my pockets for my coat-check ticket. “Jenny, Jenny, Jenny,” the attendant said, stepping out of the shadows.
“Desiree,” I said, only half surprised to see her here. “I was wondering when we’d bump into each other.”
“Pittsburgh beckons you.” Desiree grabbed me by the wrist and yanked toward her. My body banged against the closet divider, hard enough to bruise my hip bone. Not that I’d ever know for sure.