Chapter 2 #2
Then it was over, and the women were gathering their purses from the pews, and the men were loosening their ties, and somewhere to my left was the distinct sound of a beer cracking open.
My body felt inordinately exhausted, like I’d just run a marathon without realizing it.
I let out a long exhale and followed my dad up the center aisle and outside to the bright, blinding sunlight.
It’s over, I realized with relief. I ducked away from the crowd and checked my watch: 1:15 P.M. Only twenty-six hours until my flight home. I did it, I thought. I fulfilled my promise to myself. I got through the worst of this weekend.
“Louisa!” someone called.
I turned, and there were my two oldest friends, Emma and Candor, waiting for me in the church garden. I hadn’t expected them to be here, and the swell of gratitude I felt was enough to put a lump in my throat. “Guys,” I said, opening my arms wide, “oh my god, you came—”
“Of course we did!” Candor trilled, launching herself at me.
“We had to see our Louisa Ebeneeza!” Emma squealed, wrapping all three of us in a hug.
It was my old nickname, the one they’d given me after our class put on A Christmas Carol for the fifth-grade play.
Hearing it now was like a familiar balm, reminding me that I was still me, that I could be old and new at the same time.
“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” I said, squeezing them both.
“Same, though,” Emma said emphatically. Then she drew up short, cocking an eyebrow. “I mean, as happy as we’re allowed to be at a funeral.”
“We’re so sorry about Uncle George,” Candor said, squeezing my hands. “He was one of the good ones.”
Emma leaned in conspiratorially. “But we’re not sorry that it gave you an excuse to come home.”
I grinned. “I missed y’all.”
“We missed you, too,” Emma said. “Do we look different? Older? Hotter?”
“Have we ma-tured?” Candor asked, imitating the way our old principal had pronounced the word.
I took them in: Candor with her adorable gap-toothed smile, her thick-framed purple glasses, her warm sepia skin.
Her chin acne had cleared up and she wore her hair in bouncy corkscrew curls that suited her personality.
Emma was still long and lanky, her summer freckles popping against her fair white skin.
Her thin yellow hair was in its usual high ponytail, but the piercings running up the sides of her ears were new.
“Y’all look amazing. Couple of heartbreakers, to be honest.”
“Oh, stawwwp,” said Candor, swatting me.
“I bet you say that to all the girls,” Emma said, waggling her eyebrows. “Ayyyy.”
I barked out a laugh. My heart started beating fast, but not in a bad way.
I had come out to Emma and Candor a few weeks before my Instagram post, and they had been supportive, joyful, and full of good-natured teasing.
I was grateful to know that teasing extended to seeing me in person, and that they were ready and willing to acknowledge all parts of my life.
Here were the two people who could hold space for Uncle George and me at the same time.
“How’d it go with Amos and Martha?” Candor asked with a meaningful eyebrow raise.
“Ooof,” I huffed. “I mean, they’re basically pretending I never came out at all. And Dad is letting them.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Emma said, her jaw dropping dramatically.
“I’ll kill them,” Candor said, dragging a pretend knife across her throat.
“I don’t know why I’m surprised anymore.” I sighed and shook it off. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter. I just have to make it through the rest of today, and then I’ll be out of this hellhole.”
My friends’ smiles faltered, and I knew instantly that I’d put my foot in my mouth.
Candor and Emma had their own complicated relationships with Rustin, but this was still their home, and I had just insulted it.
It was a reminder of the divide that had started to grow between us since I’d moved away, no matter how hard we tried to keep up our friendship.
“Sorry,” I said hastily, “I just meant—”
“No, it’s okay, we get it,” Candor said with an overly bright smile.
Emma nodded, but the spark was gone from her eyes. “We know it’s hard for you to come back here.”
“It’s not—I mean, it’s not that I don’t love seeing you guys—” I started.
“You’re still coming tonight, though, right?” Emma cut in as Candor nodded vigorously at her side. They were clearly eager to move past my misstep. “To the field party?”
They had mentioned this party a couple of times in our group text.
From what I could tell, it was basically an excuse to drink, flirt, and mess around with all the kids we’d grown up with.
I wasn’t exactly thrilled at the idea of facing my old classmates, but I would do it for Emma and Candor’s sake, especially now that I’d hurt their feelings.
“A million percent,” I confirmed. “Just gotta get through this luncheon at Grandma and Grandpa’s first.” I paused, an idea occurring to me.
“Hey, do y’all wanna come? I could use a buffer with Amos and Martha.
There’ll be catering from Tambrie’s, and we might be able to sneak some drinks, and my dad will probably let me borrow the truck so we could go back to Em’s house and get ready together… ”
I trailed off at the looks on their faces: matching expressions that said they weren’t sure how to let me down easy.
“What?” I asked. “What’s wrong?”
“Oh, no, nothing!” Candor said. “It’s just … Aubrey got a new car. And we’re supposed to test-drive it with her.”
Aubrey. A name that landed like a bucket of ice water on my head.
I had completely forgotten about their new best friend, the one they’d been raving about since last August. After their first day of senior year at Rustin Preparatory Academy—a full three weeks before I’d started in Connecticut—Emma and Candor had FaceTimed to drop the news that not only was Coach Calhoun’s daughter enrolled in their school, but she had sat at their lunch table.
She’s so nice and pretty, Candor had said wistfully, it’s like hanging out with a really down-to-earth celebrity.
Dude, she offered us box tickets for the Rustin home opener! Emma had raved later, as if she’d forgotten the time we got box tickets through Uncle George.
It feels like we’ve known her our whole lives! Candor had texted after their first group sleepover.
A thousand miles away, I’d felt the ugly twist of jealousy in my stomach.
It had only ever been Emma, Candor, and me.
Even after I’d moved away, we had talked every day, and they had never let anyone else into the trio.
How was a fourth person going to fit into our dynamic?
And what if they liked her better than me?
“It’s a brand-new Audi,” Emma said impressively. “Her dad is doing, like, a promotion with the local dealership.”
“A convertible,” Candor added. “And she offered to drive us all tonight!”
“Wow,” I said, hoping I sounded enthusiastic. It was clear they wanted me to share in their excitement. “No, that’s … that’s awesome. You should definitely test-drive it.”
“Sorry,” Candor said, biting her lip.
“We made the plan a couple of weeks ago,” Emma said apologetically.
“No, guys, it’s cool. I get it. I’ll just see you for the party.”
There was a lingering moment of awkwardness as the sun beat down on the three of us.
“Well, good luck with the luncheon!” Candor said, squeezing my hand again. “We can’t wait to have you all to ourselves later!”
I resisted the urge to point out that all to ourselves shouldn’t include their new best friend. “I’ll be there,” I promised.
The luncheon felt almost as crowded as the service had been, even though I knew there couldn’t have been more than fifty people present. Grandma put me to work setting up extra card tables in the backyard, complete with linen tablecloths, sunflower bouquets, and cloth napkins.
“Are you sure you don’t wanna use paper napkins, Mom?” my dad asked. “I’d hate for you to wash all these later.”
Grandma tutted with her hands on her hips. “Good lord, Tate, what would people think, that we’ve gone to the poorhouse? I raised you better than that.”
In the dining room, Ms. Tambrie herself had assembled a buffet that could feed the entire Rustin football team: crispy mountains of fried chicken, steaming pans of collard greens and macaroni and cheese, vats of potato salad, and a tub of banana pudding nearly as big as my suitcase.
Her corn bread had a place of honor on its own table, complete with serving bowls of butter, jam, and honey.
“Another piece, Amos?” Ms. Tambrie asked sweetly.
“Amos Wade, you get over here and greet our guests!” Grandma barked from the foyer. She was fussing over the photo boards with Aunt Shannon, who had finally, sensibly, taken her hair down.
Grandpa grumbled and quickly took the plate of corn bread.
Then he hooked me by the elbow on his way out of the dining room.
“Go find out that fella’s name,” he ordered, tipping his chin toward the corner.
“He keeps saying hi like he knows me or something. Got a voice like a baby choking on its own spit.”
I frowned, glancing at the man with the cloud of curly red hair. “That’s Uncle Keith’s brother, Jeff. You played gin rummy with him at Aunt Shannon’s barbecue last summer.” I hesitated, then gave in to my impulse. “You drank five martinis and called him Ronald McDonald all night.”
Grandpa didn’t seem to notice my cheek. “Pfft,” he said, rolling his eyes. “How am I supposed to remember that?”