Chapter Thirteen
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
TONI
Greta and I might be as different as night and day, but one thing we have in common is punctuality. Dad hammered “On time is ten minutes early” into our brains at a very young age. Which is how we both end up approaching Willa and Audrey’s front door at exactly seven twenty.
“Wine and a plant? Isn’t that a bit overboard?” I ask.
“Wine is for dinner. The plant is a housewarming gift.”
“Oh,” I say. I’m holding two six-packs of craft beer and suddenly feel like I’m failing at being an adult.
“It can be from both of us,” Greta says, pushing the doorbell.
“Oh, thanks. Let me know how much I owe you.”
Greta gives me a look. “Don’t be silly. You look really cute.”
I glance down. For the first time in as long as I can remember I’m not wearing Fourteener gear. Jeans, a cream-colored fisherman’s sweater I stole from my dad a few years ago, my favorite pair of Onitsuka Tigers, a thrifted olive-green pea coat, and my hair is down and wild, like Audrey likes it. I’d sent a selfie to Max asking if I looked like I was trying too hard.
LOL. No.
“Max said I look like I’m about to haul in my lobster pots,” I say.
Greta’s eyes widen, she looks me up and down, and busts out laughing. I grin. Greta has a great laugh; it’s deep and throaty, as if it’s come from the very depths of her soul. I don’t even mind being on the receiving end. I miss hearing it.
“She’s not wrong,” Greta says.
The door opens and Willa greets us with a smile on her face and a glass of white wine in her hand. She’s wearing faded, slouchy boyfriend jeans and a long navy cashmere cardigan over a white T-shirt. Her hair is up in a messy bun and she is either not wearing makeup or has mastered the natural makeup look. Her look is so casually effortless it must have taken a lot of work.
“Bang on time. Come in, come in,” she says and steps aside.
“We’re a little early,” Greta says.
“Early is on time. Come in,” Willa says.
“No wonder you hired them,” I murmur to Greta as we enter. “Oh my God something smells amazing,” I then say.
Audrey walks up, a kitchen towel thrown over her shoulder, a warm and welcoming smile on her face. “We’re glad y’all could make it,” she says.
Audrey looks great, which is no surprise. Her short hair is very carefully mussed, unlike the sleek style she wears at work. She wears black tights, a roomy untucked light-blue button-down shirt, and bright red lipstick on her very, very kissable lips.
“This is from both of us.” Greta holds the plant out to Willa.
“A money plant. I like how you think,” Willa says.
“I thought I’d get a succulent since I wasn’t sure if you were plant people. I figured between the two of you one would remember to water it.” Greta glances around the room where plants of all sizes, shapes, and colors give it a cozy, lived-in feeling. “I needn’t have worried.”
“That’s all Willa,” Audrey says. “In fact, she has all the style.”
Willa holds her hands out in an exaggerated shrug. “Guilty as charged. Audrey is the food and wine connoisseur.”
Audrey makes the same gesture and reaches for the wine Greta holds out. “Thank you.”
I hold up the beer. “I guess I’ll drink this by myself.”
“Not on your life,” Willa says.
“Something smells delicious,” Greta says. She sheds her coat and reaches out for mine.
“Seafood gumbo,” Audrey says.
“Here, give me those,” Willa says. She reaches for the coats, but Greta says to point her in the right direction. Willa leads her out of the room. We watch them leave and don’t look at each other until we hear their chatter almost completely fade.
When I turn, I catch Audrey’s gaze traveling up my body.
“Hi,” I say, my own gaze drawn to her bright red lips.
“Hi, yourself. You look…” Her eyes travel down again, and she licks her lips. “Um, very nice.”
Lobsterman, my ass.
“So do you.” I can’t help it, my gaze drops to her lips again. That red lipstick is going to kill me.
“Toni,” she warns.
Our gazes meet, and I see that her eyes are a bit darker than they were moments before. I’ve seen flashes of that expression this past week, though Audrey’s done a good job of quickly snapping back to professional mode.
I drop my voice. “You’re thinking it, too. Don’t lie.”
“I’m thinking of how much I like your hair when it’s wild and free.”
“Yes, I know.”
“You don’t play fair,” Audrey says.
“And you do?”
“What have I done?”
“Besides the red lipstick?” Audrey blushes slightly. Thought so . “You exist, Audrey. In the same space with me. That’s it. That’s all you have to do.”
Audrey’s mouth drops open slightly and her expression shifts; her gaze lowers to my lips.
“Audrey, I love your place,” Greta says from behind us.
Audrey and I pull apart. I hadn’t realized how close we’d gotten and my face flushes with embarrassment. I move to the other side of the kitchen island. As much as I want Audrey, I haven’t forgotten Greta’s warning. I can do this. I can be professional. I can wait until Audrey finishes the project with the company. My goal over the next few months is to show Greta that I can do this job, and do it well, and to prove to Audrey that I’m not just some one-night stand.
Though looking around Audrey and Willa’s townhouse I start to think my initial impression that Audrey is out of my league is spot on. Everything is high end, or at least it seems like it to someone who’s slept outside on the trail for most of their life. Their townhouse is in Capitol Hill, a swanky part of Denver, and the interior looks like a spread from the Architectural Digest I flip through in my doctor’s waiting room. The couches are clean and have all their legs attached. The rug is fluffy and stain free, the colors coordinating with the pillows on the couch and the two facing club chairs. The gas fireplace is lit, and a Christmas tree with multicolored lights in the corner is giving off a festive glow. And then there’s the kitchen. Stainless steel appliances shine, the granite countertop is cool and smooth, the cabinets are painted a sleek gunmetal gray. Audrey stands behind the gas stove, stirring the gumbo, looking at ease and completely at home.
Greta’s voice jolts me out of my reverie.
“Toni, how’s the apartment search going?”
Greta sips her white wine and waits for my reply. Willa and Audrey are waiting for it, too, but I can’t speak. I glance back at Greta. It’s obvious she’s just making conversation, and there’s no malice in the question. Little does she know.
“I’m surprised Max hasn’t kicked you out yet,” Greta continues.
I sneak a glance at Audrey, whose eyebrows have risen to almost her hairline.
“Max?” Willa says.
“Toni’s oldest friend. We all grew up together in Aspen. She owns the Dew Drop Inn,” Greta says. “Toni stays with Max when she rolls back into town from her trips.”
“Do you?” Audrey says.
“I offered to let her stay with me,” Greta says. “I have a second bedroom. But apparently she prefers Max’s lumpy couch.”
Audrey does not look happy, and I can’t really blame her. She’s definitely not the kind of woman who expects to be having sex in a borrowed bed. God, I am such a dirtbag.
“I found a place today,” I lie. I haven’t had time to look for an apartment this week with work and all. It’s amazing how exhausted I am working in an office all day. I’ve gone back to Max’s, shoved food in my mouth, and crashed on the couch and fallen asleep to re-runs of Law and Order . Max hasn’t seemed eager to kick me out, though our schedules are so different we haven’t had time for a conversation. Besides, she likes splitting the bills too much.
“Oh great,” Willa says. “Where is it?”
“Um, not far from Max’s, as a matter of fact.” I mean, I do want to stay in that area, and I can afford it with the salary I’m getting, in addition to the monthly trust-fund allocation Greta and I have received since we each turned twenty-five. “I’m definitely going to need some decorating help.” I look around their house and then at Audrey. “Wanna help me?”
“Oh, I didn’t do any of this,” Audrey says coolly. “This is all Willa.”
“I’ll be happy to help you, Toni. I love that shit.”
“Great,” I say, hoping I’m hiding my disappointment. “When I get a move-in date, I’ll let you know.”
“I’ll need to see the space before, as well,” Willa says. “Come on, I’ll take y’all on a quick tour of the place.”
I don’t want to go. I want to stay and talk to Audrey, but Audrey says she’ll meet us on the deck, and I find myself following Willa and Greta around the townhome. It’s spotless, and everything is in its place. This much order and cleanliness makes my teeth itch. But Greta is in love.
“I need to hire you to redecorate my place,” Greta says.
Willa waves her hand. “I’ll do it for free. Well, maybe a nice bottle of wine now and then.”
“You’re on.”
“It might have to be after I finish this project I’m working on. The company owner is a real micro-manager.”
“God, she sounds awful,” Greta replies.
“You have no idea,” Willa says.
“Is it always this clean?” I ask, feeling surly for no reason I want to admit.
Willa is smiling, but she furrows her brows. Greta scowls behind Willa’s back and mouths, “What the fuck, Toni?”
“We just moved in a week ago and we haven’t been home much this week, so it’s a little more pristine than it normally is. But yeah. Auds and I are both tidy, thank God.”
“Ignore Toni,” Greta says. “She’s used to living in a tent.”
“No worries,” Willa says, leading us up a final flight of stairs. “We haven’t decided what we’re going to do up here, yet. Probably a TV room, though neither of us watch much TV. But this. This is why we bought this place.” Willa opens a sliding glass door to a rooftop deck with an amazing view of downtown Denver.
“Holy shit,” I say.
“Wow,” Greta says. “This is amazing, Willa.”
It’s not a huge space, but it’s big enough for a patio couch, two chairs, and a coffee table. Strings of Edison bulb lights are strung back and forth above the space, producing a cozy ambiance that is enhanced by the downtown view and the low music coming from a hidden speaker.
“We bought it for the view,” Willa says.
“Great location, spectacular view, lots of space. What a great investment,” Greta says.
“That’s what we thought, too. If we ever leave Denver, we can rent it out for a nice sum.”
“You’re thinking of leaving Denver?” I blurt.
“No,” Willa says, drawing out the word. “But we might have projects that take us to different parts of the country for extended periods of time.”
“Oh, right.” I take a huge swig of my beer, feeling the maturity chasm between me and Audrey, Willa, and Greta growing wider every time I open my mouth. I look up, hoping to see the stars but knowing the light pollution will block it.
“I miss it, too,” Greta says, looking up at the sky as well. “I love the city, but I miss the mountain sky at night.” She looks over at me, smiles and dips her chin ever so slightly, the way she used to when I was a kid trying to hang with her and her friends.
She never said things like, “You got this, sis,” because she needed to maintain her competitive, high-achieving reputation at all costs. I never acknowledged it, either, because I needed to make sure the chip on my shoulder that pushed me to be the best stayed firmly in place. It was a silent agreement between the two of us, our secret love language, as fucked up as that sounds. I haven’t gotten that signal from Greta in years. My chest swells with affection. I take another drink to swallow the lump in my throat. Greta looks away, and the moment is gone.
Willa lifts a cloth off the coffee table, revealing a meat and cheese platter like the kind you see in fancy wine bars.
“That looks delicious,” Greta says. “I love a charcuterie board.”
Greta and Willa sit on the couch and chatter on about the different meats and cheeses and debate the best way to build a cracker. Meat or cheese first? Where do you put the jam? They’re good-naturedly debating the different merits of the various layers when Audrey arrives, carrying another beer for me and a new bottle of wine.
“Gumbo will be ready in about twenty minutes,” Audrey says. She places the wine bottle and her glass on the table and brings the beer to me. She twists it open and hands it to me, her gaze locked on mine. For the life of me, I can’t read her. Is she trying to show me that there are no hard feelings about lying to her about the apartment? Or is she just being a good hostess?
I drain my beer and take the one she’s offering. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
I turn towards the view and lower my voice. “About the apartment…”
“Yes, about that,” Audrey says. Her eyes are cool as she rests her gaze on mine.
“I’m sorry. I, um, know you thought it was my apartment?—”
“And your bed.”
“Yes, my bed.” I clear my throat. “Max really didn’t mind.” Audrey raises an eyebrow (she does that a lot and it’s not nearly as cute when she isn’t trying to seduce me with it). “But what’s important is that it was disrespectful to you to not let you know, and I have no excuse except I wasn’t thinking straight and?—”
“So, Toni,” Willa calls. “Audrey says you are more than a pretty face.”
Audrey’s head whips around toward Willa’s voice.
“OK, she didn’t say that. But she did say that you have an impressive plan for the adventure division.”
“I can’t wait to hear it on Monday,” Greta says, before taking a bite of a cracker loaded with cheese and jam.
Somehow the cracker doesn’t crumble into bits in her hand. How does Greta make everything look so effortless? And why does she look especially beautiful and relaxed tonight when I feel like a taut wire about to snap?
“I want to hear it now. Just the highlights,” Willa says. Her legs are pulled up underneath her, and she has one arm on the back of the couch, propping up her head.
Greta leans back as well and crosses one long leg over the other.
Audrey settles into one of the chairs, her arms splayed on the arms like Jean-Luc Picard readying to give the order to Engage . She nods her head slightly and sips her wine glass.
I sit on the empty chair, which happens to be nearest Greta, and launch into my plans. As I speak, I’m in my head, imagining the future of Fourteener Adventures, remembering where I was when I had a particular idea, what trail I was hiking, who I was with, the guides from other countries who had been so generous with their time and knowledge, shooting holes in my plans and offering suggestions and advice for how to make something happen in their country. Shaking hands and making promises to collaborate, to respect their culture, community, and their natural resources if and when Fourteener Sports was ready. I mention the foundation idea, and Greta leans forward. She’s completely invested now, asking questions, making her own suggestions, until it’s a conversation between the two of us and we are feeding off each other’s enthusiasm. I glance up and catch Willa and Audrey sharing a smile. Audrey sees me watching, lifts her wine glass in toast, and winks at me.
“Toni, this is amazing,” Greta says. “I had no idea your plans were so extensive.”
I sit back and sip my beer. “Neither did I, until Audrey started asking me questions and making me put my plans into words.”
Greta looks between me and Audrey. “I had no idea,” she says again, in a low voice. She inhales and looks at me, a huge grin on her face. “You’re going to kill that presentation on Monday.”
I tense. “Yeah, about that.”
“What’s wrong?”
Audrey is on her phone, ignoring us.
“I can’t, Gert. I’m so bad at public speaking. My palms literally sweat. My palms have never sweated before.”
“Not even when you’ve cliff-jumped?” Willa asks. “Yes, I’ve googled you and watched all the crazy shit you do. How are you still alive?”
“Because I don’t take risks.”
Willa laughs. “Jumping off a cliff only wearing a flimsy wingsuit is a pretty big fucking risk.”
“But I’ve taken all the safety precautions, and double-checked them. By the time I jump, it’s almost an afterthought. It’s a relief. You’ve done all the work, now it’s time to enjoy the ride.”
“And make sure you don’t crash into the side of a cliff,” Willa says.
“That, too.”
“Greta, I just emailed the slide deck Toni put together this week, as well as the supporting detailed business plan. I don’t think Toni needs to do a formal presentation yet. She needs more public speaking training. I have no doubt that she will be able to make whatever presentation necessary to sell the tours to corporations eventually.”
Greta nods at Audrey and looks at me. I hold my breath, readying myself for a scolding for not completing the job, for not being good enough.
Greta grabs my arm and squeezes it. “You set your goal too low. You’re going to build the biggest adventure tour company in the world, and I’m going to help you do it.”
And for the first time in my life, I see admiration in my big sister’s eyes.