Chapter 33 1215 PM Mia #2
“Probably apologize to Sasha, for starters.” Mia used her cursor to trace the border of the invitation. “Also, I sort of think we should go. I haven’t even seen the house yet.”
“I thought you went to that housewarming thing she had last summer?”
“I couldn’t. I got Covid two days before.”
“I wonder if I can find someone to give me Covid now.”
“Knock it off.”
“Mia, I don’t even know where Montclair is.”
“It’s in New Jersey.”
“Okay, but where.”
She hung up, then opened a chapter she was working on about Greta Thunberg and the climate strikes of 2019.
She read over a paragraph, closed the document, and googled “meeting someone at 39 vs getting eaten by a shark probability.” The results loaded.
She scanned a few of them before they began to depress her, at which point she impulsively ordered a three-hundred-dollar face cream from Sephora and, at least for a few minutes, felt better about her life.
Already Mia knew she would go to the party, even if it meant having to take the train to New Jersey.
She hadn’t seen Sasha in a while and she missed her.
Most of her social life these days revolved around Adam and Richie and her younger, single coworkers.
In the time that she had been with Lev, everyone else had gotten married and had children; then the pandemic hit and, like Sasha, they had all fled the city.
It was like one day she woke up and all of her female friends had packed up their lives and disappeared, leaving her with a bunch of twenty-seven-year-olds who bought purses they saw on TikTok, and two gay men.
It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing—Adam was still one of her closest friends—but she craved the kind of conversation she could have with Sasha, the way they used to make each other laugh.
In fact, she missed her so much that, a week earlier, she had reached out to her on a whim to see if she wanted to go to Miami for a weekend at the beginning of December, just the two of them.
They hadn’t taken a trip in a while—as she scrolled through Sasha’s Instagram, the last picture she found of herself was taken on Labor Day of 2018, when they all went out to Amagansett.
Her hair was shorter, and she was holding the cake she’d bought for Richie’s birthday.
Remembering the weekend, Mia felt a strange, squishy sadness. That was when she called Sasha.
“I know it’s cheesy and that we’re both, like, morally opposed to the existence of Florida,” she had said. “But hotels are shockingly cheap. I figure we can lie by the pool and order room service?”
It had taken Sasha a few days to give her a final answer—Prudence was only a year old, and between going back to work at the gallery and getting Ethan to preschool, there were some childcare logistics she had to work out—but once she did, and once she said yes, Mia felt her spirits lift higher than they had been in months.
She pictured the two of them lying next to each other on lounge chairs, taking embarrassing pictures of themselves drinking Aperol spritzes, and then making fun of everyone else who was doing the exact same thing.
Mia would come up with a great caption, and Sasha would tell her how much she had missed her wit, and for the entire afternoon they would laugh over stories they had laughed over a hundred times before.
This was what Mia needed. To remind herself of who she had been.
The disembodied voice made its final all-aboard call for the Keystone Regional to Harrisburg.
Pointing over Mia’s shoulder, Adam said, “Oh, look. There’s Richie.”
His sunglasses were still on. And the first thing he said to Mia was, “Is that my coffee?”
She gave it to him. He was wearing dark jeans and a black sweater. From beneath its collar she saw a few wisps of gray chest hair.
“What are you dressed as?” she asked. “Like, what’s your costume?”
Richie reached past her for a straw. He said, “You can’t tell? I’m Miserable.”
Another boarding announcement was made, this one for an Acela to Boston. Adam rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.
“Does anyone know what track we’re on?” he said.
“Two.” Mia gestured to the east end of the station. “It’s that way.”
They began to walk, Mia and Adam in front, with Richie a few steps behind.
Richie said, “We need an exit plan. I’m serious.”
“Relax.” Mia adjusted her tote bag. A woman passed in front of her with a rolling suitcase and she swerved out of the way. “It’s going to be fun.”
“What exactly about it is going to be fun? Is it the bobbing for apples that you’re looking forward to, or the screaming children?”
“I like bobbing for apples,” Adam said.
“I think what you’re all forgetting is that I have to do these things sober.”
They arrived at the escalator for track two, joining a loose approximation of a line.
Mia said, “It’s not going to go that late. Also, Theo’s band is playing, so you can look forward to that.”
“Uh, I didn’t realize Theo was in a band.”
When she stepped onto the escalator, a whoosh of heat from the train tracks hit Mia’s cheeks. She turned to look back at Adam and Richie.
“It’s a Bruce Springsteen cover band. Apparently he and some other guys from the country club they belong to started it.” She placed her hand on the railing. “Sasha told me about it on the phone.”
Richie lifted his sunglasses from his face and set them on top of his head.
He said, “That’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard.”