Chapter 18
In the days that follow, I can’t stop thinking about how Chris reacted when I brought up Luke. It makes me wonder how things
used to be, before the car accident.
I look Luke up on the internet and find his college sports profile. He played varsity baseball at Vanderbilt and was captain
his senior year. Another few clicks lead me to an old bio at a New York accounting firm. It looks like Luke earned his CPA
and moved to Manhattan after college. My sleuthing also uncovers an engagement announcement in The New York Times for Luke and his fiancée, a Miss Tiffany Eloise Rockwell. Tiffany has the same blonde, bony look as Olivia. It seems the
accident came before the wedding. I try to find Tiffany on social media but can’t. She might have a new last name by now.
It doesn’t feel right that she could just move on and marry someone new when Luke’s whole life was snatched.
Luke’s obituary is one of those short generic ones that feels like it was written from a template where you fill in the name
and dates and—presto—death certificate, please. I can’t think of anything more offensive than having such a measly obituary.
It gives off the impression that his whole life was only two puny little paragraphs, written in size 8 Times New Roman, the
least expressive of all fonts.
“Maybe I should be an obituary writer,” I fume to Tara and Hal one night when we’re eating pizza and garlic knots in the back garden. Astrid’s there too, attached to Hal’s hip like she always is these days.
Summer has stuffed its way back into the city. There’s not much of a breeze in the courtyard, so Hal has ripped off the top
of the pizza box and repurposed it into a fan. It’s not her worst invention to date.
“That sounds like the most dismal of all professions,” Hal says. “Making your living from other people’s deaths.”
“I don’t know,” Tara says, head tilted as if she’s assessing the angle of it, the art of it. “It’s a beautiful way to honor
the dead.”
“Exactly,” I say. “It’s a way to share their legacy, carry it on.”
“What’s got you on this death obsession, EJ?” Hal wants to know. “Did someone kick the can?”
“Yes,” I say. “Luke did.”
The rest of them sit there for a moment, looking at each other as if trying to feel out whether they should know who this
is, if he was one of my flings they can’t keep track of.
“Chris’s brother,” I elaborate. “He died a few years ago, but the obituary was abysmal. An insult to his memory, really. I
wish I’d known him so I could’ve written a better one.”
Tara and Hal exchange a look that reeks of misplaced suspicion. “Does he still have that girlfriend?” Hal asks.
“Of course Luke doesn’t have a girlfriend,” I snap. “He’s six feet under.”
“Not Luke, obviously,” Hal says. “Chris.”
I tell her that yes, Chris and Olivia are still together, but I have a theory about that.
“Olivia looks exactly like the woman Luke was engaged to before he died,” I tell them.
“So it’s pretty clear that Chris isn’t actually in love with Olivia.
He’s just trying to live out his brother’s dream life and call it his own.
It’s probably why he’s still working that boring accountant job, because he always looked up to his brother and followed in his footsteps.
And now that he doesn’t have anyone to follow, he’s following a ghost.”
Hal and Tara appear skeptical and concerned, but Astrid is nodding along.
“I’ve seen that happen before,” Astrid says, and her accent draws me in more than I want it to, the way it carves and contours
every word. “After my father died, my mother couldn’t make a single decision without asking if it was what my father would’ve
done. It was sad to watch, because in a lot of ways she lost her own life, too, when we lost my father. That was a long time
ago now. But still, it sometimes feels like she’s trying to live two people’s lives at once.”
I feel a deep fondness for Astrid in that moment. Part of me wants to initiate her into the Redstockings and fill Jenni’s
place. But the dynamic with her dating Hal feels like it would disrupt the platonic values of the group. Still, I’m actually
glad she’s here and hope she sticks around for a while.
“Did you ever tell your mom you felt like that?” Hal asks, leaning her head on Astrid’s shoulder.
“Not really,” Astrid says. “I tried to go along with everything she wanted so I wouldn’t make her life harder. Probably why
I ultimately rebelled and moved to America.” Her tilted front teeth jut out, the kind of smile that’s prettier because it’s
not perfect. “And fell in love with a woman,” she adds.
Hal does a double take. We all do.
“You love me?” Hal balks.
“Of course I do, Hally,” Astrid trills, looking into Hal’s eyes like she’s translating a book from Norwegian to English and
back again. “And you love me too.”
Hal looks stunned and I think she’s going to dispute it. But after a moment, her edges fold inward like origami.
“Guess I do,” she admits, with the movements of a child who’s been caught stealing candy, then told she can keep it.
Tara and I look at each other. We’ve never seen Hal in love before, and my own fear is reflected back on Tara’s face like
flares of a forest inferno we thought was only a campfire. Hal is too nonconformist to go the way of Jenni. It’s not marriage
we’re worried about, but Astrid has still become a threat. Though chances are that once whatever start-up they’re working
on goes bust, their relationship will follow suit. I’m not rooting for it, but I won’t be heartbroken when it happens, that’s
all.
“Just be careful,” I say to Hal and Astrid, like I’m the subject matter expert here. “Love is the worst kind of vine. Sometimes
it’s hard to realize you’re getting choked until it’s too late.”
Hal and Astrid divvy up a giggle that makes me feel like I’m the outsider here, not Astrid. “And sometimes it’s hard to realize
when you’re getting un-choked too,” Hal says.
I don’t know what she means and I don’t really want to. I just want things to go back to how they were. “Who wants to go out
tonight?” I ask. “House of Yes?”
“I would, but I’ve got a shift at the bar,” Tara says.
Hal’s out too. “We’ve got to get back to our business plan.”
“Next time, though,” Astrid chimes in. “Definitely next time.”
“Well, what am I supposed to do tonight?” I sulk, not bothering to keep the thought to myself.
“You could come hang out at Lone Wolf while I work,” Tara suggests. “Entertain the crowd with your jukebox dancing.”
“I’m tired of that,” I brood. “It’s the same people every night. I need variety.”
“Why don’t you go see Chris?” Hal says. “Ask him more about Luke.”
It appeals more than it should. “Bad idea,” I decline. “He doesn’t want to talk about Luke.”
“Sometimes the things we want don’t match up with the things we need,” Hal says in her guru voice.
“But sometimes they do match up,” Astrid whispers to Hal, inducing my gag reflex once more.
“Look, I’m not going to force it out of Chris,” I say, steamrolling over their moment. “I’m not his therapist.”
“That’s true,” Tara agrees. “But you are his friend. And sometimes friends are supposed to pry, if it’s coming from a place
of truly caring about the other person.”
“I don’t care that much about him,” I say. It feels important to state that aloud so my brain might interpret it as truth,
play it back later while I’m sleeping, persuade my subconscious to register it as fact.
“Well, you’re a very empathetic person,” Tara says. She hands me the last slice of pizza because she’s a true friend like
that. “You feel things deeply.”
I’ve never thought of myself as particularly empathetic. At least not since I was a little kid, when the weight of the world
encased me in a gravitational vortex set in motion by my own mass. Before I learned how to break the curse of caring about
what everyone thought and felt about me.
“I guess that’s right,” I say. Tara has that way of making me take her side, even if I don’t intend to. “Chris is lucky to
have me.”
“He is,” Tara says. “But not as lucky as we are.”
“Enough with all the mushy confessions,” Hal says, but she’s glowing. “Time to get back to business.” She opens her laptop,
furrows her brows at the screen again, as if taking this one night off might send everything careening off course.
Tara hops up to change into her bartending attire. I follow her into our bedroom so I can get some space from Hal and Astrid.
“You sure you don’t want to come along to the bar?” Tara asks, pulling on jean shorts and a black V-neck. The Lone Wolf uniform
is casual, no surprise there.
“That’s alright,” I say, though it means a lot how she goes out of her way to ensure I’m not left out. “Think I’m just going to drive Uber; it’s been a while since I have.”
“Over to Tribeca?” Tara asks lightly.
I try to arrange my face as neutrally as I can. “Only if someone needs a ride over there.”
Tara doesn’t pry, just dabs Vaseline on her lips and eyelids.
“I’m just driving Uber so I can pay rent,” I remind her. “Nothing else.”
“EJ,” Tara says, nipping up her purse and hurrying out the door so she’s not late. “I know you pride yourself on being a great
liar, but I can always tell. Your voice goes up two octaves.”
“No, it doesn’t.” I lower my pitch to prove my point, hammer it home.
“And you don’t blink, like you’re trying to overcompensate and prove how trustworthy you are.”
“I blink,” I say, but I know she’s right.
“Your antics might work on most people,” Tara says. “But not on me. We’ve been friends for over a decade now, EJ. I’ve had
some time to figure you out.”
“Or maybe I just want you to know when I’m lying,” I say, and it feels like the truest thing I’ve said in a while. “Have you
ever thought about that?”
“Hmm,” Tara says. “That theory makes me feel kind of good.”
“It should,” I tell her. “You and Hal are my people. You always will be.”
Tara shifts on her feet. I can sense her own fears over Hal and Astrid’s relationship becoming serious. “Always?” she asks.
Her eyes are so wide and vulnerable. It gives me a glimpse into younger Tara, who was shuffled through the foster system from
one temporary home to another.
I nod and loop her into a hug, my lips brushing her cheek. “Always,” I say. “Unless you join a polycule with Hal and Astrid and leave me out.”
Tara laughs, but the vibration is off. “Yeah, right,” she says. “Hal seems perfectly happy having Astrid to herself.”
It hits me slowly but all at once. “Shit,” I say, looking at Tara with fresh eyes. “You and Hal?”
“No, of course not,” Tara says quickly. “Nothing’s ever happened.”
“But you love her.”
Tara doesn’t say anything. She’s staring at her feet. “I love all the Redstockings.”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed about,” I say. “Everyone’s been in love with Hal at some point. Lucky for me, I got my crush out
of my system back in college.”
“Mine is proving a little trickier to overcome,” Tara says. “But it’ll pass. I guess you and I are both in our unrequited
love era.”
“No, I told you I got over Hal in college. Freshman spring, actually, when she was such a know-it-all in that economics class.”
“I wasn’t saying your unrequited love is with Hal,” Tara says. “It’s Chris, obviously.”
“Are you high?” I ask, then tilt the conversation back to Tara’s problem. “Have you ever tried sitting by Hal during one of
her work sessions when she talks out loud to herself in all that jargon with all those acronyms? It’s the most repelling thing.”
Tara smiles, even if it’s a limp little thing. “Good point,” she says. “I should do that more often.”
“It should work instantly,” I tell her and squeeze her hand. “Or your money back.”
Hal appears in the doorway, coming in from the garden. “What’re you talking about? A new type of magic mushroom?”
“Yeah,” I say, grinning at Tara as we share our private joke. “Something like that.”
“Well, count me in,” Hal says. “I need all the biohacks I can get to reach peak performance and optimize my efficiency as Astrid and I incubate the beta prototype of our proprietary software platform.”
Told you so, I mouth to Tara over Hal’s shoulder, and Tara giggles, the glimmer back in her eyes.