Chapter 1 Audrey #2
“The foliage is remarkable,” Jasmine says brightly. “The forecast says it’ll be a beautiful weekend. Are you busy with the reunion, Micah? I looked at the class Facebook page and saw that you’re in charge. Chairman?”
“Most of the stuff is all in place,” Micah says. “The committee’s been great.”
More silence. I reach for a bottle of wine, twist off the cap and fill four glasses.
“Figured we’d need this,” I say. “Grease the wheels, so to speak.” We’ve never had a legal drink together.
The thought makes a lump form in my throat.
With some effort, I look around at each of them.
“To the Core Four, I guess. Thank you for coming.”
“To the Core Four,” they echo. Jasmine smiles, Micah stares at her lap and Beck wears a grim expression.
We all take a healthy swallow, and Beck leans forward and grabs some cheese and meat and puts them on her plate.
“I’m starving,” she says. The others take some, too, though Jasmine only nibbles on a cracker.
I glance at my phone for a moment. “To get things started, why don’t we give a nutshell summary of our lives?” I say, putting the phone away. “Micah? You go first.” It’s not a request.
She shifts, tucking a curl of hair behind her ear. She has a gray streak now. I didn’t notice it before. “Okay, well. Um . . . so . . . well, I had a baby seven months after we graduated.”
“What? Whoa,” Beck says. “Sorry. My mom got transferred a few months after the . . . after graduation. I didn’t know you had a baby.”
“Yeah,” Micah says. “I mean, crap timing, great kid. Logan. He’s twenty-four, lives in Boston, works in finance.” I don’t think I’ve ever met Micah’s son. I don’t go to Lola’s Bakery.
“Did you marry James, then?” Jasmine asks.
Micah forces a laugh. “The least likely to marry her high school sweetheart ended up married to her high school sweetheart,” she says.
“It did take him six years to convince me. I mean, we were together, but the ring on the finger took a while.” Micah takes another gulp of wine.
She’s almost done with her first glass already.
“I run the bakery with my mom, and James is a mechanic. It’s a good life.
” Her cheeks are flushed, and she pours herself more wine.
“How’s your sister?” Beck asks. “Still around?”
“She lives in Boston these days,” Micah says, her voice casual. “She’s actually a travel writer. And, um, influencer. She started writing for travel magazines and became an influencer. Eve’s Suitcase.”
Ouch. That was Micah’s dream.
“Oh my God! Eve’s Suitcase is your sister?” Jasmine exclaims. “I follow her, but I didn’t recognize her. She’s changed a lot from the old days. We went to Singapore and stayed in the hotel she recommended. Capella Singapore?” She looks around at the rest of us. “Norman Foster designed it.”
Mr. Littlejeans, as if sensing Micah’s distress, jumps onto her lap, purring. Micah grabs a cluster of grapes and starts popping them in her mouth, apparently finished with her life summary.
“How about you, Jasmine?” I ask. “What’s your life like?”
“Yeah, Jasmine. What’s your life like?” Beck echoes. Her voice is deceptively mild, but her eyes are hard.
Jasmine flushes. “It’s wonderful, truly. I don’t know if you guys know this, Audrey and Micah, but actually, I met my husband through Beck.”
Beck raises her eyebrows. “That’s one way of putting it. Oscar and I were on a date when we ran into Jasmine.”
“Oh,” Micah says. “Was that less back-stabby than it sounds?”
I almost smile. I always did love Micah’s directness.
“Oh, no, it wasn’t like that at all!” Jasmine protests.
“I mean, it was a while before Oscar and I started dating. As Beck said, I ran into them in a restaurant one night, and we chatted for a few minutes. And then they broke up, and about a year later, Oscar and I intersected at a work thing because we both worked on Wall Street, and—”
“You got married a year later,” Beck says, her voice calm. “You started dating just a few weeks after we broke up.”
“I . . . I don’t remember, exactly. It’s been decades, okay? But I do remember that he told me you broke up with him, Beck.”
“That’s true,” Beck says, eating another slice of cheddar. “Great cheese, Audrey.” I feel a tug of affection. Beck always loved cheese.
“Anyway,” Jasmine continues, her voice tight and fast, “we got married and have three beautiful girls and live in Greenwich, which is so snobby and cliché, but Oscar needs to be close to the city and we have to entertain a lot. I never thought I’d end up there—”
“Oh, come on. You always wanted to end up there,” Micah says. “A mansion in Connecticut and a private jet. Remember?” Her voice is not unkind.
Jasmine’s face grows redder. “Anyway, Lydia is sixteen, Lucy is fourteen and Lyra is four. Let’s just say it took quite a bit of schedule-rearranging to get here! Not that I’m complaining, Audrey. It’s . . . it’s great to see everyone.”
“Do you work?” Micah asks.
“Well,” Jasmine says, “the girls need me to be home for them. I dabble in the market for some friends, but no, not seriously. I’m sure I’ll start again when I have a teeny bit more time.
I did mention that Lyra’s four, right?” She gives a fake laugh.
There is something off about her face. She’s pretty enough, but something is different.
Don’t get lost in the weeds, Audrey. I glance again at my phone. “How about you, Beck?”
“I’m good,” Beck says, crossing her legs, rubbing her upper thigh. “I live on the Upper West Side in Manhattan. I’m a casting director. I have the aforementioned Mr. Littlejeans.” The cat gives a croaky meow, and Beck’s mouth tugs.
“What is a casting director, exactly?” I ask. Is that something I should know? Did I already know that? Did I look that up? Gracie must pick up on my confusion, because she jumps onto the couch next to me.
Beck cracks her knuckles, an old habit. “I work with the director of a film or TV series and find the right person for the role. I read the script, think about who’d fit the different parts, work with the producers and all that. Sometimes the actor is already established, sometimes not. It’s fun.”
“You’re underselling yourself,” Jasmine says. “I see your name all the time in the credits.”
Beck shrugs.
“And basketball?” I ask gently.
Beck pauses. “No. Never could play again.”
“That must be really hard,” I say.
“Yeah. It was. So my life went in a different direction, but it’s all good. I have a nice group of friends and get to visit LA a lot.” She smiles, but it’s not a real smile.
“Are you with someone?” Micah asks.
“Just Mr. Littlejeans,” Beck says. “I’m a happy, childless cat lady.”
“Cheers to that,” Micah says. We all smile, a little more authentically this time, I think.
“What about you, Audrey?” Beck asks, and I jump, my heart clattering.
I swallow. “Well, um, before I talk about that,” I say, “I think we should do something. Nothing, you know, nothing too Lord of the Flies, not to worry.” Shit.
Was that funny? I did have a plan for all this.
It’s the reason I invited them here, after all.
“Sorry . . .” I glance at my phone to look at my notes.
“I think we should kill the elephant in the room.”
“That’s a lot of blood,” Beck says.
“What is?”
“Killing an elephant. Not that I’m for that. I love elephants.”
“We saw them on a trip to Tanzania three years ago,” Jasmine says. “It was a spiritual experience. Just amazing. My oldest cried, she was so moved.”
“Let Audrey talk,” Micah says, and I shoot her a grateful look.
“Right,” I say. “Um, so twenty-five years is a long time. And I . . . well, I’ve thought about you three a lot over the years. This weekend felt like . . . maybe it was the right time to . . . apologize. For the accident.”
Silence, thick and black as smoke, falls over the four of us. From the corner, the grandfather clock ticks loudly, ominously. Gracie wags her tail, dreaming.
No one says a thing. Micah stares at her wedding ring. Beck rubs her leg. Jasmine smiles idiotically.
I stand up, walk over to the bookcase that lines the wall and return with a photo of my mom, one of my favorites.
Dad took it on a vacation to France, and in the photo, Mom stands on a hill, the rolling fields of lavender behind her, hair blowing in the wind.
She’s looking right at the camera, that perpetual smile on her face, her happy brown eyes.
I miss her so much.
I set the picture on the table, then look at the other three. They feel it, too.
“Let’s talk,” I say, and my voice is husky, my throat tight.
I sit back down, take another look at my phone.
“I’ll go first. The accident . . .” I swallow hard and stare at the photo.
“I’ve been over that night a thousand times, and I think we can all find a way to blame ourselves.
I’m sorry I couldn’t drive that night. I hope you’ll forgive me. ”
I’d like to say I’ve waited a long time to say these words, but the fact is, the idea is still a newborn, vulnerable and fresh. Do I mean the words? I have to. I have no other choice. I can’t let things stay the way they’ve been all these years.
Beck takes a long breath and lets it out slowly. Jasmine fumbles in her purse for a tissue. Micah sits there, frozen and looking sick.
“Thank you, Audrey,” Jasmine says, her voice catching.
“I guess I’ll go next. I mean, I was driving.
We all know that.” Her lips scrunch up and tears spill out of her pretty green eyes.
“I was inexperienced with a stick shift, but that’s all.
They took my blood alcohol, and it wasn’t even close to drunk driving.
I mean, I’d had a beer or two. All I remember is looking down at the gear stick, and Beck being all wild and silly—”
“Sorry I was car-dancing,” Beck snaps.
“You shoved a hairbrush in my face,” Jasmine snaps back. “And you were supposed to make sure Micah stayed sober.”
“Right. It was my job to babysit Micah. I failed,” Beck says, her words hard.