Chapter 15 Lainey
After the fiasco in Dallas, I seriously can’t believe Hannah would reach out to Olivia. Especially when I made it crystal clear how I felt. At the same time, I feel a little guilty for blowing up at her, especially at such a fragile point in her own life. I excuse myself, explaining that I’m going to go work on our dinner reservation with our concierge.
I find Alessandro at his desk.
“Good evening, Miss Lawson,” he says.
“Good evening, Alessandro,” I say, sitting in the chair across from him. “Please call me Lainey!”
“As you wish, Lainey,” he says, giving me a nod that reminds me of a royal bow. “How might I assist you this evening?”
“My friends and I were wondering if you could recommend a restaurant for dinner. Something casual—and nearby. We’re starving.”
“Of course.” Alessandro nods. “Capri is all rather casual and easy—”
“Yes, but this casual?” I say, gesturing down at my cropped white jeans, cotton top, and flip-flops.
“Yes. Sei bellisima,” he says, his brown eyes twinkling.
I can tell it’s a compliment, but I still say, “I’m sorry. I don’t know much Italian.”
“You look beautiful,” he says.
“Ohh. Grazie,” I say. “You’re bellisima, too.”
He laughs a deep, rich laugh. “La ringrazio.”
I smile back at him as he folds his hands across the leather blotter on his desk, then says, “So tell me. What sort of cuisine are you and your friends looking for this evening?”
“Hmm. I think we want to go out on a bit of a limb tonight and try…Italian.”
He laughs again and says, “Excellent choice. Just give me a moment and I’ll make some calls for you.”
“La ringrazio,” I say with a wink. “I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
I get up from the desk and head to the bar, grabbing one more drink. By the time I return to the lobby, Tyson and Hannah are waiting for me. Alessandro informs us that he has booked us a table at Da Giorgio, a nearby local favorite, then gives us easy walking directions.
I thank him, then ask what I should order.
“Everything is fabulous,” he says. “You can’t go wrong.”
“But I want to know your favorite,” I say.
“In that case,” he says, “I always get the spaghetti alle vongole.”
“Okay!” I say. “Well, then that’s what I’m having!”
As we exit the lobby, Tyson calls me shameless. “That’s what I’m having,” he mimics in a high, flirty voice. “Do you even know what vongoles are?”
“No,” I say. “But they sure sound good in that accent!”
“Pretty sure we’re the ones with the accent right now,” Tyson says.
“Yeah, but when he’s speaking English, he has an Italian accent,” I say.
“She’s got a point,” Hannah says.
I give Tyson a smug smile, then take Hannah’s hand in mine, intertwining our fingers. It’s my way of telling her that I’ve fully forgiven her, and she gives me a grateful smile.
“This feels so European, doesn’t it?” I ask, swinging our arms.
“What’s that?” she says.
“Holding hands with friends…It’s nice.”
“Europeans aren’t as homophobic as Americans,” Tyson says. “It’s not uncommon for straight men in Italy to kiss hello, hold hands, or even fix each other’s hair.”
“And order spritzes!” I say.
“Touché,” Tyson says.
A few minutes later, we arrive at Da Giorgio, which is connected to a hotel of the same name. Passing under a stucco archway, we check in with a hostess who directs us down a narrow corridor toward a large, bright dining room. The vibe is casual and homey—devoid of glamour but in a nice way. Even better, an entire wall of windows offers incredible harbor views.
The cuisine turns out to be as amazing as Alessandro promised, and as the sky gradually darkens, turning a deep indigo, I feel a growing contentment and affection for my friends. I know some of that has to do with my deepening buzz, but it’s not only that.
“I love you guys,” I say as we finish our wine.
“We love you more,” Hannah says.
“Well, maybe not more.” Tyson smiles.
“Hey, I’ll take whatever I can get from you,” I tell him.
“You always do,” he quips.
I laugh, then look over at Hannah. “I’m just glad we’re here together. And that you got out of that relationship. It’s the silver lining to busting Grady the way you did. Without firsthand proof, you might have married that guy.”
Hannah sighs and nods.
“Even without the cheating, you would have been settling,” Tyson says.
“Totally,” I say, waiting for Hannah’s reaction.
When she doesn’t respond, I ask her directly. “Can you see that now?”
“I guess. Now that I’ve taken a step back. But I still miss him. Or at least who I thought he was and what I thought we had.” Hannah pauses, then continues, “And I’m not going to lie—I’m very worried that I’ll never find someone.”
“Yes, you will,” I say. “You totally will.”
“I hope so. I really want a family.”
“You’ll have that. And at thirty-two, you still have plenty of time. But if you’re really worried, you could just freeze a few of your eggs.”
“Yeah,” she says. “I just wish I could look into a crystal ball and know that I won’t end up alone.”
“Well, I’d hope you know that by now,” Tyson says, lowering his voice.
She looks at him, nodding earnestly. “I do. And it’s made all the difference. I can’t even tell you—” Her voice breaks. “I just wish Summer could have known that she was this loved.”
“You don’t think she knew that?” I ask. “I think she did.”
“Maybe she did,” Hannah says. “Let’s just admit it. She was everyone’s favorite.”
“Wait. What?” I say, pretending to be shocked and dismayed. “I thought I was the favorite.”
Tyson laughs, then says, “Nope. But you’re the most…special.”
“What was it about Summer, anyway?” I say.
“A lot of things,” Tyson says. “She was good at everything she did.”
“Yeah. I know that. But we didn’t love her for her fast times on the track or her stupidly high GPA.”
“Well, obviously,” Tyson says. “We admired her for those things, but we didn’t love her for that.”
“Exactly. So what was it that we loved about her?” I press.
I’m asking the question specifically about Summer, but in a sense, I’m asking it about myself. And Hannah. And Tyson. What makes a friendship? What makes us choose to love the people we love?
“Well, she was fiercely loyal, for one,” Hannah says. “We all had little arguments along the way, but she never once said a single negative thing about either of you. Or anyone, really.”
“Um. I hate to break it to you, sister,” I say, grinning at Hannah. “But she trash-talked you on the regular. Didn’t she, Tyson?”
Tyson laughs and plays along. “Yep. All the time.”
We sit in silence for a few seconds, our smiles gradually fading, before Tyson says, “For me, it was her passion. How fully she lived and deeply she loved.”
Hannah stares at him, blinking. “Yes,” she says. “That’s so true.”
“It was almost as if she felt things too deeply.” I pause, then say, “Remember Hurricane Sandy?”
“Oh my gosh, yes,” Hannah says, as we all fall silent, remembering how obsessed Summer got with the coverage, even starting a fundraiser on campus.
“And how about when Whitney Houston died?” Tyson muses. “I mean, I loved Whitney. She was in my top five. Maybe three. But—” He shakes his head.
“I know,” Hannah says. “It was as if she knew her.”
“She must have watched The Bodyguard three times that month,” I say.
“I can’t even listen to that song,” Hannah says.
Tyson nods, humming, I will always love you. He stops, shakes his head, and says, “Damn.”
“What about you, Lainey?” Hannah asks me. “What did you love most about Summer?”
I think for a second. “This might sound selfish,” I say, cutting my eyes to Tyson. “But I loved that she always saw the best in me. Even when I messed up. She never judged me.”
“She really admired you,” Hannah says.
“She did?” I ask.
I’m so used to everyone else thinking of me as the wild, out-of-control fuckup that I don’t quite believe it.
Hannah nods, adamant.
“Yes. She once told me she would kill to have your way with people,” Hannah says. “The way you can talk to anyone. It’s like Grady—but unlike Grady, you make everyone feel good about themselves.”
“I hope I made her feel that way.”
“You did,” she says, nodding.
“I really hope so. I wish I had gone to more of her races.”
“You went to plenty.”
“Not as many as you guys did—”
“That’s okay. You did other things with her. Think of all the times you took her shopping,” Hannah says.
I smile. “That’s true. That was our thing. She had her own style.”
“What style was that?” Tyson says with a laugh. “She lived in sweats and athletic wear.”
“Not when she went out—”
“She went out?” Tyson laughs.
“Well, rarely. But when she did…Remember her little overalls?” I say.
“You hated those overalls!” Hannah says.
“No, I didn’t,” I say. “I teased her, but I thought they were so cute on her.”
“And her pigtails,” Hannah says.
I smile. “Yes. But the pigtails did not work with the overalls.”
“Or with her flannel shirts,” Tyson says as we all laugh.
“She was such a Midwestern girl,” I say.
“Through and through,” Tyson says, nodding.
“You think she would have settled down there?” Hannah asks us.
“Probably so,” Tyson says. “God, she would have been a hell of a doctor.”
“And such a good mother,” Hannah says. She takes a deep breath, then looks at Tyson. “I’m really glad you picked Capri. It makes me feel closer to her.”
“Me too,” he says, looking out the window. “I really feel her here.”
I follow his gaze, wishing I felt the same way. It must be a huge comfort to believe in some sort of an afterlife. For me, though, death is a blackout. The end of the line. It was the end for Summer; it was the end for my mother; and one day, it will be the end for each of the three of us, too. It’s a grim thought if you dwell on it too much, so I decide not to. Instead, I order one last glass of wine.