Chapter 2
ANNA
“Holly, wait!” I rush out the front door of the Whitmores’ grandiose Bel Air estate in my pink Yasmin Gerber dress and shuffle-jog in my Jimmy Choos to catch up with her.
She left so fast after Charles dismissed us that I worry we won’t get the chance to talk before her ride arrives.
Thankfully, she’s only gotten as far as the gate in the fence that surrounds the three-acre property of manicured lawns and the eight-bedroom European-style architectural masterpiece the Whitmores call home.
I wave my matching pink clutch to get her attention as I rush toward her at the end of the long driveway.
She glances up from her phone right when my heel snags on an uneven paver.
“Shit.” I wobble on one foot, straightening the strap that’s come off my heel and tug at the hem of the skirt that’s ridden up my thigh. I blanch at the judgment on Holly’s face as I hop around on my spiked heel, knowing perfectly well I look like an overgrown flamingo.
Holly watches me through narrowed eyes, looking annoyed, which only motivates me not to let her leave. We both lost our best friend. She’s hurting. Surely, we can find common ground somewhere.
I reach her, breathless and grinning, and blurt the first thing that pops in my head. “Cute blouse.” The white silk with the artfully ruffled neckline and delicate cloth buttons is gorgeous, and so is Holly.
Holly scowls. “It’s not designer.” Her tone is flat, cold, and I immediately hate myself for being insensitive. She always was uncomfortable about her off-brand clothes vs. the designer labels Zoe and I wore, and apparently she still is.
I tuck my clutch under my arm. “I know. I mean… it’s pretty and looks really good on you,” I stammer and bite into my bottom lip to keep from rambling. If I didn’t already feel like a fool, I’d compliment her ballet flats too.
Holly hooks her bag on her elbow. “What do you want?”
Three weeks before she died, Zoe, with her cool and frail fingers squeezing mine, had asked me the same question about Holly. What do I want? My answer hasn’t changed. My feelings for Holly haven’t changed.
I want to be friends again.
Six simple, yet impactful words. When strung together, they mean everything to me.
They’ve been my biggest want for five years.
With Zoe gone, I want more than ever to reconnect with Holly, to feel something other than crushing emptiness.
To not feel so alone. But one look at Holly’s knowing face unravels my courage.
The words evaporate. Our reunion isn’t going at all the way I imagined—me apologizing, her forgiving me, BFF status back online, hugs and kisses for all.
Even groveling my way back into her inner circle wasn’t beneath me.
But I fear our meet-cute is spiraling toward disaster.
I paste on a smile. “It’s great to see you.”
She taps the phone against her palm and says nothing.
I try to engage from another angle. “How’re Jack and Quinn?” Surely, she’ll want to talk about her husband and son. Jack is easy-going, a perfect balance to Holly’s rigidity. He helps her scribble outside the lines. Zoe sensed immediately he and Holly were an ideal match when they met in college.
As for Quinn… My stomach pitches at the thought I’ve never met Holly’s son.
Zoe told me about him. She’d been there when he was born and saw him countless times afterward until she was too sick to travel.
She was Aunt Zoe to him where I am nothing.
Doubtful he knows I exist, or what I once meant to his mom.
“They’re fine. That’s yours?” Holly tilts her head at the car beside us, my brand-new metallic white 911 Porsche Carrera, and my smile broadens until my cheeks ache. I can’t help it. She’s a beauty.
“Yes, I just got her,” I say, pleased at Holly’s interest.
She sniffs, looking at my vanity plate, LxVacay. “It suits you.”
That doesn’t sound like a compliment.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I may not be a principal at a highbrow private school, but I work hard as a luxury travel concierge. Daddy didn’t fund my business. I glance at the license plate and remember that I haven’t sent a photo to my social media assistant to post on my agency’s feeds today.
Retrieving my phone, I give my chestnut waves with the honey highlights a toss, and smile big for the camera, using the Whitmores’ estate as a backdrop, the caption writing itself in my head as I snap a handful of pictures.
Holly shoots me a disgusted look, the pink tinge of her cheeks deepening to a splotchy red.
“Oh.” My phone wobbles in my hand and suddenly it’s five years ago. How could you be so stupid? I can hear her words from our last trip as if she just spoke them.
I can’t believe I’m doing this in front of her.
Guilt works its way under my skin. The outfit I’d carefully curated this morning—the pink lace dress, the matching purse, the shoes Holly would never put that kind of money toward—seems too tight, too bright, too extravagant.
The exact opposite of Holly’s practical pencil skirt and don’t-notice-me blouse.
I return the phone to my purse. “Sorry. It’s for my business.”
Holly rests a hand on her hip. “This is your fault, you know.”
“What? I just took a picture for my agency’s Insta. You’re not even in the photo.”
“I meant Zoe and this outlandish quest she’s sending us on.” Holly’s gaze darts to Leo, who stands a respectful distance away but close enough to hear every mortifying word.
“She’s given us quite the honor.” Though I’m not entirely convinced that honor belongs to us. I can’t blame Charles for not trusting Holly and me to fulfill Zoe’s final wish. We aren’t worthy of such a task. We hadn’t been the most cooperative of friends during Zoe’s sickness.
“She wouldn’t have had to resort to this ridiculous nonsense if you hadn’t—” She shakes her hands, fuming. “I have a life and a family. A real career.” Her voice rises with the final jab.
“I work,” I defend, pointing at my Porsche as proof.
“Come on, we both know you don’t need to. Be real, Anna. Booking vacations for your friends is a hobby.” She scoffs at the word friends, as if the only clients I have are connections through my father Harry, the founder of Fisk Media. As if I couldn’t attract any on my own.
“It’s not all my fault. You could have accepted my apology. It’s called moving on, Holly.”
She exhales loudly through her nose and watches the little Uber car move along the map on her phone.
“So you’re not going to do it?”
She ignores my question.
“What about Zoe and those things she never told us? She put a lot of time into planning this trip so that she could tell us, together. It’s the last thing she’ll ever ask us to do. Don’t you want to know what she has to say?”
Holly blinks and I catch my breath that maybe I’ve found her soft spot.
“I can’t take two weeks off work with only a few days’ notice,” she says without looking up from her phone, and for a minute, we both stare at the screen that shows her driver is just around the corner. Time is ticking, and I don’t want her to leave until we’ve resolved this.
It’s not like I haven’t tried to fix things before.
I’ve texted and called so many times over the years.
I’ve even sent postcards from my trips and all those gifts for her kid.
Not a peep in return. I did call Jack once hoping he’d hear me out and plead my case, talk some sense into her.
Beg her to be reasonable. He suggested I give her time.
How much time does she need? Hasn’t five years been enough?
“Where are you headed?” I ask.
“Airport.”
“I’ll drive you.” I disarm my car with a beep, undeterred by her dismissive tone. If I can get her into the car and to the Avenue, she’ll come around. She has to. It’s her favorite restaurant in LA. “When’s your flight?”
“When I get there.”
Her ride pulls up, a gray Toyota Corolla.
“Holly, please. Cancel your ride. Have lunch with me. It’s been so long. I’ll drop you off at the airport after. I’ve missed you,” I add with desperation when she folds into the backseat without so much as a glance my way. Before I have the chance to change her mind.
“I’m needed at home.” She shuts the door.
I knock on the window and motion for her to lower it. She rolls her eyes, but the window goes down.
“Two weeks out of the rest of our lives. That’s it. I know you hate me, but think of Zoe. We’d be doing this for her.”
Guilt smears across her face before her expression slackens. “I told you five years ago, Anna. I’m never traveling with you again. LAX, please,” she tells the driver, her window closing.
“Holly,” I holler after her, but the car pulls away.
“That went well.”
I turn around to see Leo casually leaning against his Rivian.
“She’s the most stubborn, asinine… Argh.” I growl, totally vexed Holly still holds a grudge. “How many times do I have to apologize for her to forgive me?”
With a lift of his brows, Leo approaches me. “Some things take more than an apology. It’s what you do, not what you say.”
I fold my arms. “When did you get so smart?”
“I’ve always been smart. You’ve never had much interest in the goods above the belt.” He taps his forehead.
“God, you’re gross.” That, I’ve always known, just as I’ve always known how intelligent he is.
Intimidatingly so. Leo was an actor for a hot minute during his teens in supporting character roles on a couple of Nickelodeon shows.
He retired from acting at a cool eighteen years of age and studied finance and law at USD while Zoe, Holly, and I pecked our way through our majors here in LA at Southern Cal.
He eventually went on to become the mergers and acquisitions specialist at his dad’s firm, Whitmore Venture Partners.
So, yeah, not dumb. Just immature. And a very good friend who I have not slept with despite what Holly thinks.
We kissed, once, agreed it was a mistake, and that was it.
Although, not that I would admit it to him, I’ve thought about that kiss a lot in the years since.
Leo opens his car door. “Come on. Lunch is on me. As in I’m buying. Not lunch literally on me, unless you want—”
“Stop.” I show him my palm and walk to the passenger side. “I take it back. You have the mind of a twelve-year-old boy.”
Leo laughs, head thrown back, just the way Zoe used to do. His laugh even sounds like hers, a bubbling brook of cool water you want to wade in. “You’re so fun to tease. Seriously, I’ll have you back in an hour.”
“What do you think about Zoe’s request?” I ask him in earnest. “Is it a bad idea? Your dad thinks so.”
“You both meant the world to Zoe. Dad will back up the trip. It’s what Zoe wanted.”
“But do you think we can do it? Spread her ashes across two continents in fourteen days and fly to her memorial, wherever that is, within time and without killing each other?” My voice rises at the end because it’s starting to hit me how monumental of a task is ahead of us.
We have to fly to Mexico, Europe twice, and leapfrog around three states.
And not in that order. Zoe wants us to visit each place in the same order we took our trips.
Charles told me when I asked right after Holly bolted from the room like she was being chased by a swarm of bats.
Which isn’t too far from the truth. Charles’s library is a dark, gothic cave. It suited his mood this morning.
Leo hooks an arm on the window and leans into the door. “I don’t know, Anna. After what I just saw…” he juts his chin in the direction Holly left in her Uber, “…I’m not so sure.”
My shoulders droop, my heart a plant shriveling with lack of sunlight.
When Charles read Zoe’s letter, my first thought was this is such a great idea.
Zoe was so creative. Holly and I could finally put the past to rest and make new memories.
But Leo is right. Holly and I aren’t the chocolate and marshmallow between Zoe’s graham crackers anymore.
Without her, nothing is keeping us together.
This quest is doomed before we can even start. We’ll never find out what Zoe kept from us.
Or what Holly has been keeping from me.