Chapter 3
ANNA
“Anna, Anna, Anna,” Alice, our live-in housekeeper of almost thirty years who’s more of a mother to me than Cosima, my own mom, tsks later that night when I admit I haven’t eaten anything solid since noon.
What should have been a one-hour lunch with Leo lasted well into the evening as I vented about Holly and we reminisced about Zoe over several bottles of wine.
Leo and I have always been flirty and silly around each other, but through Zoe’s illness, our relationship evolved into a friendship that feels like it has the potential for a little something extra.
What that is, I’m hesitant to define. It could just be wishful thinking.
But his companionship this afternoon felt like a warm, comfortable hug after Holly’s dismissal.
I sensed Leo’s loneliness, unless that was me projecting.
But neither of us wanted to be the first one to leave.
Alice, already in her robe and slippers, pulls food from the fridge and pantry—meat, cheeses, and jellies—and within moments, she’s created a Pinterest-perfect charcuterie board. She joins me at the island and I pour her a glass of bubbly.
“How’d it go at the Whitmores’ today?” she asks.
After Charles called last week about the meeting, I told her everything I knew, which was very little: the meeting was at Zoe’s behest and required both mine and Holly’s presence.
I pick at a piece of chicken. “Holly showed up.” I wasn’t sure she would. As of two nights ago when I called Charles to confirm the meeting was still on, he hadn’t heard back from her.
Alice’s brows rise. “And?”
“She looks amazing.” Motherhood, marriage, and her career have treated her well.
“But…” Alice picks up on my uncertainty.
“She still hates me.” Discrediting my career is one thing. I even let the glares she occasionally sent my way roll off my shoulders. But when she looked through me and talked around me in front of Zoe’s parents and Leo as though I wasn’t there? That hurt.
So what if I’m thirty-two and still live at home?
I’m not a failure to launch. Far from it.
I’m a successful, in-demand luxury travel concierge.
I built my business on nothing but memories from those magical post-college trips we took.
Trips that made me believe travel could transform us.
Vacations could bring people together and make families and loved ones feel closer when they arrived home than they had before they left.
On top of that, my clients’ trips have always been highly curated by me.
Nobody held my hand through the sleepless nights after those first bookings when I worried the itineraries I’d created would hit a snag while my clients were abroad, enjoying new sights and experiences.
I’ve worked tirelessly for everything I have.
Well, almost everything. I look around my parents’ house.
A house that would be empty if I wasn’t living here.
A house that has been empty of them most of my life.
With Fisk Media headquartered in Manhattan and my parents’ preference for their West Village penthouse and aloof friends over their Beverly Hills estate and me, their only child, they’re rarely here.
Alice has seen more of my tears and triumphs than they ever have.
She’s the one who celebrated when I landed my first real client, who listened when I doubted myself.
My parents? They couldn’t even remember the name of my company the last time I saw them.
As for why I haven’t moved out? I do it for them so the house stays occupied. Or, that’s what I tell myself. It’s easier to believe that than risking what Holly has—a real commitment with real vulnerability.
“What do I have to do to convince her to forgive me? It’s not like I can rewind time.”
“People hold onto grudges for many reasons,” Alice explains. “You and I both know there’s more behind Holly’s reactions. She holds her grievances close to her chest.”
“So close they’ve calcified into an exoskeleton,” I grumble under my breath. The Incident in Greece sent a wrecking ball sans Miley Cyrus through a friendship I thought would last our lifetimes.
We met in college when we were assigned as dorm roommates.
Despite being wildly different, we immediately clicked.
She was the Elphaba to my Glinda. And then we met Zoe, our Dorothy, a couple of weeks later and dragged her into our fold.
The three of us were inseparable, so much so that Holly spent summer breaks with us in California.
We partied, went to the beach, and sunbathed poolside.
Leo, the big flirt that he was, and his friends were always around.
Holly was crushing hard on Zoe’s brother.
But I was the one he finally made a move on.
And I didn’t stop him when he kissed me, right there in the Whitmores’ huge kitchen in the middle of a party he and Zoe were hosting.
I knew Holly liked him, but I did too. And, okay, I was drunk and not thinking.
Of all people, it had to be Holly who found us lip-locked with Leo’s hand up my skirt.
No matter how many times I apologized for kissing “her guy,” that kiss became the first chapter in her narrative of me: I’m just a party girl and would betray a friendship for a man.
“She’s afraid of getting hurt again,” Alice says, drawing me back to the kitchen.
“I’d never hurt her.” Not intentionally. God knows I learned my lesson in Greece, and that wasn’t intentional either. Just a drunken mistake I’ll never repeat.
I push away my glass, done with alcohol for today.
“Tell me about the meeting,” Alice asks, and I’m grateful for her keen sense on when to change the subject.
“Apparently, Zoe had things she never told Holly and me, so she planned this elaborate expedition for us. And it’s not just any trip.
” I perk up, feeling a smile pull at the edges of my lips over the thought of her plotting something so outrageous.
I fill Alice in on the details Charles shared.
That Zoe is using this trip to not only reveal her secrets, but to coerce Holly and me to make up by forcing us together.
“But if we don’t travel together, we don’t go at all,” I conclude.
“Do you want to go?”
“Absolutely!” While Charles’s announcement came as a shock, I’ve missed traveling with Holly. This trip might be our last chance to reconnect. Ever!
I nudge a dried apricot. “Holly doesn’t want to go, and I hate that we’re letting Zoe down.”
“You’re not going to try and change her mind? That doesn’t sound like my Anna,” Alice says, covering a yawn with the back of her hand. “Maybe give her some time.”
Time is a luxury we don’t have. “We’re supposed to meet Charles at LAX next week.”
“Hmm. Sounds like you have some convincing to do.” Alice pats my hand and stands up. “I’m off to bed. Leave the platter. I’ll clean up in the morning.”
“Okay,” I say with a weary sigh, even though she knows full well I’ll clean up after myself. “’Night, Alice.”
“Good night, sweetheart.”
She leaves the kitchen and me mulling over her remark: You’re not going to try and change her mind?
I eye my phone on the counter, debating if I should call Holly when I know she likely wouldn’t answer.
She never does. Instead, I launch Instagram only to careen from the number of notifications from my post this afternoon.
Rarely do I upload a personal photo to my business account.
But the one in front of the Whitmores’ house has blown up.
The caption reads simply: Missing a dear friend.
#readingofthewill #lastrequests #cancersucks
If anything, the post is sad and depressing, and I really shouldn’t have uploaded it to this handle in the first place.
But the thought of the trips we used to take, the trips that sparked what’s become my brand…
Well, I got carried away by the moment. Without Zoe, I don’t really have anyone to talk to anymore.
Except maybe Leo. But that would mean navigating all the messy feelings I’m not ready to unpack right now.
I skim through the comments, discovering that quite a number of my followers are accusing me of being out of touch with reality, going so far as to say I’m capitalizing on Zoe’s illness.
What?
I move up my screen.
You’re already rich. Give to the regulars like us, reads one comment.
She’s a Fisk Media spawn. Daddy cut you off, princess? reads another.
I click that comment to expand the replies.
Bet her friend bequeathed her a cool bil.
Hope ur donating what u got.
Flaunting your cash like your ass.
I choke down the sour knot in my throat. When did my followers become so nasty? Have they always been this vile?
Typically, I read through and reply to some of the initial comments that drop whenever my assistant Jalsa uploads a post. She tells me it’s good for follower engagement.
They’ll remember my agency when they want to book a vacation.
But I don’t remember comments having so much vinegar.
Wouldn’t Jalsa have told me? Could she be deleting them before I see them?
I study the photo, trying to see it through my followers’ eyes.
It’s just me, smiling sadly from missing Zoe.
But behind me are the towering columns and gabled roof of the Whitmores’ mansion.
There’s also my Porsche, Leo’s Rivian, and Charles’s MC20 Maserati.
Pretentious with a capital P. But that’s how I live.
It’s what I flaunt on @LuxVacay. My clients need to trust me.
They need to know I understand them and their expensive tastes.
But that’s exactly what Holly must have seen in me today, especially with my outfit. Designer everything.
But that’s me.
Then a comment catches my eye.
You go, girl. Living the lifestyle.
And it hits me.
Isn’t that what I’m doing? Isn’t that what I portray on this feed? Isn’t that the vibe I sell?
Why do I have to feel ashamed about it?
I am wealthy, but it doesn’t mean I’m a bad person. I donate my time and money at food banks and homeless shelters. I’m that gal who’ll walk into a McDonald’s and buy Big Macs for the homeless man camped behind the dumpster.
I’m not out of touch with reality either. I don’t always stay at five-star resorts or eat at Michelin star restaurants every time I travel. Zoe’s trip could be the perfect opportunity for me to prove that to my followers.
Zoe’s trip will also be exhausting, but it will be a grand adventure, too. A chance for Holly and me to put the past behind us. Now that Zoe is gone, we need each other more than ever.
I need to make this trip happen. And I’ll document the whole thing.
I’ll prove that I’m not only in touch with reality, but that I’m worthy of scattering Zoe’s ashes.
I’m also worthy of Holly’s friendship. Because I’m going to do whatever it takes to make it up to both for not setting things right before Zoe died.
I call the one person who could blow up my plan.