Chapter 21
HOLLY
Ordering an espresso and macarons seemed like a good idea.
The shock of Zoe’s letter and the stress of releasing her ashes under the threat of arrest had tanked our mood by the time we left Musée Rodin.
Anna insisted that sipping espressos at an outdoor café and indulging in the sweets Z had loved so much was the best way to commemorate our friend.
Except that a moment after we ordered, Anna bounced out of the chair, announcing she’d be back before the espressos arrived. She was just “popping into” the Galeries Lafayette across the street to buy her favorite cosmetics.
To be fair, the espresso and macarons were not a bad idea. Ordering a third round of each was the bad idea.
Because Anna still hasn’t returned. Nor has she answered my texts asking what’s keeping her.
I shift uncomfortably under the sterile indifference of the waiter. It’s not just the caffeine and sugar that’s soured my stomach.
In a rare moment of ease I let my guard down posing under The Thinker, and the photo Anna posted to @LuxVacay captured a moment like so many between us over the years. A moment I didn’t think was possible again. But there it was. Just us being us. No filter. No safety.
Maybe it’s the exhaustion of non-stop travel, the insane time zone hops, the roaring emotional impact of every stop, but somewhere I allowed my stranglehold on the hurt and betrayal of Greece to ease ever so slightly.
And the moment I stopped fixating on my anger, the flicker of the relationship we’d once shared seeped through.
I’d felt Zoe’s tight hug and her whispered, “I knew you two could find a way back to each other.”
But the rip of betrayal doesn’t mend as easily as it tears you apart.
In the short time between sitting at the café and placing our order, Anna had barely lifted her eyes from her phone, her fingers rapid-firing a text exchange with Leo.
Before I could get a word in, she was up and disappearing into the store. It was middle school all over again.
“I’m sorry, Zoe,” I mumble to the plate of macarons. “I wasn’t completely honest about everything either.”
A notification from Jack lights up my screen.
I glance at it and quickly flip my phone so I’m not tempted to read it.
He’ll ask about the post of Anna and me that I know he’s seen.
He’ll want to talk about it, and he’ll ask how we’re getting along.
Hearing his voice will crack what little poise and resolve I still have.
There’s so much to tell him, so much of Zoe that is unfolding one letter at a time. And I can’t, not yet.
Not until I’ve had more time to settle into the fact that Zoe was a twin. That her twin died of the same thing that killed our Zoe. Tears prick my eyes.
Another notification pings, and relieved by a distraction I reach for my phone. This one alerts me that @FiskyAnna has a new post. It’s a picture of Anna mugging at the cosmetics counter with a second picture of her holding up a shopping bag. The caption simply states #WhenInParis.
I feel the scowl a split second before I notice Anna flounce across the street, swinging the giant shopping bag at her side. Her smile drops faster than a French pigeon pooping on my head when she sees me.
“Holly,” she says with an upward lilt of nervous caution.
I hate that my sour mood takes over. I hate the old feelings coming back.
“I ordered another round,” I say, needlessly indicating the fresher plate of macarons and the now empty espresso cup. Her first cup is still where the waiter left it.
“I’m sorry. It took longer than I expected.
But look at what I found.” She sets a perfume bottle on the table in front of me.
I stare at the delicate pink, yellow, and white daisy petals on the gold cap.
Zoe’s perfume. The words from her letter swirl inside the bottle, dense with meaning.
It was never just about the scent for her.
Anna takes out a second bottle. “I bought one for each of us. This way, we’ll both have a daisy to remember Ava.”
Damn Anna for being so bloody thoughtful when my insecurity promptly tried to sabotage our progress.
I spray a dot onto my wrist and lift my arm to my nose. The scent is fresh and slightly sweet. Entirely Zoe. And apparently, Ava too.
I close my eyes and imagine the girl who inspired Zoe to wear this perfume. I’ll never breathe in this scent or look at another daisy without thinking of a girl we never knew but who was such an integral part of our threesome of friends.
“I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact Zoe had a twin sister,” I muse out loud.
“How could we not have known?” Anna asks, incredulous.
“It’s not like twins are born with some visible sign like those shirts that say, ‘I’m with her’, or ‘Thing One and Thing Two’.”
My comment comes out snarky, and Anna flinches. I hadn’t meant for it to sound harsh, but I feel horrible because Anna is right. How could we not have known? Shouldn’t we have somehow picked up on the fact that a piece of our best friend had been missing?
Best friends share their deepest secrets. They open up to each other. They stand by one another through thick and thin.
And they don’t abandon ship the moment something goes wrong. Which is what I did.
I failed our friendship, just like Zoe did by keeping these secrets, and Anna with that stunt in Greece. I’ve been keeping my true self from them. Like the rest of the world, Zoe and Anna got to know the Holly I created, the one I wanted the world to see.
I locked away the real me in middle school, thanks to Kimmie Walker.
We shared embarrassing firsts and secrets better shared, in hindsight, with journals.
I’d been so giddy back then to have a bestie, someone who liked me for my crazy curls and offbeat fashion ideas, for my haphazard study skills and straight A grades.
The summer between seventh and eighth grades had been transformative, at least for Kimmie.
She’d spent three weeks at Camp Juniper, the most popular and expensive sleepaway camp around.
I, on the other hand, spent those weeks reading in my bedroom excitedly waiting for Kimmie to get home.
It was two weeks after camp was over that Kimmie, with her new hairdo and fancy new fashion sense, finally had time for me.
She insisted that her new friend group wouldn’t change anything between us.
And for the first week of school, it seemed like I would be accepted if not entirely welcome into the popular group.
But it didn’t take long for the truth to come out.
I wasn’t really “in.” I was there so they’d have someone to bully into doing their dirty work.
They knew I would be desperate enough for their friendships that I’d do anything.
My skin prickles and heat sears my cheeks at the memory of that day in the mall. Ringleader Laura May told Kimmie to dare me to steal a tube of lip gloss for each of them. Five lip gloss tubes. I’d said no. Laura had turned to Kimmie and said, “I told you she wasn’t worthy.”
Heart hammering, palms sweaty, I’d walked into the drugstore at the mall and pocketed those five lip gloss tubes.
Sitting at the edge of the fountain in the middle of the mall, I’d attempted to explain to the store manager and mall security that it was an initiation prank, and I’d planned on returning immediately to pay.
Kimmie, Laura, Kiera, Michelle, and Stephie were standing just close enough to hear but far enough to pretend they weren’t with me.
When the security officer called them out on daring me to do something illegal, it was Kimmie who’d answered for the group: “We’re not with her. I mean look at her, does she look like someone we’d be friends with? The hair, the clothes. Please.”
The day I walked into a new high school in a new city was the day that old Holly was left stuffed so deep in the back of the closet no one would ever know she existed.
Sure, there were times I slipped. The time I woke up fifteen minutes before Art History and had to shove my hair under a baseball cap because I didn’t have time to properly straighten it, or the flouncy skirt I bought in the thrift store by the school my first year teaching because the colors made me happy.
But I’d worked too hard to shut that Holly away, and every slip reinforced my resolve.
“Remember the Montana letter?” I blurt. A furrow mars Anna’s forehead but she waits for me to continue. “Zoe asked us to reflect on one thing we’ve never allowed ourselves to feel or want or pursue. Did you think about it?”
Anna shakes her head.
“I did. And I felt sure about my answer. I’ve gone after what I want. I’m successful and I have everything I need.” Not everything, the little voice inside my heart says as I focus my gaze on Anna.
She’s watching me from under freshly mascaraed eyelashes. She blinks and I’m awed by the subtle eyeshadow that’s shimmering in the waning light of the Paris evening. She’s back to full Anna face, the transformation subtle yet striking.
Suddenly self-conscious, I attempt to smooth my hair into a tight bun. The attempt is, unsurprisingly, unsuccessful. Between the erratic schedule we’ve been keeping and the emotional rollercoaster, I’ve lost control of my curls.
Anna reaches out and gently pulls my hand down. I look at her, and I suddenly have a new answer to Zoe’s question.
“I don’t allow myself the grace of being me,” I admit out loud, pausing as the truth continues to bubble to the surface.
All these years I’ve forced myself to be this other person, the one who won’t be an embarrassment, the one who is always in control of everything.
Because I never again want to feel like that pathetic girl.
“You should. You’re amazing,” Anna says, with the reverence of a compliment paid to a bride.
I stare, really stare this time.
Anna has always been large with compliments. But this one is so unexpected, so raw, that I instantly feel overwhelmed with emotion. The same overwhelm I’d felt that first day in the dorm when Anna squealed and wrapped her arms around me, and every day since as her friend.
How did we get from there to here?
“I can’t,” I answer Anna now. The explanation of why I can’t rolls around on my tongue. With all of Zoe’s confessions to us, I should finally and fully open up to Anna.
I’d believed Kimmie when she said we would always be best friends despite her new friend group. I’d believed she had my best interests at heart. I didn’t doubt Anna that first day of college. Now here I am, wondering if I can ever trust myself again.