Chapter 22
ANNA
Or is it that she won’t function?
I know it’s hard for her to let herself go with the flow, but what did she mean when she said that she doesn’t allow herself the grace of being her? What is she afraid of letting other people see? Of letting me see?
Since Paris, I’ve been mulling over our last conversation, wondering how well Zoe, Holly and I really knew each other.
I wish I could say I’ve been an open book, but that would be a lie.
I can barely admit to myself how I feel about Leo, or that I would give anything to have this life thing figured out like Holly.
Perfectly organized. Stable. A family. Everything I pretend I don’t want but secretly crave.
But what I would give to see Holly completely lose control, to go absolutely nuts, with her hair, with her clothes, with her opinions… Oh my gosh, it would be a delight to watch. The eighth wonder of the world. It could even bring us closer again.
I could easily push her over the edge, I’m sure, because I’m me. I always get on her nerves. But at what cost? I fear the price would be our friendship, as tenuous as it is, and that’s something I’m not willing to risk.
Of course, all this overthinking kept me from sleeping a wink the last twenty-four hours.
My feet drag as Holly and I pile my luggage on a trolley, capping the mini mountain with her single roller bag.
It takes us both to push the thing from baggage claim to our waiting hotel shuttle.
When I miss that a bag slid off and Holly has to run back to get it and ask, “What’s wrong? ” I realize just how distracted I am.
I also realize I’m chewing my bottom lip to death.
My lip pops free as we reach the curb. “I was thinking about what you said about Zoe’s letter, the one we read in Montana.”
She eyes me warily. “What about it?”
“You shouldn’t be afraid to express yourself—not that you are afraid.” I tug the zipper on a piece of luggage eye-level with me. “But it would be cool for you to be you if this you is not you.” I gesture at her, hoping to get my point to make sense.
“What?” She frowns. Neither my words or my gestures clarified my point.
I huff, flustered, and tug harder at the zipper. “Whoever you want to be, however you want to be, I’d still want to be your friend.”
Her face shutters and a fist-sized bundle of nerves in my chest fires in all directions. I’m doing exactly what I didn’t want to do, push her. I give the zipper tab a final yank and the mountain of luggage spills off the cart just as our shuttle pulls up.
“Anna!” Holly exclaims, exasperated.
“Sorry.” I can’t do anything right.
We scramble to restack the luggage on the trolley, Holly taking charge with practiced efficiency.
She’d never believe that I envy her ability to keep everything together.
To have a plan, no matter what it’s for, that actually works.
Because here I am, LuxVacay Anna who can’t even manage to stack her own luggage properly today.
Thankfully, our driver notices we’re weaving on our feet.
He hops from the black SUV in polished boots, brandishing a cowboy hat drawn low over his brow, and after a quick “Evening, ma’ams,” helps load our luggage into the back of his Excursion.
Holly and I simultaneously pour ourselves into the backseat and shut our doors.
I risk a glance at her as we buckle up and her droopy eyes, downturned mouth, and jelly limbs tell me she’s just as drained as me.
I wonder how much more of this we can take: our travel schedule, Zoe’s letters, scattering her ashes, the fact she had a twin sister!
And crud. Greece is next. Holly and I have to return to the scene of my crime.
She has to be nervous about that. I am. I worry the visit will be one huge reminder of why she shouldn’t trust me, why she hasn’t wanted to be friends.
Our driver slides into his seat and shuts the door. “Make yourselves at home, ladies. It’ll take us about twenty-five minutes to Hotel Jerome.”
“Thanks,” Holly acknowledges before I can process a response, always so quick and competent. We exit the small airport and head downhill to the 82 toward Aspen within moments.
I slump in my seat and stare out the window, worried once again that Zoe sent us on this quest for nothing. Quietly, I sniffle, and within seconds of the car moving, I drift off, dreaming of Zoe.
We’re having a light lunch at Urth Caffé on Melrose several weeks before Greece. At the time, I didn’t know she’d been in remission from leukemia or that she’d lost a twin sister to the disease. Nor did I know that her cancer had returned.
Halfway through our meal, Zoe squealed. She grasped my wrist and discreetly motioned with her eyes. Sebastian Stan was sitting behind me. He was on her list of favorite male celebs and she was crushing hard on him. I dared her to ask him for a selfie.
In my dream, I see her smile. Her mouth moves as she talks.
But I can’t hear what she says. I can’t hear her laugh either when her head tilts back, or what she tells me when she grabs her phone and clumsily rises out of her chair because she’s nervous.
She boldly taps Sebastian on the shoulder and asks for a selfie, just as I saw her do in real life.
I was able to hear their conversation then, as brief as it was.
But I can’t hear her now. I can hear Sebastian loud and clear, but not Zoe, and I start to fret.
Sebastian cracks a joke when Zoe inadvertently closes her camera app.
He offers to take the photo. I know this is where she thanks him as she gives him her phone.
He chuckles and she giggles. Again, I can hear him, but not her, and now I’m really panicking.
I need to reach her, ask what’s going on.
Why can’t I hear her? Surely, she knows.
I try to stand, but I’m stuck in my chair.
When I look down, there’s a seatbelt strapped across my lap.
I come awake with a start, which wakes up Holly.
“Okay?” she mumbles, eyes half-lidded.
My breath comes rapidly. I’m on the verge of freaking out and I tell her about my dream as I frantically search for my phone.
She comes more awake, sitting upright in the seat. “What are you doing?”
“I can’t remember.”
“Remember what?”
“Zoe. I’ve forgotten what she sounds like.”
I find my phone and rapidly scroll through my videos. When I find the one I’m looking for, I pull it up.
Holly watches. “When was that?”
“Right before Greece. We had lunch at Urth and she met Sebastian Stan.”
“She loved him.”
“I know. She got a selfie with him.” And I recorded the entire exchange.
We watch the scene play out as I just dreamed.
This time, I can hear Zoe. Her laughter is music to my soul and her voice is the sweet taste of the most delicious lemon cake to my ears.
Holly’s and my laughter is waterlogged when we hear Zoe’s, and my eyes burn when Zoe runs back to our table with the biggest grin.
“I got it.” She waves her phone like a prize.
She shows me the photo of her and Sebastian. “I’m going to keep this forever.”
Holly chokes down a sob, and the video ends.
“I feel like I’m losing little parts of her every day. Not just her ashes, that’s obvs. But her voice, her gestures, her laugh. They’re getting fainter.”
“Same.”
Exactly what she’s been asking us not to do.
Some friends we are. What if this trip ends before Holly and I renew our friendship? What if we end up forgetting Zoe and her sister Ava after all?
I refuse to let that happen. So I play the video twice more.
We pull up to Hotel Jerome. The building rises above us, its redbrick facade glowing warm against the twilight sky, the gorgeous Rockies circling the town where Victorian-era charm mingles with modern Aspen glamour.
More hats and boots approach the car and unload our luggage onto the waiting trolley.
One cowboy gives Holly a ticket. He tells us to call down for our bags once we’ve checked in.
“I’m guessing Zoe has us sharing a room again. Mind if we order room service instead of going out?” Holly asks as we enter the registration parlor. “I’m fried.”
“Mm-hmm. Sure, whatever,” I say, but I’m not really listening to her.
I’m watching the guy seated on the butter leather couch by the fireplace.
He puts aside the magazine he’s reading when he sees us and pushes to his feet.
The brown Tom Ford basketweave two-piece suit looks impeccable on him.
Out of place in this historic hotel, but spot-on for Aspen’s upper crust. The soft blue shirt underneath is unbuttoned at the collar.
By all appearances, he’s just flown in on a corporate jet for an all-day meeting.
But the heaviness he wears on his shoulders and darkness under his eyes tells me something else is brewing beneath the surface.
A flutter of excitement twirls in my stomach at the sight of him, and the answer to Zoe’s question lights up like a hundred sparklers on the Fourth of July.
Yes, there is one thing I’ve never allowed myself to feel, want, or pursue.
Love. Real love. The kind Holly has with Jack.
Phone calls on speaker. Knowing looks and inside jokes.
A life built together. Could Leo be that for me?
I’ve spent so long being the Anna everyone expects, wild, uncommitted, and free, that I’m not sure I know how to stop the performance.
The fear of being tossed aside or left behind is just too ingrained in my psyche.
Then I notice his tight expression, and my chest clenches with dread.
“Leo,” I say, breathless, when he meets us halfway.
Holly stares, just as stunned to see him here.
He holds himself stiffly. I blink, half expecting him to be a mirage and disappear.
Him being here doesn’t compute. Neither does him avoiding my calls and ignoring my texts only to show up out of the blue. “I’ve been trying to reach you.”
“I know.” He nervously rubs his palms together, and I frown. Leo doesn’t do nervous. His gaze shifts from me to Holly before settling back on me.
“What are you doing here, Leo?” I ask. I expect it’s for a reason Holly and I may not like.
His eyes soften and his face cracks. Then his voice drops, and only when I hear it do I understand the source of his tension. His devastation.
“I want to tell you about Ava.”