Authors: Callie Hart
“You should have said goodbye,” he tells me softly. “Twelve years is too long to go without seeing your face, Taylor. Just cruel, in fact.”
I’m numb as I reach up and return his hug. “Sometimes you need to be cruel to be kind, right?”
“Kind to yourself, maybe. We’ve all been hurtin’ pretty bad over not knowing what happened to you. One minute you were here, and then the next…”
I let go of Shane, casting my eyes down at the ground. “I’m sorry. Sometimes, no matter how hard you try, enough is just enough, y’know? I had to go. If I’d stayed, something awful would have happened.”
“I’ve tried to find you on Facebook,” Tina says. Tears streak down her cheeks, chasing over the constellation of freckles she always hoped would disappear as she got older. I’m kind of relieved to see that they haven’t, though. She would somehow be a different person without them. So much time has passed that she’s undoubtedly a different person anyway, I’m sure, but seeing the spattering of brown flecks across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks is reassuring in a way.
“I know. I never really bothered with the whole social media thing,” I say. “Not my style.” Unless I’m looking up ex boyfriends, of course. Tina nods like she understands, opening her arms to pull me into a hug too. She’s wearing a loose fitting shirt, so I haven’t noticed a bump until now, when I feel it pressing against my own belly. I lean back, surprised.
“Oh, wow! You’re pregnant?”
Tina nods. She looks happy enough that she could burst right here and now. “Twenty-two weeks. Very unexpected, but very welcome at the same time.”
I stare down at Tina’s stomach, amazed and slightly horrified. How strange. Tina takes hold of my hand and guides it to the swell of her stomach, pressing my palm against the small, hard roundness of her, and blood rushes to my face. It would be incredibly rude to yank my hand away, but I’m suddenly gripped by fear. I don’t want to be touching her like this. I
really
don’t want to.
Tina makes an apologetic looking face. “Sorry, Coralie. I think he’s actually asleep right now. He usually wakes up after I eat, though. Very annoying. We can always try again later.”
“You can…
you can tell when he’s sleeping
?”
Tina laughs, bright and loud. “Of course. You get to notice when they stop kicking and squirming around. At first it’s kind of scary. Having them do back flips twenty-four seven is frustrating but calming at the same time. You know they’re alive at least. When they stop for longer and longer periods of time, you begin to worry something’s not right. Turns out they just sleep in longer bouts as they grow, though.”
I grimace before I can stop myself. I’m usually a master of hiding my thoughts, but this one slips by me before I can rein it in. Tina notices, naturally. She smiles the smile of a woman blissed out on baby hormones. “It’s not as weird as it sounds. You get used to it very quickly. Most women love being pregnant. It’s such a gratifying experience. I take it you don’t have kids yet, Coralie?”
“No. No, I just…I haven’t had time.” I am a hollowed out husk of a person.
“She just ain’t had the right guy with her yet, s’all.” Behind me, Friday has snuck up on us. The crazy, wiry hair that’s too short to go back in her ponytail is standing on end, pointing every which way. It used to be that that hair was jet black once upon a time, but now it’s pure white. She’s changed out of her housecoat and into a pretty floral shirt and a long, swaying skirt down to her knees. “You people better get on inside now. Calllan’s opened that bottle of wine, and I swear he’s gunning on drinkin’ the whole thing before the food’s even ready.”
“Jesus.” Shane hurries up the remaining steps and into the kitchen, presumably to put a stop to Callan’s drinking before he really does polish off the bottle. Tina follows after him, giving Friday a quick hug before disappearing inside.
“Thought you might be thinking about this,” Friday says, placing my purse down on the porch swing. “Thought maybe you were considering running out on me.”
“I was.” Relief floods through me. I can leave. I can go without having to see Callan again this evening, which makes me feel light headed. For a second I’m so happy I could kiss Friday for giving me such a beautiful out, but then I see the look on her face and my happiness fades. She doesn’t want me to go.
“And how long will it take for you to forgive me if I leave?” I ask.
“I’ll be right with you by the morning, girl. You know me. But you’re better than that. Running away ain’t gonna do nobody no favors. Not you. Not that boy in there. Not your friends. Not me. Nobody.”
I think about this for a second. “He’s not going to leave it alone, Friday. It’s not as though we’re gonna be able to get through this meal without him doing or saying something that’s going to upset me. And he’s already done that once today.”
“So let him upset you. Let it wash over you. If that’s the worst thing you think will happen, then you
have
to stay. You’re both grown now. You’re both adults. You can discuss your issues and move past them, no matter what they are. And if you’re not meant to be friends or lovers, or even acquaintances, then you can at least say you done everything you could to mend fences. That’s something, surely?”
Mending fences? Mending fences would take more time and effort than I have right now. It would take a miracle. Friday is looking like a kicked puppy, though. I’ve never seen her look this way. She’s always been more likely to bully or coerce me into doing something she considers good for me, but at this particular moment in time, she looks sad.
“Ugh. All right. Okay. But please…don’t sit me next to him. I can’t…”
Friday beams, flashing brilliant white teeth at me. “Don’t worry, child. I’ll sit myself right next to you. And if that boy even thinks about giving you trouble, I ain’t past putting my foot up his ass, believe me.”
******
CALLAN
I’m more of a scotch drinker than a wine drinker, but bringing a bottle of whiskey over to Friday’s would have been a terrible idea. She would have confiscated it pretty much as soon as I walked through the door anyway. Beyond a tiny glass of crème de menthe every once in a blue moon, I’ve never seen the old girl drink.
I’m in dire need of a stiff drink when Coralie comes back into the kitchen, though. And speaking of stiff… a certain part of my body is headed that way at a worrying clip and I don’t think there’s anything I’m gonna be able to do about it. Coralie is so fucking beautiful. She was always so strange looking when we were younger. I remember Darren Weathers being completely and utterly confused when I’d told him I was taking Coralie to the seniors’ dance. He’d asked me why her above all the other girls I could take, and I’d told him the truth. I’d told him she was the most fascinating person I’d ever been lucky enough to lay eyes on. He’d frowned, squinting at her, one eye closed, head tilted to one side, and said that he’d supposed so, and each to their own. She had this draw to her that was impossible to deny. Now, all these years later, she’s grown into herself a little but she’s still remarkable to look at.
Her green eyes are still as haunted as they always were. The dark spot in her iris, the one I told her looked like the storm raging on Jupiter, is still there. Her bottom lip is still a fraction fuller on one side than it is on the other, though it’s nowhere near as noticeable as it was when she was fifteen.
I can’t stop staring at her goddamn collarbones as she carries the huge pot of gumbo from the stove for Friday and sets it down on the table in the middle of the place settings. I always loved her collarbones. They were pronounced and so fucking sensitive. I used to graze my teeth along them, fighting to stop myself from coming like a little punk whenever she moaned or writhed against me.
I look up, and Coralie is scowling at me, obviously knowing exactly what I’m thinking about as she busts me staring at the graceful column of her throat.
“So. Coralie. You’re living out in LA? What are you doing for work?” Shane asks.
“I’m still a painter,” she says, her voice clipped.
“Of course! I can’t believe I forgot about that. You were always so talented. Do you have your work in galleries then?” Tina hasn’t looked at me twice since she entered the building—definitely still pissed about the whole best man thing—but she seems all too interested in focusing her attention on Coralie. Coralie sits herself down in the only remaining seat left at the table—the one opposite me. She looks mighty pissed off as she shoots Friday a none-too-friendly sideways glance. The old woman grins back, apparently pretending not to feel the arctic chill blow across her skin.
“Yes, sometimes,” she says. “Usually I sell my work on commission, though. Things are generally bought and paid for before I even start them.”
Tina looks amazed. “Wow. That’s incredible. You must be highly sought after.”
Coralie shrugs awkwardly. She always found it hard to accept compliments about her work. Looks like that hasn’t changed.
“Do you meet lots of famous people?” Tina gushes. I know Shane loves the woman, but I’ve always had this day dream that he’ll wake up one morning and decide that falling in love with and marrying Tina was the biggest mistake of his life. Shitty, I know. But then I’m a shitty person.
Coralie spoons some gumbo out onto her plate, eyes fixed on her food. “No. Almost never. I work from home. I have a garden studio at the back of my house. It’s…
peaceful
. I prefer it that way.”
Tina looks deflated. “That’s a pity.”
“I don’t have to meet
anyone
most of the time, actually,” Coralie says softly. “It’s quite nice.”
Coralie hands the serving spoon to Tina, who hands it directly to Shane so he can dish her food up like a fucking child. “I don’t think I’d like to be trapped in a room all day by myself,” she says. “I suppose your work would be fairly similar to that, wouldn’t it, Callan?”
Oh. So finally she speaks to me. I give her a tight, shitty smile. “Nope. I’m surrounded by people all day. The kid that gets my coffee. The kid that answers the phone. The kid that alters the lighting. The makeup and hair people.”
“I was actually referring to the wildlife shoots you go on. Y’know? Like the one that prevented you from coming to our wedding.”
“Ahh. Yeah. I suppose the wildlife shoots can be pretty solitary.” I do not look ashamed, sorry, or even slightly remorseful. If that’s what she’s expecting, then she can go fucking whistle. Shane glares at his wife, who refuses to acknowledge his silent plea for civility and instead smiles sadly at Coralie.
“I’m sorry we didn’t invite you to the wedding, Coralie. We just had no idea where to send the invite. We did ask Callan, but…”
“It’s not Callan’s fault we couldn’t send her a wedding invite, Tee,” Shane says. “Let’s just nip this in the bud right now, shall we? It’s been a very long time since all of us shared a meal together. Let’s not ruin it.”
Sitting back in her chair, Tina folds her arms across her chest, pursing her lips while she stares at me. “How about this. I won’t bring up Callan letting you down at the very last minute, if he apologizes to you. Sincerely.”
“He already has.”
“When?”
“Earlier this morning.”
“Well he hasn’t apologized to
me
.”
“I’m truly sorry, Tina, for having to fulfill my work responsibilities. Nothing would have brought me greater pleasure than attending your nuptials. Taking photographs of turtle eggs hatching on a beach in Costa Rica paled in comparison to watching you mash wedding cake into this poor bastard’s face.”
“Oh my god. Why are you such an asshole?” Tina leans back in her chair, and I see it’s not only Shane that’s gotten a little rounder in the waistline. I think about mentioning this, but then I catch the look Friday is wearing and I clamp my mouth shut. Jesus, the woman could freeze hell over with that look if she really felt like it.
Before she can demand that I apologize to Tina in a more genuine, less sarcastic manner, I decide it might be better to do so off my own bat. “Okay. You’re right,” I tell her. “It was crappy that I didn’t come. I should have figured it out somehow. I really
am
sorry. I guess these things are always more important to people than I realize. If you guys renew your vows in a decade, I’ll be there with bells on. You have my word.”
Tina looks a little shocked. She probably didn’t expect me to react to her calling me an asshole by moderating my behavior and giving her what she wanted. If I’ve learned anything over the past ten years, working with highly strung women, it’s that it’s far better to own your faults and acquiesce to their demands than it is to go to war with them. Horrible though it sounds, I don’t care if Tina bursts a blood vessel giving me hell. I care about Friday, though. I don’t want to ruin her night. She gives me an approving nod.
Tina and Shane spend the next thirty minutes while we eat firing question after question at Coralie. Is it really sunny every day in California? Does she ever see Leonardo DiCaprio at the grocery store? Does she have a boyfriend?
I nearly choke on my gumbo when she says yes to that last question. She’s young and she’s insanely beautiful, so of course she has a boyfriend. It shouldn’t come as a shock to me that she would be with somebody; after all I’ve taken a run at half the female population of New York over the years. I suppose I just never thought I’d have to hear her talk about being with someone else. It never occurred to me that one day perhaps I’d be sitting down at the same dining table with her, eating a meal, and she might be telling me about some douche bag called
Ben
.
I hate the name Ben.
“Yeah. He’s a lawyer. He works mostly on pro bono cases for the city,” Coralie says, sliding a forkful of food into her mouth; she looks like she’s going to be sick.