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She turns around, and for a moment, seeing her in my mother’s dress feels like the past
and future rushing together like two rivers emptying into the sea. I feel marooned—a survivor on a raft with no land in sight.
“Carrie?” Donna demands. “Is something wrong?”
I take a deep breath and shake my head. I have a paddle now, I remind myself. It’s time to start rowing into my future.
I step forward and zip up the dress.
“Thanks,” she says.
Downstairs, Donna arranges herself seductively on the couch, while I set up the tripod.
“You are funny, you know?” she says.
“Yeah,” I say with a smile.
“Not ha-ha funny,” she says, leaning back on her elbows. “A different kind of funny. You’re not what you seem.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, I always thought you were pretty much of a wimp. Kind of a nerd. I mean, you’re pretty and all, but you never seemed like you wanted to use it.”
“Maybe I wanted to use my brains instead.”
“No, it’s not that,” she says musingly. “I guess I thought I could run right over you. But then I read that piece in The Nutmeg. I should have been pissed off, but it made me kind of admire you. I thought, ‘This is a girl who can stand up for herself. Who can stand up to me.’ And there aren’t a lot of girls who can do that.”
She lifts her head. “I mean, you are Pinky Weatherton, right?”
I open my mouth, full of arguments and explanations as to why I’m not, but then I close it again. I no longer need to pretend. “Yeah,” I say simply.
“Hmph. You sure had a lot of people fooled. Aren’t you afraid they’re going to find out?”
“Doesn’t matter. I don’t need to write for The Nutmeg anymore.” I hesitate and then deliver the news. “I got into this special writing program. I’m going to New York City for the summer.”
“Well.” Donna sounds slightly impressed and also slightly envious. Not to be outdone, she says, “You know I have a cousin who lives in New York?”
“Uh-huh.” I nod. “You’ve told me a million times.”
“She’s this big deal in advertising. And she has a million guys after her. And she’s really pretty.”
“That’s nice.”
“But I mean, really pretty. And successful. Anyway…” She pauses to adjust the dress. “You should meet her.”
“Okay.”
“No, seriously,” she insists. “I’ll give you her number. You should call her up and get together. You’ll like her. She’s even wilder than I am.”
I pull into my driveway and stop, confused.
A red truck is parked in front of the garage, and it takes me a second to realize that the truck is Lali’s, and that she’s come to my house and is waiting for me. Maybe she and Sebastian broke up, I think wildly. Maybe they broke up and she’s come to apologize, which means that maybe, just maybe, I can start seeing Sebastian again and Lali and I can be friends….
I make a face as I park next to the truck. What am I thinking? I could never go out with Sebastian now. He’s ruined, like a favorite sweater with a hideous stain. And my friendship with Lali? Also permanently damaged. So what the hell is she doing here?
I find her sitting on the patio with my sister Missy. Ever polite, Missy is helplessly trying to make small talk, probably as confused as I am about Lali’s presence. “And how’s your mother?” Missy asks awkwardly.
“Fine,” Lali says. “My father bought her a new puppy, so she’s happy.”
