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“What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“What do you mean, what do I mean, I don’t know?”
“What?”
Heather squirmed in her seat, recalling the futility of that conversation. The only thing that was clear was that her mother didn’t know anything: not the mystery man’s name or occupation, not how long he and Paige had been seeing each other, not how serious their relationship was, not even if he was as good-looking as Noah. “Shit,” she said aloud.
“Problems?” Kendall asked.
“Nothing I can’t deal with.”
There was one person who could give her the information she craved. Heather reached for the phone, punched in the number, and waited while it rang twice before being picked up.
“Hello,” the voice said.
“Chloe. It’s Heather. How are you?”
“Heather,” Chloe repeated, surprise infiltrating the coolness in her voice. “This is a shock. What can I do for you?”
“I have to be in Cambridge for a meeting tomorrow,” Heather lied. “And I was thinking that it’s been way too long since we’ve seen each other. I thought maybe we could have lunch.”
“You want to have lunch?”
“My treat,” Heather said, hoping to sweeten the pot. While she and Chloe had never been close—they were more “friends-in-law,” as oh-so-clever Paige had once quipped—that relationship had pretty much ended when Paige moved out of Noah’s apartment.
“I don’t think that’s a very good idea,” Chloe said.
“Please,” Heather said, understanding such groveling was necessary for her to obtain the information she craved. God, she could use a joint. “It’s important. Really.”
“Really?” Chloe repeated, turning the statement into a question. A second’s silence. Then, “Okay, you have my curiosity.”
That’s what I was counting on,Heather thought with relief. “Great. I’ll pick you up at one. You still on Binney Street?”
“Still here.”
“See you tomorrow.” Sensing the other woman’s continued ambivalence, Heather hung up the phone before Chloe could change her mind. She wondered if Chloe suspected she’d been the anonymous caller informing her of Matt’s extracurricular activities.
“What meeting do you have tomorrow in Cambridge?” Kendall asked.
“Do you always listen in on other people’s conversations?”
Kendall shrugged, then brought her hand to her mouth, pointing with both her index finger and her eyes toward the approaching figure of Marsha Buchanan. “Have you emailed that presentation to the client yet?” Kendall asked under her breath.
“Shit,” said Heather, as Marsha sidled up beside her. “Shit.”
