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Iput my phone on the counter and sighed, sitting back in my chair.Home.It was weird to think about Nathan’s apartment as home, especially since I had barely unpacked. Our situation was strange and quick, leaving me reeling. But between the night before and today, I was starting to see myself here long-term. The ease of my relationship with Nathan and our interactions that filled me with joy, made me feel more at home than I’d felt since my mom died. I could feel my anxiety about my joblessness and school situation slipping away, smoke that dissipated into the ether with every smile, laugh, or text message Nathan sent.
It was going to make leaving that much more complicated.
“Well, time to get ready,” I said to no one in particular. My lamentations about what was to come could wait; I had to get ready to meet the girls.
* * *
We met at Tommy’s, and from the moment all four of us were together, it was a nightmare.
Brooklyn had never been a morning person—something we shared in common—so she was already a bit of a bear when we all came together. Then, she figured out which Sara was meeting us, and it got exponentially worse.
Brooklyn despised wealthy people because of the way she had been treated as a kid. Her parents worked blue-collar jobs—her dad as a janitor, her mom as a house cleaner—so she was bullied until high school for the way she dressed and her propensity for hanging out in libraries. When we got to high school, things leveled off, and people mostly left Brooklyn alone. Everyone, that is, except for Sara.
Brooklyn held her own, and eventually, Sara backed off, but the scars were still there. And Brooklyn obviously didn’t forgiveorforget what Sara put her through.
She and I arrived at Tommy’s first. She hid her face behind a large pair of sunglasses, frowning up at the sun as if it had personally offended her. She didn’t say anything to me, other than grunt a hello, so when she looked over my shoulder and stiffened, I was unprepared for what she’d say.
“Hell no.” She shook her head emphatically. “We’re leaving.”
I turned just as Sara and Mack stood next to me. Sara smirked. “So soon?” she said, her voice sugary sweet.
Mack slapped her arm with the back of her hand. “What?” Sara asked, pouting. “Just saying. They could at least get some pancakes or something.”
“Hold on one sec,” I assured them both, pulling Brooklyn away. “We just have to talk…over there.”
I walked Brooklyn several feet away, out of earshot of the two others. “Brooklyn,” I said. “I know you have a history with Sara, but she might be my wedding planner.”
“Wedding planner?!”
“I know, I know. But it’s not set in stone. Can we just…give it a chance?”
“Cici, this is the woman whoterrorized usin high school,” Brooklyn whispered fiercely. She didn’t take her eyes off Sara, a glare etched onto her face. “Why would you stay and volunteer to be verbally shat on?”
“Mack promised me that Sara would be on her best behavior.” Brooklyn snorted, but I ignored it. “If she’s out of line, and Mack doesn’t call her on it, we can leave. Okay?”
Brooklyn shook her head and sighed. After a few moments, she said, “Fine. But if she says any sideways shit, I can’t promise I won’t punch her in her mouth.”
I flinched. “Fair enough,” I conceded as I straightened. “Let’s go.”
We walked back over to Mack and Sara, and I pasted on my brightest smile. “Is everyone ready to go in?” I asked.
Sara raised an eyebrow. “We’vebeenready.”
Mack glared at her, looping her arm in mine. “Let’s put our name in for a table.”
We all walked into the restaurant, waiting at the host stand to be seated. Not that it was a problem finding a table; the moment the host noticed us, he had someone clear one, and we were seated right away.
“Must be nice to be aHemingway,” Brooklyn muttered behind me. “Ask me how long my wait was the last time I was here. With onlytwopeople.”
I raised my eyebrows at Brooklyn over my shoulder, and she stopped grumbling.
The host moved aside, allowing us to slide into the booth before putting down our menus. “Someone will be by to take your orders,” he said, only looking at Sara. She giggled and nodded; Brooklyn rolled her eyes.
With that, the host walked off. Mack turned to me. “So, about your party this weekend,” she said. “I was thinking of a classy affair, something at a waterfront restaurant in Boston, or—ooh! Maybe on a boat on the Boston Harbor?”
“There’s still snow on the ground,” Brooklyn said in a monotone voice. “It’s March in New England. You really want people out there, in their Sunday best, freezing their asses off?”
“It would work,” Mack insisted. “We’d be inside, and they would obviously have the heat on.”
