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“He’s bringing the Rover on the slow boat,” Electra says, lifting her glass of wine. “It gets in at five. He’ll scoop me up then. Cheers, friend.”
“Cheers,” Brooke says, though she can’t bring herself to echofriend. Because the stark truth is, Electra Undergrove is not Brooke’s friend. ShewasBrooke’s friend fifteen, ten, even five years ago, when the kids were growing up and they were all hanging out together. But those days had come to an abrupt end. Electra might not realize that using the wordfriendis a trigger for Brooke. But Brooke won’t get in her feelings about it.Save it for a rainy day!she thinks. It’s a dazzling summer Friday; they have glasses of chilled rosé and a host of admiring eyeballs on them (or on Electra, anyway). Brooke is going to act natural.
And she does, although she has to navigate the conversation like a sapper in a minefield. She can’t say a word about what happened with Charlie, so she sticks to the safe topic of her kids (Will, Fidelity; Whitney, the duck boats) and asks after Electra’s son, Carter, and her daughter, Layla. Electra confides that Carter is doing a stint in rehab and Layla is following Imagine Dragons around the country with her boyfriend, then says, “They’ll find their way eventually. They were never the achievers that your kids were.”
Wow,Brooke thinks. An actual compliment from Electra! She swells with pride. The wine has gone to her head, and she hasn’t eaten yet today; she’s saving all her calories for the dinner Hollis is serving that night. She asks Electra where she’s staying.
“We’re renting on the Cliff,” Electra says. She tilts her head and Brooke senses a sudden intense curiosity from behind the dark glasses. “Have you been to the ’Tuck before?”
The ’Tuck?Brooke thinks.Do people call it that?“Once, as a kid,” Brooke says. “All I remember is my brother getting stung by a jellyfish.”
“But this is your first time as an adult? So you’ve never been to Hollis’s house.”
Brooke shakes her head.Save it for a rainy day,she thinks.
“How is that possible?” Electra says. “You two areso close.I was invited a couple of times back in the day. She and Matthew had us over for lobsters…”
(Later, when Brooke looks back on this moment, she’ll wish she’d changed the subject. But the rosé has loosened her tongue and impaired her judgment.) She leans in. “Hollis is hosting something called the Five-Star Weekend. She’s invited one best friend from each stage of her life.”
Electra stares for a second, then reaches for her wine. “And you’re her… what? HerWellesleybest friend?”
Brooke isn’t quite sure how to respond, which means it’s probably time to make a graceful exit. But instead, Brooke slides her phone across the table. “Here’s the itinerary for our weekend. Hollis has thought of everything.”
Electra snatches the phone and scrolls up, then down. “You’re all wearing the same colors to dinner and to lunch? Isn’t that cute.”
“It’s for the pictures,” Brooke says defensively. “They’ll look better.”
Electra moves her sunglasses to the top of her head and peers at the screen more closely. Brooke feels like Electra is committing the itinerary to memory so she can make fun of it later with people like Liesl, Rhonda, and Bets.
“It’s good for Hollis to have something to focus on,” Brooke says. “Losing Matthew was such a shock. Those two were hashtag-couple-goals.”
Electra is still scrolling. “Do you think so?”
“I mean… yes?” Brooke says. Hollis and Matthew had it all—the beautiful home, an accomplished daughter, the respect of all of Wellesley. Matthew was tops in his field, and Hollis became a nationally renowned domestic goddess. They were mature, thoughtful, generous. They were a cut above Brooke and Charlie—but also above Electra and Simon and everyone else they knew. “They were perfect together,” Brooke says. “An inspiration.”
Electra finally glances up and holds Brooke’s gaze in what feels like a meaningful way. “Simon and I bumped into Matthew last fall when he was guest-lecturing at Emory Medical School. We were visiting Carter and we walked into the Optimist as Matthew was walking out.” Electra pauses, her fingers still gripping Brooke’s phone. “Did Hollis mention that to you?”
“She didn’t. She…” Brooke nearly addsnever talks about youbut trails off instead.
“I think we caught him by surprise,” Electra says. “In fact, I know we did. I won’t say anything else because I don’t like to gossip and especially not about Matthew. Not now.”
Brooke drinks what’s left of her rosé (an almost-full second glass) and thinks,I have to get away from this woman.“May I have my phone back, please?”
“Of course.” Electra slides the phone across the table, pours herself another glass of wine, and leans back in her chair so that her face catches the sun. Even with her new hair and perky breasts, Electra Undergrove isn’t the most attractive woman in Wellesley, Brooke thinks. Nor is she the wealthiest, and she doesn’t have a big career. But somehow, Electra had been deemed the queen bee. She was fun; she threw the parties; she dictated the social calendar; she made the guest lists; she was the leader. Why? Brooke has been wondering this for years.
“I have to go,” Brooke says. She pulls two twenties out of her purse for the wine. Is that enough? She adds a third twenty—though she probably shouldn’t be throwing money around, now that Charlie has lost his job—and Electra, instead of refusing it (which is what sheshouldhave done sinceshewas the one who invited Brooke to drinks), folds the bills and holds them between her pointer and middle fingers like a cigarette.
“Simon and I were just talking about how much we miss you and Charlie,” Electra says. “You’ll have to come to the house as soon as football starts up.”
Brooke wishes she were strong enough to sayThanks but no thanksor evenScrew you, Electra. But instead, Brooke beams. “That would be great. We’d really love it.”
And just like a woman who has been influenced, bullied, manipulated, andowned,Brooke brings up the calendar on her phone to confirm the date: Sunday, September 10. Brooke types in the notes:Rock and roll football at Electra’s!
“So who else is invited to this little weekend?” Electra asks.
“Hollis’s best friend from growing up here on the island and her best friend from UNC,” Brooke says. “I don’t know the fourth person. It’s someone she met through her website, I think.”
“Do you know Hollisblockedme from subscribing to her blog?” Electra says. “I’m not sure why she’s holding such a grudge. After all, you’ve forgiven me. We’re here having drinks! You and Charlie will come back to the house this fall!”
