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But even if I wasn’t going to confess it to my parents, it was impossible to ignore that something had rekindled with Holden. When he’d dropped me off earlier, lingering on the steps as the sun set, the sky cold and bright and pale as champagne, he’d invited me to Drew’s engagement party at his house this coming Thursday.
“Ooh, I don’t know.” I’d grimaced. “That could be all kinds of nonfun. I’m not tops on your mom’s list.”
“Please. It’s gonna be all of Drew’s Young Republican friends, and I’d really like you to be there, to even the odds,” he said.
“Well, when you sell it like that.” I laughed, then asked, “Is Cassandra busy?”
Holden paused before answering. He was seeing her, I could tell. Her name meant something private to him. “Look, I can’t spring my family on Cassandra just yet. Or vice versa.”
“So I’m the old hat, the ole pal?”
He stared at me evenly. “More like first choice.”
“How about…I’ll think about it?”
In response, he’d kissed me. A sweet kiss, on the lips. Not a dangerous, electric Kai kiss. But it gave me butterflies just the same.
And I couldn’t deny that the prospect of my taking Cassandra’s place as Holden’s date, made me feel a touch smug. I’d been an unofficial member of the Wilde household for my entire sophomore year, plus that summer into my junior fall, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to jump off the diving board into the anonymous pool of girls who didn’t matter anymore. Especially now that Holden and I had been enjoying this new closeness. Serendipity, and the walk in the park afterward, hadn’t been unromantic, and it had held all the memory of when we had been a couple. He and I were older now. We’d lived through things. Survived them.
Midway through dinner, the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it.” Mom stood, and was back in a moment with Rachel.
“Yay! Perfect timing! Good job, me!” She whooped as she sprang into the kitchen and took a plate. “I must have a sixth sense. Because I just knew I wouldn’t have to eat leftover pork fried rice tonight.” Like me, Rachel was an only child, but Rachel’s parents were both corporate trial lawyers, with all the crazy hours and long nights and last-minute meetings and work-slog weekends. Which meant that Rachel was on a first-name basis with every takeout restaurant in her twenty-block delivery radius.
Watching Rachel, seeing her ease and comfort here as she dished up her plate, I wondered what last year had been for her. Without me. Without my home to rely on. It couldn’t have been especially great.
After dinner, we were excused while Mom and Dad handled cleanup. “It’s only fair to give the chef a break,” said Mom.
“Cool. You don’t have to offer twice. Hey, and Dad? Will you bring me—”
“I will. As soon as we’re finished here.”
“Thanks.”
“Bring you what?” asked Rachel as we grabbed ice cream sandwiches from the freezer and then hauled upstairs to my room.
“Just some of my old clothes,” I said. “I need to do a closet cleanout.”
“Cool. I’ll help.”
Rachel started to look through my clothes closet, which was stuffed with fluttery blouses and ruffled dresses. The other day, I’d sorted out everything into piles of “wear” and “never.” On my chair was the wear pile: black jeans, broken-in boyfriend jeans, black leggings, brown leggings, plus two thin gray sweaters and one navy sweater from the bottom of my drawer. Voilà: my new neutral-palette uniform. I’d also chosen two white and one black long-sleeved T-shirts that were really just the tops to thermal underwear packs Mom had bought for me to use as pajamas.
“Birdie got me hooked on these,” I said, remembering. “She was always layering undershirts and leg warmers, and when the dance studio got too hot, she’d unpeel herself like an onion.”
“If you’re ripping off her style, you should swing by her office and say hi,” said Rachel. “You know Jake’s little sister, Mimi, is taking dance this year? And she has a mad girl-crush on Birdie.”
“Everyone does.” It pained me. When it came to dance, there’d always been two things I’d wanted: Lissa’s talent and Birdie’s passion.
Rachel was still shifting hangers, examining dresses. “Remember how your mom used to come back from Loehmann’s with armloads of clothes for you?” she asked. “She must be bummed you’ve gone and drained all the color out of your working wardrobe—again. See, even if you drop over a bridge and lose your memory, you still end up making the same fashion choices.” She stepped back, hands on her hips, as she gave a final appraisal of the flirty girlishness that took up most of my closet. “Except I think this stuff is what needs to be on the chair, right? And the pieces you actually want to wear get the priority of the closet.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready to do that to Mom yet. And full disclosure, my dad’s about to bring up what I was wearing the night of the accident.”
“Ooh. Creepy.” Rachel dropped her last bite of ice cream sandwich into her mouth. “But I get it. Memory helpfulness and all. Hey, Holden texted me that you two hung out today.”
“Mmm.” I smiled.
“That sounds like a private mmm, so guess what? I won’t be nosy. But guess what else? I went to the movies with Jake this afternoon.”
“Ah. And?” I wriggled my eyebrows. “What’d you see?”
“Does it matter?” She smirked.
“So is this official?”
She shook her head in a vague non-gesture. “Too early. I will say that all tickets and concession-stand items were paid for by him.”
“Nice to hear that chivalry isn’t dead.”
“I’m mostly happy that I’m hanging out with a guy who’s not shorter than me. You don’t realize, Emb, all the advantages of your shrimpdom. When I was going out with Patrick Case, he lent me his jacket and the arms were a little short. For a girl, that is distinctly not a cool feeling.”
“Wait—when were you going out with Patrick Case?”
“You were at Addington. It was super casual, and it’s way over. Hey, and Jake’s asked me out for Friday, too,” Rachel added shyly, “so I was wondering if I could borrow those Indian gold and jade hoops of yours?”
