“I’m fine with talking to you, but we’re not friends, Laura. You can’t just jump back into my life now that I have everything figured out and I won’t be a burden to you,” I say.
“God. It’s not like it was simple for us, Henri. Of course I wanted to be there for you, but our parents told us talking to you might link them to your dad and we’d all be in trouble,” she says so genuinely that I can’t stop the shocked laugh that tumbles out of me.
“You only believe that because you wanted to. We were nineteen, our texts wouldn’t mean shit. It’s not like we were working at the company. It might be a simple thing that seems like it’s in the past now, but I lived it and it’s a part of me. I’m proud of the person I’ve become and everything I’ve learned,” I tell her and mean every word. I didn’t have any control over what happened to me; I could never have predicted it. But Isurvived it and am strong for it. I can always count on myself and have learned how to know when I can truly count on those around me. “I’m happy you seem to have a good life and I hope that continues, but I don’t need you in mine. Not anymore.”
I leave her and go search for a cup of apple cider before finding a spot on the opposite side of the hill just as Liam gets into position. I cheer him on until my throat burns.
“And look at the way he throws his helmet and just storms off,” I say, scrolling to the saved recording on my phone to the end of his race with Kurt. Liam beat him by a solid three-second margin.
After, he won his match in the quarterfinals but lost in the semifinals against a guy he told me he competed against when he was younger. Mrs. Wilson ended up losing her second race, so they didn’t end up placing as a team.
We hung around for the rest of the races, the winner of the tournament being a pair of international title holders from Sweden, before heading to the house and taking advantage of it being empty. Now, showered and thoroughly satiated, we’re rewatching the event on my phone as we sit on the couch. Outside, the sun is sinking low.
“Wow. He’s so red. I can’t believe I didn’t notice,” Liam says, taking the phone from my hands. “We better avoid him tonight at the gala.”
“Or at least wait until he’s had a drink or two. He’s always been a happy drunk.”
“What do you mean you don’t have a dress? You planned this whole damn thing and don’t have something to wear to the party?” Pen’s voice reverberates through the house as the front door slams open.
“I’ll just wear the one from last year. It’s not a big deal,” June counters as she comes into view through the doorway, making a beeline for the stairs. “We’re wasting time arguing. I have an hour before I need to be back at the lodge to do final checks. You’re lucky I agreed to come over for this long.”
“It will be obvious in the pictures and it will look sloppy since you’re in charge of all this,” Pen points out.
June stops mid-stride and huffs, obviously irritated that her younger sister has made a valid point. “And where exactly am I supposed to get a dress?”
“We could swap,” I offer. “We look about the same size, so it could work.”
“Oh my gosh, yes. Henri, please come up and get ready with us.” Pen beams.
I look to Liam to see if it’s okay. I want to spend as much time as I can with him, but it would be fun to have a little girl time. He untangles his arms from me and cocks his head to the door. “Go. There’s a fashion emergency you need to solve.”
The dress I brought has been hanging in the closet since the night I arrived to keep it from wrinkling. June gasps when she tries it on, the black A-line silhouette hugging her in all the right places before flaring into a paneled chiffon skirt that she grips as she spins, staring at herself in the mirror. It’s strapless, which puts her toned back and arms on display.
“Okay, fuck you for looking so good,” Pen says, then looks at me. “Do you have a second magic dress in there for me?”
“Unfortunately, no. But I can help you pick one if you let me raid your closet,” I tell her, unable to stop grinning. Clothes have this power to make us feel like our best selves.
I help Pen pick out a coquettish emerald green dress with puff sleeves and lace trim detailing that looks right out of the seventies before changing into the black off-the-shoulder dress that June was going to wear.
We all crowd into June’s room, decorated with delicate shabby chic florals, but is fairly sparse and impeccably clean. Pen blasts songs I haven’t heard since middle school, and she and I sing along as I work to give June a blow out, taking breaks to use the massive round brush like a microphone. I’ll admit, it’s far better than getting ready alone.
Thirty minutes in, Pen has to give up on looking over June’s shoulder at the vanity as she attempts to apply fake eyelashes and disappears into a bathroom to finish the job.
I’m finishing up the top layer of June’s thick brown hair when the end of the brush hits the back of the wooden chair June is sitting on and tumbles to the ground.
I kneel down to grab the hairbrush from where it’s rolled under the bed, damned round barrel. My fingers connect with the familiar glossy pages of a magazine and pull it toward me, close enough that I can see, but so it’s still concealed under the bed.Spitfire.
I look further and there’s a whole stack.
Holy shit.
“Did it really go that far? If you can’t get it I bet my Mom has one we can borrow,” June says and I nearly bump my head at that sudden sound of her voice.
“Got it.” I crawl out and grab a magazine with me. “And I found this. You have an entire stack of them down there.” I give her a look that I hope conveys that I will see right through any bullshit she tries to spin.
“Fine. I have them to read Liam’s articles, all right? Just don’t tell him. He’s weird about that. He never tells us anything about it anymore. Hell, he hardly talks about New York at all,” she admits. “I wouldn’t know he even wrote for Spitfire except for the fact that I was stuck in line at the grocery store and flipped through the Halloween issue from last year. There was this article on how men remain willfully ignorant about thetrue commentary ofAmerican Psychoso they can make being a capitalist asshole their entire personality.”
“Oh, I loved that one. It’s how I learned that the movie was written and directed by women. Fuck, he wrote about how his sister told him that after she made him watch it.”
