“If I hadn’t dated Mel, I wouldn’t have all this.” She twirled around, claiming the land, the ocean, the wind. “I could write Mel off as a fling, or I could remember him as the man who brought me the Channel Islands. Everyone gives you something. It’s up to you to take it and move on.”
The boat ride back to the mainland was smoother than the ride out. The modest waves did little more than sway the boat. Alice searched for dolphins, but she didn’t see any, just dark green waters stretching to the horizon. She tried to decide if Ingrid was right, if everyone you dated gave you something. She always regarded her exes as giving her insomnia, dehydration, paranoia. They’d given her other things too. Restaurants that were now her favorites. Little-known hikes. Preferences for light roast coffee and Meyer lemons. So many things about her came from the men she’d been with, the relationships, however brief, that she’d seen as evidence of what was wrong with her rather than a part of who she’d become.
“What’d you think?” Alice asked Madeline.
“I think that was never love.”
“Maybe not, but isn’t it heartening to know that even when a story doesn’t work out, it can be life-affirming?”
They walked to the back of the boat, where the crew was lowering the gangplank. The wind caught Madeline’s short hair, lifting it vertically a few inches from her head.
“And that’s what that little performance proved for you? Trust me, when it ended with Mel, she wasn’t that calm. And I doubt she’s that Zen when relationships end now. She’s constructed a story that makes her feel better about being alone. I suppose that’s more commendable than wallowing. It doesn’t change the fact that I wrote her a story filled with false promises.”
“Maybe you just promised something else.”
“That’s not how this goes.” Madeline brushed past Alice onto the gangplank. “Ingrid said as much herself—the magic worked for a time, then that time was up. The story didn’t keep its power.”
They stepped down onto the dock, and Madeline surveyed the vast ocean before them before she spoke again. “We’re not trying to play God here, Alice. We do a very specific thing. And since we can’t do it effectively, we shouldn’t do it at all.”
Alice watched Madeline walk away, trying to decide if the old woman was right. She’d been so inspired by Ingrid, who’d forged a life on her own terms, one that grew out of a failed connection. There was beauty in that, but Madeline was right too. She had not delivered on the promise she made to her client. The relationship Madeline had brought her had ended. The same was true of the other yellow books too.
Alice found her notepad in her back pocket. BeneathRed = lasting love, Alice wroteYellow = flings, quickly faded.
It was impossible to tell from the records they’d uncovered if these brief romances had felt like love at the time. Either way, they weren’t lasting. They burned bright then died, the magic petered out.
It made Alice wonder if the same thing could happen to her stories, if they could lose their luster.
21
The Bridesmaid
“Sit still,” Gabby said, holding an eyeliner pencil inches
from Alice’s eye. “If you keep blinking, you’re going to end up looking like a raccoon.”
“I’m trying,” Alice said, her eyes fluttering involuntarily. “Can’t I just wear my everyday makeup?”
“Gabs,” Oliver shouted from inside the condo. “Are you torturing Alice again?”
“No,” Gabby shouted back.
“Yes,” Alice shouted over her.
Oliver popped his head out to the balcony, where Alice was sitting on one of their wicker chairs, Gabby looming over her. They’d already taken a straightening iron to Alice’s hair. Gabby then insisted they apply her makeup in natural light, since the wedding was outdoors.
“Do I need to alert the authorities? Is there some law about friend abuse?” Oliver said. He had a few days’ worth of stubble, and wore faded sweatpants that gave Alice the impression he hadn’t changed his clothes that morning. Normally that would infuriate Gabby, the slovenliness, the lethargy, the fact that he hadn’t even bothered to get dressed when her friend was coming over. Today she hardly seemed to notice.
Gabby stood, clamping her hand to her hip, pretending to be annoyed. “Do you really want to wade into the waters of female friendship?”
“No,” Oliver said, tapping his trusted memo pad against the balcony door. “No, I do not.” He disappeared inside.
Gabby surveyed Alice’s face. The makeup was caked into her cheeks uncomfortably. “Try shutting your eyes,” Gabby said.
Alice obeyed, feeling Gabby’s pencil across her eyelids.
“So, are you nervous about today?”
“Why would I be nervous about today?” Alice asked too quickly.
