Her father would see her. He would be proud. He would stay.
She nearly drowned. Black and blue and gnarly shades of purple bruises on her stomach and back and shins and twelve stitches behind her ear from where her head met rock. They’d had to shave a section of her hair off, which made her a badass to the boys in school and a freak to the girls. Such easy lines for fifth graders. Of course, it hadn’t been her father. Her mother had simply been seized by her own singular thought: the work deadline she’d forgotten that the impromptu beach day would cause her to miss.
The first time Mallory spoke of it again was the day before Ilena’s wedding. Ilena’s own father lived in California. His current wife wasn’t the woman he’d originally cheated with, but his decision to have that affair (and let’s be honest, probably more) had led him to palm trees and endless sun and Ilena with no one to walk her down the aisle. He had said he would come. And then, he didn’t.
Mallory sat on the bed in the studio apartment she’d rented straight out of college and pulled back her duvet. Nestled beneath it, Mallory held Ilena until her shuddering subsided and then told her the story about her own dad. And then Ilena held Mallory. They never made it to the bachelorette party neither of them had really wanted Mallory to plan. Their friends and coworkers hopped on the bus to the orchard winery and sipped syrupy wine made from blueberries while Mallory and Ilena debated which dangerous animal they’d have as a pet if they were guaranteed it wouldn’t hurt them. (A velociraptor for Mallory, an orangutan for Ilena.) And the next day, Mallory had walked Ilena down the aisle.
On the floor on the other side of the kitchen island, Mallory looks up. Her fingers stop moving, and Harley presses himself harder into her thighs as she scans the penthouse’s command center: intercom, door buzzer, camera linked to the security desk. The one monitored twenty-four hours a day. They must have seen her coming up with Grayson last night. They’ll know she hasn’t left. They’ll know she was the last person to see him alive.
She leaps to her feet, sending Harley scurrying under the dining room table. She flicks open her phone. The friend-tracking app shows that Ilena, who is in a cab with Aubrey, is only a few minutes out. Not knowing what else to do, she’d texted Ilena to meet her here, though she didn’t explain why. Not over text.
Mallory faces away from Grayson’s loafer and paces.Wasshe the last person to see him alive? She wraps her hand around her forearm, her fingers too slender to match up with the red marks.Wasshe the last thing he touched? Acid shoots up her throat, and she racks her brain to remember something, anything, about getting here or being here, but the last memory she has is sitting at the sandbox with Ilena and Aubrey.
Which leaves just one thing for me.
She’d grinned, and then she’d said the last thing shecanremember:Grayson.
As the two syllables left her lips she’d felt a weight lifting, the tightness in her chest these past few weeks vanishing, the sting of his betrayal of AIM eased by her own of him. She hadn’t even felt bad. No guilt.
This is a coincidence. He must have drunk too much and tripped. Hit his head on the granite island. Don’t people die from falls in their homes all the time? Yes, yes, yes, of course, a drunken fall! A tragic drunken fall.
She hurries to the kitchen, her fingers opening her phone app, the “9” and first “1” already entered when she sees the artisan wood board on the counter beside the sink. A soft Brie or Camembert melted into a pool of white, orange cubes of an aged Gouda or Manchego crusting over, rolled prosciutto dried out, a flattened puddle of honey, a pile of crackers. She keeps her head forward, eyes on the cheese board as she moves closer. Something sharp digs into the bottom of her foot. She draws her heel back and bends to pick up one of the broken pieces of cracker littering the floor.
She brings it to her nose and sniffs. Her tongue reaches out, the salt hits her, and her head spins to the counter. She squints, trying to make out the shape and the color, but it’s the little dark toasted specks that give it away. Sweat breaks out under her arms.
It can’t be.She forces the piece of cracker into her mouth, and her teeth don’t even need to bite down before she knows. She spits the macerated cracker into her palm and lets it fall to the floor. She clutches her phone and exits the kitchen, inhaling slowly to steady herself, to lower her heart rate, to let her mind try to make sense of this.
The crackers, gluten-free, low calorie, high protein, used tobe her favorite, a staple of her emergency snack bag, one she stopped packing when she started sleeping with Grayson.
Harley creeps out from beneath the table and sits on her feet. She pulls her foot back; he inches forward and sits. She does it again. So does Harley.
Shit, shit, shit.
“Go!” she shouts, “just go!” She yanks her foot, sending Harley skittering and releasing that same low whimper that she’s now sure he knows the effect of. Her lungs clench as she erases the “1” and the “9.” She checks Ilena’s status, sees she’s nearly there, and texts a breezyBrunch! How fun! We’ve been waiting, bubbly popped!The dots of Ilena’s response blink in and out, but Mallory cuts her off.No apologies necessary for being late!
Mallory squeezes the phone in her hand, willing Ilena to understand, to not do or say or write anything incriminating. Incriminating like the marks on Mallory’s forearm.
When the doorman rings to announce Ilena and Aubrey, Mallory answers, using the performance skills honed through her every interaction with condescending investors and patronizing start-up founders to put on a show. Laughing to some unuttered joke, pausing as if Grayson’s calling to her, responding to him as her heartbeat echoes in her ears, excitedly welcoming Ilena and Aubrey up.
In the penthouse’s vestibule, the elevator dings, and Mallory holds her breath. The doors slide open. Mallory feels herself relax as her eyes meet Ilena’s—her best friend, her partner in everything since they were eighteen-year-olds boasting that one day it’d be their names being whispered in the halls of Straus for having once claimed the biggest room as their own. The sight of her nearly sends Mallory into a fit of giggles. This is ridiculous. She’s being ridiculous. Grayson fell. This has nothing to do with the outing and the game or the crackers that couldn’t possibly have come from her.
“Oh, Ilena, you won’t believe—” Mallory starts.
Ilena waddles forward, and Mallory’s eyes take in Ilena’s balloon of a belly.
“Ilena? Is this some joke, tell me this is a joke or...” Mallory’s gaze travels from Ilena’s worried brow to Aubrey’s twisting hands.
This is... what is... this can’t be...real.Mallory pinches her eyes shut and breathes, deeply, inflating her chest, releasing the tightness across her shoulders, knowing when she opens her eyes, all of this will be gone. She opens her eyes. Nothing’s gone. Except maybe her sanity. “Well, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
Aubrey gives a half wave as she steps out of the elevator, letting the doors close behind her. “That was me. Apparently.”
“But that’s not...” Mallory’s voice disappears, unable to choke out thepossible. Ilena’s stomach means anything is possible.
“I know, but I’m fairly sure.” Aubrey’s shoulders round as if she’s trying to fold in on herself. “I don’t remember, but there was... evidence.”
Guilt wells in Mallory’s throat. “Kai?”
Aubrey nods, her finger rubbing a spot on her thumb.
