“Ask him to leave a couple of buttons undone,” says Greer.
Kit snorts a surprised laugh, but then her face grows serious again. “I don’t want you hurt. I’m worried about this.” Between the three of us, it’s Greer who usually strikes people as the anxious one. But it’s Kit who worries, who doesn’t much like change to the equilibrium.
“You guys, I’m fine. He and I are fine, together. It’s not complicated.” But I still think of his hand in mine. Our fingers tangled together, and worse, my thoughts tangled up in his problems.
“So it’s not a big deal if he comes, then,” says Greer. “He can invite his friends too.I liked them.”
I open my mouth to object, but Kit interrupts me. “Zoe,” she says, standing again. “I guess I’m not really asking. I have his number too. You call him, or I’ll call him. This is important to us.”
I look over at Greer, who gives a nod of encouragement. “It’d be better if we got to knowhim,” she says.
“Fine,” I say, sounding sullen, but beneath it I feel a familiar warmth, comfort. What I did to deserve these two, I’ll never know. But maybe that’s the point of us—that I don’t have to think too hard about whether I deserve them. They never make me feel like I don’t. They never make me feel anything but loved. What distance we have between us is what I put there—my fear, my guilt. For a second, I think about telling them about my vase, but then I think better of it. It’ll just ruin the evening—it’ll make them worry more. Instead I stand up, take another fortifying sip of wine before settingthe glass down.
“Kit-Kat,” I say, squeezing her shoulder as I walk back toward her stairs. “I’m going to go borrow one of your nerd t-shirts, and then you’re putting me to work.”
* * * *
Greer reminds me once more, when we’re walking out to our cars after leaving Kit’s. We stand on the sidewalk for a minute, Greer passing a file folder to me for a set of documents she’s asking me to review, another part of her post-lottery project. She thanks me profusely, then puts her arms around me for a hug, her favorite goodbye—she really squeezes too, skinny-armed Greer. When she pulls back she says, “You’re going to call him, right?”
I sigh, roll my eyes. “Iguess,” I say, working up the kind of teenage exasperation that makes me feel like I’ve earned their look from earlier. Greer smiles up at me, pats my arm. “Check your email,” she says. “I sent you a video of a dog playing with one of those springydoorstoppers.”
“You’re the best,” I tell her, ducking into my car.
It doesn’t take me long to get home, but once I’m inside I realize the lateness of the hour—almost midnight—is a benefit. I text him a simpleYou up?that I’m guessing he won’t see until morning. By then it’ll be even later notice, even less of a chance he’ll be able to come, even less of a chance of us taking this into territory that’s well behind the rules of our arrangement.
But when my phone rings, barely thirty seconds later, I feel a secret thrill of delight.
“You all right?” he sayswhen I answer.
“Oh,” I answer, embarrassed. In his voice I hear a thread of concern, and I wonder how many times he’s had bad phone calls at night, how lightly he sleeps to always be able to hear them. “There’s nothing wrong—you didn’t need to call back right away. Wereyou sleeping?”
“I’m on duty.” In the background, I hear Charlie’s laugh, the low reverb of Ahmed’s voice. I feel desperate to see what it’s like where Aiden is, to see where he spends so much time. Does he look the same there as he does at the campground, fully in his element? An unpleasant thought strikes me: What didIlook like, today, at that Legal Aid office? Too slick in my pencil skirt and silk blouse, my four-inch pumps with the glossy red sole?
“I’m sorry,” I say. “To bother you.”
“You’re not bothering me. Don’t be sorry.” It’s simple, what he’s said, but there’s some latent heaviness too, some echo of our last conversation in the truck.
“It’s funny, isn’t it? We apologize to each other a lot.”
There’s a long pause on the other end, a door shutting, and the line gets quieter, the background noise gone. “I wouldn’t say it’s funny.”
“Me neither.” I take a deep breath through my nose. Before I get anything out about the party, Aiden surprises me.
“The Coburgs dropped out.”
“What?” My voice has that edge of excitement, as though I’m talking to a close friend and about to get some piece of gossip that’s bound to be good. A strange sort of bonding, but nevertheless Ifeelit.
“Yeah, I was going to call you tomorrow. Lorraine told me a few hours ago. They drove out to the campground this morning and told her and Paul they’d changed their minds. Said it was enough for them to worry about their own kids.”
“Oh,” I say, maybe a little disappointment in my voice. That wasn’t verygossipy at all.
“Rachel told Lorraine that the camp—uh. That it had lost sight of its principles.”
“Eek. I’ll bet Lorraine was pissed.”
“She doesn’t much get mad.” I can picture the shrug he uses to accompany this. Whenever he does it, his mouth turns down at the corners as his shoulders come up, like they’re connected. “I think she might’ve been a little relieved. Out of all of us, they seemed theleast into it.”
All of us,I repeat silently to myself, breathing through the thrill of that inclusion. “So,” I say, keeping my voice casual, free of the eager curiosity that’s tapping me on the shoulder. “We’re not goingthis weekend?”
