“Some differences you can’t get past. That’s why our relationship would never work,” I said through clenched teeth, talking about Chip, because he had some nerve judging me for my drunk-at-sunrise phase when he’d gone through a phase himself where he wouldn’t stop hanging his underwear off various official flagpoles (the 9/11 Memorial one had been in especially poor taste), but before I could say that, Squeaky jumped off my lap, purring hard as he trotted somewhere behind me. The only reason he’d jump off my lap would be to greet his other favorite person, which meant…
“Gabe?” I said, turning around and lowering my phone. My mom continued our conversation in a tiny voice with the couch cushions. I hadn’t even heard him come in.
Whenhad he come in? How much had he heard?
Enough where his eyes were glossy. No tears striped his cheeks, but I’d never so much as seen him look like he was going to cry. “Gabe,” I said again, standing. Taking a step toward him. “It’s not what it—”
I stopped, my stomach lurching, as he took a step back. Away from me. “I heard enough,” he said, his voice a croak. He didn’t even stoop down to pet Squeaky or scoop him up into his arms. “Pom. I was going to propose. On Kevin’s island. The original plan was to propose after the gala, but the murder killed that plan.” Neither of us laughed at that terrible pun. His face was ashy. I felt kind of like I was going to throw up, but I was frozen in place, so I’d choke. “I thought it would be the perfectplan B: find a beautiful, isolated stretch of pristine beach, ask someone at the party to take photos from a distance, ask you to marry me, just the two of us. But then I heard what you were saying to Persimmon…”
My stomach lurched again. I’d been trying to one-up Persimmon as she bragged about her future proposal from Kevin. Of course Gabe would have dropped his plan after hearing that crap.
“And now this…” He shook his head. Took another step back. Had I heard a creak before, when I started talking about how different Gabe and I were?
Probably. Because that would’ve been the absolute worst spot for him to start listening. “Gabe, it’s not what it sounds like,” I said.
But he was still shaking his head, still moving back, ignoring Squeaky, who was headbutting his leg to get pets in an increasingly frustrated manner. “Even so,” he said. “It’s too much. It’s too much right now. I need some time away. You stay here. I’m going to…” He turned, showing me his back. “I’m going to go stay with Caleb for a bit. I need some time to think.”
He took that last step toward the door, then paused. Knelt down to scratch Squeaky behind the ears and give him a kiss on his head. “Be good, Meatball,” he said, and then, like a magician, he was gone.
If it were just what he’d overheard me say on the phone, I’d run after him and plead my case. But that, combined with the whole proposal thing…
Honestly? The idea of an isolated beach proposal didn’t make me jump with joy. Did I really want the over-the-top proposal I’d described to Persimmon? No. It sounded like a lot of work, and what if the giant ring got lost in the coral, and also I didn’t really want to show up at a party soaking wet while everybody else was nice and dry. But I really wanted something in between the two, and what if that meant I was shallow after all? That there was toomuch of Old Pom in me? That I wasn’t the woman Gabe thought I was, the woman he deserved?
Was I really any different than I was before? Maybe I’d tried and tried and tried to climb out of the Old Pom pit, only to realize that the walls were too high and too slippery and that I was stuck here in my old self.
My phone buzzed. I glanced at it, hoping that it was Gabe saying he’d made a mistake but that he’d forgotten his keys so I’d need to let him up, but resigned to the fact that it was my mother who’d heard from a neighbor about what Gabe just said and wanted to gloat.
It wasn’t either one of them. It was my long-dormant—at least on my side—group chat with Millicent and Coriander. They, at least, didn’t assume that the article was true.
Ugh Pom what the internet is saying about you
Pom come out with us and show them how much you don’t care
Let’s flip them all the bird!!!
What was the point of resisting?
CHAPTER
Twenty-Two
Getting ready for my night out felt like slipping into a dress from last season I’d found at the back of my closet that was somehow still in style. When I looked at myself in the mirror, it felt as if I was seeing a friend from the past, Old Pom in her black bodycon dress with mussed hair and big, ironic pearls dripping from her ears and her throat.
I met my friends outside one of our old haunts downtown. They rushed over to me on the sidewalk for cheek kisses and hugs where we barely touched, partially because Coriander’s metallic silver dress had little spikes around the collar. “Oh my God, Pom, it’s so good to finally see you,” Millicent gushed, clad in a sparkly pink jumpsuit that looked as if she’d plucked it from a human-size Barbie Dreamhouse. Had her voice always been this nasal to the point where it grated against my nerves?
“Yeah, you’ve really been out of the loop,” Coriander said. Had she always twirled her blond hair with her fingers in this way that made me want to chop her fingers off one by one with gardening shears? “We have to fill you in.”
I leaned in, smiling mechanically, as they led me inside. The entryway was small and dark, the stairs going down narrow and claustrophobic. “I can’t wait. Tell me everything.” I couldn’t stopglancing around me, keeping an eye out for anyone who might be seeing me, judging me. Old habit from the past year.
Our usual routine was bar before club, so that we could get all of the talking out of the way before music drowned everything out. This particular bar was speakeasy style, located in a basement and littered with gas lamps, Tiffany stained glass, and shelf upon shelf of herbal-looking tonic and clear liquids in elegant perfume bottles behind the stately mahogany bar. It was crowded already; I nodded to a few people I recognized and a few people I was pretty sure I didn’t but who would get a thrill from The Pomona Afton nodding at them like she did.
For the next hour, over drinks that tasted like medicine or licorice or sometimes both, Millicent and Coriander filled me in on the last few months of happenings in their sphere. My old sphere, the one I had spurned for the new one that had spurned me. Old friends who had gotten together. Who had broken up. Who had gotten together then broken up then gotten together again but would probably break up soon. Who had gotten threatened with eviction proceedings from their parents after throwing one too many loud parties, who had been arrested for dealing or driving under the influence but got off without jail time. Who had been thinking about starting a fashion line (Millicent) and who had sworn off drinking wine for the near future because of the tannins (Coriander).
“What exactly are tannins?” I asked Coriander. Her face wrinkled up, eyes wide with fright. Before she had to admit she had no idea what they were or why she was avoiding them, I changed the subject. “Do you know Chip? Apparently everyone thinks we should be together for some reason.”
“Chip? Princeton Chip?” Millicent asked. “Oh no. I’ve slept with him and he’s so mid.”
“So mid,” Coriander echoed. Was she supporting her friend or did that mean she’d also slept with him and found him mid?
