My car pulled up in front of Vienna’s favorite brunch spot, which was near the Whitney Museum, alllllll the way west in the Meatpacking District, presumably because it was where she’d go before visiting the museum. It was high-ceilinged, softly lit, strewn with small, uncomfortable-looking tables and glowing things Iwasn’t sure were lamps or art pieces, the opposite of the small, cozy breakfast spot Gabe liked to go to north of our apartment. An acoustic guitar player strummed in one corner beside a singer who sounded a little bit like Enya and, wait, might actually have been Enya. On the one wall that wasn’t hung with colorful abstract art, huge arched windows looked out over the Hudson River, the sun dazzling over the gray water.
I found Vienna sitting with Kitty, Libby, John, a few others, and Persimmon in the corner, beneath a massive painting of a bunch of pink dots over red smudges. Vienna was sitting on the literal edge of her seat, her thighs probably burning with the effort. The smile she gave me was a little nervous, a little shy. “Pom.” She stood to greet me, leaning in for a brief hug. Though it was early, she had on a full face of makeup above a boxy silk tee and gray pencil slacks.
“Vee,” I said, conscious that I, in my flowy white maxi skirt and cropped pink leather jacket, was about a hundred decibels louder in appearance than anyone else at this table.
But c’est la vie. The rest of the circle echoed her greeting; Persimmon, rewearing that cute ivy jumpsuit from yesterday, was the only one who stood up for a hug. “Good to see you, Pom,” she said, her voice so genuine that Vienna and the rest of the circle raised their eyebrows. “How are you feeling?”
I glanced around the circle. A few eyes flicked up from my loud ensemble, lips pinching with disapproval. You know what? Screw them. Being honest with Persimmon had gone great for both me and Vienna. Being honest with myself had gone great too. Might as well keep doing it. “I’m feeling fantastic, actually,” I said, pulling a chair over with a terrible screech on the subway-tiled floor. Half the group winced. I ignored it and plopped down, crossing my legs so that my skirt billowed out and brushed the legs of the people next to me. “I’m exhausted because I was out clubbing all last night. I know,classy.” The other half of the group winced, probably because I’d just echoed their sarcastic thought. “But it turnsout I really love clubbing and I’ve missed it a lot over the past year. You can want to do good in the world and appreciate art and have a blast at the club too.”
From all the side-eye I was getting, I was pretty sure they didn’t agree. But so what? What was the worst they could do? Maybe boycott my galas and parties and deprive me of a crucial source of funding. Ostracize me socially and spread terrible rumors about me, I supposed. Also make it too awkward for Vienna to continue being my friend.
Okay, thinking about all that had been a mistake. I took a shaky breath and fixed a bright smile on my face. No going back now. “Anyway, honesty feels great. Anyone else want to share anything?”
My eyes found Vienna, who was studiously avoiding mine. She was clearly not ready to share the secret Conrad had blackmailed her over. It wasn’t my place to share it for her, but it would definitely come out eventually. These things always did. I hoped she’d be able to share it on her own terms before someone else did it for her.
“I suppose I can share,” said Kitty. “Last night I took home a signed first edition ofJane Eyrefrom the New York Public Library benefit and silent auction. One of my absolute favorite books.”
I nodded along enthusiastically, deciding not to mention that whenJane Eyrehad been assigned in school, I’d barely made it through the SparkNotes. Even from those I didn’t love the sound of it—we’re supposed to be rooting for a “romantic hero” who locked his mad wife in an attic and then lied to his creepily younger lover and, oh, right, employee, about it? No way. “How fun.”
It hadn’t been quite what I’d meant by sharing, but Libby took her lead. “Also last night, I cohosted a party meant to raise awareness of alternative contraception methods,” she said. I nodded, kind of interested this time. My IUD was great, but it was coming time for replacement and the insertion had been a bitch. Ifthere was something out there to use that didn’t make me feel as if I were being sliced in half for a weekend but that I also didn’t have to worry about forgetting to take at the same time every day, I was all for it.
“Cool.”
The rest of the semicircle chimed in with their altruistic and/or scholarly pursuits of the week, some more pompous-sounding than others. I nodded along, fighting the urge to feel silly and small. I couldn’t host a benefit or raise awareness for a genocideeverynight. Surely it was okay to just have fun sometimes.
“Well, I, for one, just went out for a late dinner with my parents,” said Vienna. I knew her saying this was a kindness for me; knowing Vienna and her parents, it had probably been a dinner to raise money to save rare birds in Taiwan or music education in the Bronx. “And then it was so nice to hear from Persimmon this morning. I feel like it’s been so long since I’ve been here.”
The rest of the circle nodded along, nobody mentioning the fact that she hadn’t been here in so long because they’d all been shunning her. Nobody ever would either. The social rules said we’d glide right over it as if it had never happened. Eventually everybody would forget. Everybody except Vienna.
It made me feel protective of her. I turned back to Persimmon, not wanting to focus on how they’d treated my best friend. “How did you like the night market?”
Her smile seemed a little mechanical. “Oh. It was nice. It turns out that yak isn’t too bad.” She toyed with her hair, avoiding my eyes. She hadn’t even gotten to try the yak, had she? “And then Kevin and I went back into the city to see a show.”
She named a beautiful show on Broadway about mothers and daughters that I’d cried at. Mostly because my own mother would never sing songs about how she’d do anything to protect me, even kill someone (she would totally kill someone, just not to protect me). When I’d gone backstage to meet the actorsafterward, it had taken some serious self-control not to ask the woman playing the mother if she wanted to adopt me.
“You guys are so cute together,” Kitty cooed, taking a sip of her tomato juice. Persimmon smiled back, just a moment too late.
“Yeah. Sure.” Was that sarcasm? Had something gone wrong between when I ran into them last night and now?
Maybe I was thinking that because it was a distraction from the fact that, even though I’d had a major personal epiphany, my boyfriend wasn’t there to know it and might not even care. Maybe it was because it was nice to think that somebody else was a bigger mess than me. Maybe it was because I was the best friend anyone could ever have. Probably that one. But whatever it was, the curiosity grew again. “Hey, Persimmon,” I said, standing. “Could you come with me to the bathroom? I need help with my… buttons.”
Nobody in the circle looked surprised, which was kind of insulting. Really, did they think that somebody as experienced in avoiding upskirt photos as I was would wear something I couldn’t get off by myself? (Unless I was at the Met Gala, of course. The rules were different for the Met Gala.) Vienna gave me an odd look. Probably she’d noticed I wasn’t wearing any buttons. I tried to give her a significant look back, all like,I have a good reason for this, and just had to hope she’d get it and wasn’t insulted I was snubbing her.
Persimmon, to her credit, was game, maybe because this friendship we’d created was so small and new and fragile. She stood. “Sure.”
Our trip to these restrooms was way better than our trip to the Porta Potties. They were located down a long hallway lined with more art, less grand than the huge canvases in the main space yet somehow more moving (I made a mental note to ask the manager about a small painting of a girl perched on a rock gazing out over the ocean—it would work perfectly in my guest room).Both single-occupancy rooms were vacant. I took a quick peek inside the farther one to make sure it was the accessible one and therefore larger before ushering Persimmon inside.
Up close, there were dark smudges under her eyes held in bags the size of dumplings. “You look exhausted,” I said, surprised.
“Thanks,” she said dryly. “Where are your buttons?”
I waved a hand in the air. “Oh, that was just a lie to get you alone,” I told her. She glanced, eyes wide, at the lock on the door. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to murder you. They’d catch me in, like, a second.”
“But you would murder me otherwise?”
“No, of course not.” Sometimes I forgot that most other people didn’t constantly have murder on the mind. Maybe Ishouldopen up that detective agency. “Anyway. I wanted to make sure you were okay. You seemed off out there. Did something happen after you left the night market?”
Her eyes widened, as if she were more surprised by me being a good friend than she was about me potentially murdering her, which, honestly, rude. “Wow. Actually. Yes. Yeah, it did.”
