“It’s the obits, really,” I said. “In the paper at home, there are at least eight to ten obituaries every day. Here, because it’s smaller, usually they only run one or two. But they do alotmore In Memoriams, I’ve noticed.”
“In Memoriams?”
I opened the paper. “They run on what would have been the person’s birthday, or the anniversary of the day they died. They talk about how much they’re missed and loved and all that. Like a letter to the beyond, but in the paper.”
“Interesting,” Nana said. “It’s similar to lawsuit settlements, when you’re often required to post terms in the classifieds. If it’s in the public record, everyone sees it.”
“Even the dead,” I said.
“Even them.”
As we sat there together, eating and reading in companionable silence, I thought of Mimi’s kitchen, far across that water just outside the window, and my mornings there. It was possible I’d never get to wake up again to the smell of toast, arguments over butter, and a day of housekeeping ahead of me. But maybe I would. Even with all that had been taken from me, I still had time.
Twenty-One
The one good thing about being in the same place all the time is that you’re easy to find. Or, you know, call.
“How bad is it?” Bailey asked, skipping a hello. She’d been texting me nonstop since the night of Taylor’s party, but I hadn’t had the heart or energy to reply, so she’d been forced to reach out to me with an actual call. Which she hated. I was kind of touched, to be honest.
“Well, I’m grounded,” I said. “I can’t go anywhere.”
“At least it’s a nice place,” she replied. “What else?”
“My dad is pissed. He’s not talking to me. Still.”
“Did you cry?”
“Yes. Didn’t help.”
“Damn.” She sighed. “How long are you punished for?”
“He didn’t say,” I told her. Another loud exhale. “Is that bad?”
“Well, it’s not good,” she said. “Personally I prefer a date range for all my punishments at the time they are given. Otherwise extensions get tacked on again and again for eventhe smallest thing, and the next thing you know, you have no life whatsoever.”
That was encouraging. I said, “My grandmother is trying to help, though. She wants to have you all over for dinner.”
“Who’s all of us?” she asked, sounding suspicious.
“Well,” I said, “Mimi and Oxford, I guess, and you and Trinity. Celeste and Gordon and Jack.”
“Is she thinking, like, a restaurant or something?”
“The Club, actually. She’s looking at next Friday.”
“The Club?” Now, I had her full attention. “Are you serious?”
“Yep,” I said. “Do you think you all will come?”
“I’ll be there,” she said automatically. “Are you kidding? I’ve always wanted to eat at the Club. I hear they have specific forks just for oysters. Have you seen those yet?”
“I don’t like oysters.”
“Who cares? They’re specific little forks just for ONE FOOD. I mean, what is that?” She laughed. “Oh, God, and what will Iwear? And will we come by boat, or drive? Because if we come by boat, then I might see Colin, and—”
Hearing this name, I realized I’d been so caught up with my experience at Taylor’s party I hadn’t even thought of hers. Who was selfish now? “What’s happening with Colin? Did you see him at the party?”
“Briefly,” she replied, her voice coy. “I mean, it was kind of hard for us to talk with my drunk cousin about to be busted by her dad, but—”
