I shake my head. “Still trapped in legal purgatory.”
Of all the unique miseries of losing a parent, the paperwork has been the most surprising punishment. The house jointly owned by Dad and his band is just one frustrating piece of the puzzle of settling his affairs.
“I miss it,” I sigh, something I haven’t even admitted to myself. “Not just the Outpost, but all of Galena.”
“Ohmygod, GALENA!?”
I swear my skeleton jumps inside my skin. It’s Chrissy, naturally. In college, Gin and I joked that Chrissy was our live-in noise complaint. It’s nice to know some things don’t change.
“Sorry, sorry. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you,” Chrissy says. “I just heardGalena, and I was like, hello? Spring break throwback.”
“God, I miss those days.” Gin looks momentarily wistful before fully frowning. “In retrospect, the band never should havetrusted three college girls in the same house as their recording studio.”
“Especially after we spilled all that boxed wine on the carpet freshman year,” Chrissy admits. “The band should have banished us for that.”
I laugh, my first honest laugh of the day. “You think The Handful never spilled booze in their recording studio? How do you think those records got made?”
“Wait. Hang on.” Chrissy dives into her purse and pulls out her phone, then swipes until her eyes flicker. “There it is.” She shows us a photo I both forgot existed and don’t remember taking. There are a lot of those, unfortunately, but this one isn’t so bad. In it, Gin, Chrissy, and I can’t be more than twenty years old or less than ten drinks deep. We’re three across on the porch swing at the Outpost, smiling like we’ll be that young forever. It’s a sweet picture, but my stomach begs to turn itself inside out, and I’m not sure if it’s grief or the memory of vomiting coconut rum. What I’d give to be young, drunk, and stupid again, not yet wise to how bad things could get.
“This is gold.” Gin laughs, and Chrissy swipes to another photo. This time, my stomach sours entirely. We’re in the studio in the basement of the Outpost. A baby-faced Gin has two drumsticks stuck in her mouth, pretending to be a walrus, which could be adorable if not for my sad, lightless eyes beside her. It could pass as normal back then, just typical college stuff, the way I was drunk almost every night. Blacking out was an every-weekend type of thing, something to laugh about over hungover dining hall breakfasts.
Chrissy swipes one more time, and my stomach flops. Thispicture is the worst by far. She zooms in on a shot of me passed out with my head in a guitar case. “Pfft.” She smirks. “Classic Alice.”
Those two words echo through me—Classic Alice—and even though I’m standing completely upright, I feel like I’m tipping backward, falling through space until Gin catches me with a steadying smile. She knows what I know: Blackout Alice is a thing of the past.
“Such good memories in that house.” Gin squeezes my shoulder. “And we have your dad to thank for all of them.”
I like how often Gin brings Dad up. It almost feels like he’s not gone, or at least it’s proof he was ever here. I feel warm and rooted in place, at least until my phone buzzes with another text from Mom. I’ve lost track of time again, but Gin stops me before I can restart my goodbyes.
“Iknowyou have to go, Alice. But can you please hang back for just five more minutes? For me? I have to give you something. Chrissy, you too.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, wavering. There’s that weird obligated feeling again. Mom will understand, I decide, so I smile and nod, and Gin leads us to the bar, where she produces three periwinkle gift boxes: one for me, one for Chrissy, and one for…
“You haven’t seen Renee, have you?”
Dread drops into my stomach like an anvil onto a cartoon mouse.
Renee freaking Roberts. Maybe I should have expected to see her here, but it’s been years since I’ve thought of her at all, much like you don’t think about a stain once you’ve treated it. You just wear the dress again, forgetting there was ever a problem until, in the right light, you see that it was never really gone.
“I haven’t seen her,” Chrissy says.
Gin scans the room. “She had a work thing, so she might not have made it.”
The nausea begins to subside.She’s not here, Alice. You got off easy. Time to leave and start preparing for how to avoid her at the next event.
“Wait—isn’t that her by the door?”
I look up, following the line of Chrissy’s outstretched finger until I land on a flash of blond that makes my upset stomach throw a full-blown tantrum. And here she comes, seeping into our evening in a cherry red leather jacket, the clack of her high heels growing clearer and louder alongside my heartbeat, which thuds up my throat.
Gin squeals and scurries to meet Renee halfway, folding her into a hug. “You made it! Oh my God, I really didn’t think you’d be here.”
My gut kicks in protest.Well, Virginia, we have that in common.
The last time I saw Renee Roberts, she was the tooth fairy, and I was a piss-drunk Sonny Bono being tossed out of my own apartment. What sounds like a Mad Lib is actually about par for the course so far as interactions between me and Renee. At least one of us has been in costume every time our paths have crossed: Halloween bar crawls, themed parties, theater productions…even now, her black shift dress and red leather jacket could pass as her take on Cruella de Vil, and this wine-stained white dress makes me a literal target. Or perhaps a wounded dalmatian? I’d rather not stick around to find out.
One of Rishi’s relatives intercepts Gin for a photo, so it’s only Renee who joins us at the bar. She thumps her bag on the bar top, rattling every glass. “I’m so sorry I’m late, gals.” Her voice is justhow I remember it, a coarse mezzo-soprano. She gives me a bored once-over, down and up again, then pops her lips. “Alice.”
A chill rolls down my spine. “Hi, Renee.”
