“Absolutely,” Rae agreed, cringing at the prices.
Ellen proposed they split two entrees among the four of them—the lobster ravioli and spicy rigatoni vodka—and Rae loved her more than ever. They splurged on the third-cheapest bottle of champagne.
After they’d scraped their plates clean, Rae flagged down the waitress, who seemed as deliberately miserable as the hostess. “Another round of focaccia, please?” she asked.
“Anything other than … bread?” the waitress asked.
Rae disliked how the elegant-soundingfocacciawas demoted to clunkybread. “Just the focaccia for now, thank you,” she said.
After another hour had gone by, they ordered one tiramisu for the table, blurting the “Happy Birthday” song as the waitress brought it out.
“I’m scared I’m going to blink and we’re all going to befortyor something,” Ellen said, as the Scramblettes practically licked the petite plate clean. “Time is moving at warp speed.”
The champagne bottle was nearly empty. Ellen turned it over and managed to eke out another small glass, which she downed in two sips.
“I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up,” Ellen went on. “Except here’s the problem—I’m already grown up!”
Rae found it both comforting and concerning that even Ellen wasn’t immune to a quarter-century crisis. “You’re a fresh twenty-five,” Rae consoled. “Lots of time to figure things out. Not like me, closer to twenty-six.”
She felt no closer to escaping Wall Street than she had half a year ago. The only interviews she’d gotten were with other investment firms. She’d taken a couple phone calls just to feel like she had options, but they’d only reminded her why she wanted to flee the industry.
“I wish I loved something as much as you love words,” Ellen said to Rae. “The only things I’m really passionate about are ice cream and sex. Can’t exactly make a career from either of those.”
“Dessert porn is always an option,” Mina said.
“Big monetization opportunity,” Sarah agreed.
Ellen scowled. “Grow up.”
“Where’s Aaron taking you this weekend?” Sarah asked.
Ellen’s official birthday was tomorrow, but she’d waived herYou have to celebrate your birthday on the actual daypolicy given Aaron was whisking her away for a weekend trip.
“Not sure,” Ellen said. “It’s a surprise.”
“So romantic,” Mina sighed. She was between fizzled flings.
“I’m too young to settle down,” Ellen said. “Don’t you think?”
“Not necessarily,” Rae said, rocking Ellen on her lap. “The earlier you meet the right person, the better. Remember the math I presented at my birthday?”
“How could I forget,” Ellen said, and Rae regretted bringing it up. She of all people should be more sensitive to the turbulence of emotions caused by turning twenty-five and still feeling like you’re eighteen.
“Has Aaron talked about getting married?” Sarah asked.
“Not explicitly,” Ellen said. “But he keeps making comments aboutnext summerandour futureand terrifying things like that.”
A male waiter came by and deposited another focaccia basket, eliciting a cheer from three-quarters of the Scramblettes. He winked at Ellen, the holdout.
“Is that guy hot?” Ellen asked, eyes trailing him as he walked away. “He is, right?”
“I don’t know,” Rae said. “I guess he’s threshold-level attractive.”
“I’d sleep with him,” Mina said, as if this were a highly selective benchmark.
“I can’t even tell if other people are attractive anymore,” Ellen said. “This is a clear red flag.”
“It’s not a red flag, it’s a romantic banner,” Rae said. “You’re not looking around. That’s a good thing.”
