“I could tip off the police,” I say. “That you’re housing a fugitive.”
“Good luck paying rent if Tara and me are locked up,” Hal says.
It smacks hard. “I’d find a way,” I say, but I know she can feel that my threat is an empty one. All of us can.
Hal rises from the couch, pulls on her frayed snow boots and a puffer jacket, and heads out into the storm, just like that.
“Good thing I’m not the only dramatic one in the friend group,” I say sardonically to Tara.
Tara tries to smile but doesn’t quite succeed.
“Do you really want Astrid to move in?” I ask Tara.
“Not really,” she says. “But it’s better than the alternative of Hal moving out.”
“Hal wouldn’t move out,” I say. “Astrid would go back to Norway, and things would return to their rightful state, just the three of us here.”
“I’m not sure,” Tara says. “I was watching Netflix with Hal on her computer last night and ads kept popping up for jobs in Oslo. I think she’s been looking.”
“The algorithm’s got it wrong,” I say, because it has to be so. “They must’ve heard Astrid talking about having to go back and find a job in Norway.”
“Maybe.” Tara looks doubtful, tugging at her hair, long andbraided these days. “But you’ve got to admit, Hal has never been this way before.”
“Certifiably insane, you mean? I agree, it’s a new level, even for her.”
“I just don’t want us to lose her.” Tara loops her arm through mine, like she’s leaning on my leadership.
“We won’t. I’ll come up with a solution. Don’t worry.”
Tara passes me the tray of dilapidated s’mores. “You’re the glue, EJ,” she says, “that holds us all together.”
The praise makes me more committed than ever to figure things out, to keep Hal with us. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to let Astrid stay at the Inn. Sometimes a small loss is worth preventing a bigger one. I’d bet all my savings I’m right about that. I know that means I’m not actually betting anything, but that’s the great thing about being broke. You can risk it all without losing anything.
Chapter 26
Most of the time, fear gets the worst of people, but once in a while it gets the best of them too. It’s like this for Astrid, who decides she doesn’t want to hide as a fugitive or chance deportation, so she books a flight back to Norway, set for mid-December.
Hal is distraught, but it’ll blow over; all breakups do. Not that they’re technically broken up. They’re going to attempt long-distance. I give them three weeks, maybe four.
Buoyed by my relief to be rid of her soon, I start being much kinder to Astrid, insisting even that we throw her a little goodbye dinner at the Inn. I ask what food she’s going to miss the most. It’s not the pizza or bagels; she doesn’t eat those. Sweetgreen salads and sweet potato fries, she says, so that’s what I order, all leaves and grease. Tara picks up a cookie cake from a bakery too, one of the ones where they scan photos on the frosting. It’s a picture of Hal and Astrid sitting in the egg chair together. It makes me giggle, the thought of smearing their happy little faces with our forks, smacking the frosting against my lips and swallowing it until they disappear.
Hal’s been over at Astrid’s helping her pack, but she bounds into the Inn now with an energy she hasn’t had in weeks. Astrid’s right behind her, wearing a bedazzled tiara and in an equally fizzy mood. Maybe they thought this was a theme party.
“Greetings!” Hal calls. “EJ and Tara, please assemble on the couch. We have an important announcement.”
Tara and I look at each other, assessing if we’re equally in the dark. It seems that way. “Maybe an investor for their start-up?” I mumble to Tara as we make our way to the sofa. It would mean Astrid might get her entrepreneurship visa after all.
Hal takes a deep breath, looking uncharacteristically shy. “Don’t overreact to what I’m about to tell you,” she says. “It’s not going to change anything. We’re just facing extenuating circumstances and have to act fast to keep Astrid from being deported.”
Tara slips her hand into mine and gives it a nervous little squeeze. Neither of us like the sound of this. “Just spit it out,” I say.
Hal goes quiet and looks to Astrid, who finally comes out with it as calm as can be, trying to gloss over it with her accent, smooth the serration. “We’ve decided to get married.”
It’s like a mousetrap springs, snapping the hammer down on us. Tara’s hand goes limp in mine.
Hal jumps in fast, trying to justify the unjustifiable. “It solves the visa issue,” she says. “I don’t know why it took me so long to think of it.”
It doesn’t take me long to regain my bearings. The stakes are too high to dawdle in shock. “Hmm, it couldn’t be because the Redstockings made a lifelong pact to never get married,” I say, attempting sarcasm but not executing it right. My tone contorts into bitterness, not that I try to mold it back. “No, that would be far too reasonable of an answer.”
