Jackie’s face turned colder. “I mean it.”
“Imean, I don’t know what you’re talking about. We don’t havefinancial hiccups,” Danika scoffed, defensive, desperate. “I would never be with Josh. He’s repulsive. He loves to make trouble.”
Jackie tightened her mouth. She leaned closer to the mirror, touching her top lip, her tone growing to match Danika’s. “You women think you have everything and everyone all sorted, all wrapped around your finger. Maybe you do have some sort of hold on Joshy... I know he’s obsessed with you, always saves photos of you... but he willnotleave me. I want you to know that for certain.”
Danika’s whole body felt off balance. She had the sudden urge to shove Jackie—along with everything she was saying—away.
“I get it, okay, you’re hot,” Jackie continued, gesturing to her body. “That dress is—” She kissed the air. “So, if you want to join us sometime, say the word. If he does give you that loan, and you feel like you owe him, we could all get together. We’d all get what we wanted.”
Danika pivoted away, pressing her hand to her stomach, sick.
“Just as long as you remember: I’m not going anywhere.”
A loan? Athreesome? Danika felt violated, horrified. And, worse, she had no idea what was truly going on—or how to fix it. Danika hated feeling trapped. All she knew for certain was that she had to get out of that party.
She had to get home.
19
The rain picked up as Augie drove toward the Crawley house, her windshield wipers pumping, mist coming off the road like smoke. She blared her music loud, so she couldn’t think; she wanted to keep running on the energy and emotions dragging her forward.
Chat had explained it would be best to park on the side street. Cooper’s room faced the front, and he had a habit of waking to cars coming up the driveway.
I’m sorry, Chat had messaged,I know it’s raining, but I’ll be watching for you.
Augie had asked if there were cameras, hoping the question wouldn’t scare either of them away from their plans, but he assured her the Crawleys never checked them.
So, at exactly nine o’clock, Augie parked on the street and looked into the rearview mirror, inspecting her face as the rain pummeled her car, the sound like static. She felt good—she was wearing her best-fitting jeans and a tight black T-shirt. She reached for the U of M umbrella from her back seat.
The driveway was long and winding—the house was truly hidden—and Augie kept her head down against the rain. She didn’tlook up until the Crawley mansion flashed into view. Chat stood in the glass doorway, framed by a yellow rectangle of light.
Augie couldn’t ignore her rising nerves as she stood before the house, registering its massive cement angles and all its darkened, shining glass. She pummeled forward, moving faster as Chat opened the door wide and she ducked inside, shaking water from her hair while placing her umbrella on the stoop.
Augie had worried it’d be awkward at first, but as Chat grinned, she realized he was wearing the same black band T-shirt and silver gym shorts he had the night she ran into him at the Club. Her nerves were displaced by excitement, a strange comfort. She leaned into him, and as he hugged her, a ripple of want and memory coursed through her. She felt the skin of his neck against her closed eyelids.
“Welcome to my humble abode.” He pulled away and extended his arms, still smiling.
Augie had been in her share of nice houses, but this instantly felt different. Like she’d stepped into some modern, cozy, otherworldly planet. The floor was white marble, and it flowed into the kitchen, out to a floating staircase to their left, and down a wide hallway to their right. The ceilings were high, and as she followed Chat to the kitchen, Augie stared up into the wooden beams similar to those at the Crawleys’ cabin. The whole house felt like a lighter, sharper version of that space. Mrs. Crawley obviously had a signature style.
Augie continued to gawk as they entered the kitchen and she took in the living room, the fireplace with its low orange flames and spread of couches adorned with soft pillows and throws. Next to her, flanking the wall, large geometric prints hung under individual lights like in a museum. Augie stared at each print. She loved them. She loved the whole house. She hated that Mrs. Crawley was talented. She felt a flame of anger inside her.
Augie knew it was an ugly thought, but it helped to remember their debt. To be reminded that not everything was as perfect as it seemed. Though for the first time, Augie wondered if the number on the computer had been a mistake. Nothing seemed wrong here. It felt like paradise.
“Not too shabby, right?” Chat moved to one of three silver fridges. “Do you want a drink?” He opened the door as Augie imagined Zami cooking there, leaning over the gas range. The flame inside her grew.
“This is a special occasion.” He pulled out a magnum bottle of champagne, lifting a spoon from its neck. “She always says this keeps it fresh, but I don’t buy it.”
Everything about this moment felt bizarre, and Augie ran her hands along the cool stone counter.
“I can’t believe you live here.” She hoped she sounded casual as she studied Chat’s face, though she felt slightly better as she took in how excited he looked. He wanted her there.
“Right? I literally got lost that first week. These okay?” He grabbed two gray mugs. “She once told me those champagne glasses were like a hundred dollars. I don’t trust myself.”
“Sure.” Once again, Augie wondered how Chat could live with such a snob.
They talked and drank as Augie walked around the living room, touching the pillows and studying the bookshelves while Chat rambled on about the boys. She examined everything as if searching for criminal evidence, and was startled by the book collection; she’d assumed it was simply for show and would be filled with classics and fake spines, but there was a range of contemporary titles: Ann Beattie, Lorrie Moore, Joan Didion.
“Does she read a lot?” Augie asked.
