The four of them cheer for me when I’m done, which is just them being nice. Noah pats me on the back and says he’s going to learn how to play “Lovecats” for next time, just for me.
I tell him to shut up. But I don’t really mean it.
It feels like it takes forever for us to make it down Fifth Avenue. Pam and Andie want to look at the Benetton windowsand the Gap windows and the Jordache windows. They don’t want to buy anything in particular. They just want to critique.
Noah isn’t really into the fashion part, but he’s always up for critique. He role-plays as a reporter fromEntertainment Tonighton a red carpet, referring to the mannequins as if they’re actresses fromDesigning WomenorL.A. Law. I laugh, but I’m also a little bored—not by Noah but by the clothes in the windows. I perk up only when we pass by Brentano’s.
“That’s such a nice bookstore,” I tell Noah. “It’s like being in Europe.”
“Do you want to go in?” he asks. “We can tell the girls to stop.”
“No, it’s fine.”
I can’t help but check what’s in the window. Best way to know what the new books are.
“Are you sure?”
“I told you, I’m fine.”
“Why do you do that?”
“Why do I do what?”
“Think you don’t matter as much as the rest of us. You do.”
I have no idea where that’s coming from. Especially from someone who hasn’t called me back the whole break.
“I go to the three bookstores at home on an almost daily basis,” I tell him. “I’m fine.”
I’m quiet for the next ten blocks, then happy when we walk past the big library with the lions. Margaret wants a shot with all of us in front, and asks a stranger to take a picture with her camera. I am squeezed between Andie and Noah. Noah puts his arm behind my back and his hand on Andie’s shoulder.
“Can you make me a copy of that?” I ask Pam after the tourist gives her back her camera.
“Of course,” she says.
When we get to Twenty-Ninth Street, we turn off Fifth Avenue and all the stores fall away. From Pam’s stride, it’s clear we’re in her neighborhood now. We all talk, conversation to fill the time, to entertain. I picture a balloon, colorful and empty. Pam stops to point out a certain brownstone.
“This is where my former best friend used to live,” she announces, treating the house with a shaky reverence.
“What happened?” I ask. “Is she an ex–best friend or a once–best friend?”
“What’s the difference?” Pam asks back.
I feel everyone’s attention on me and don’t know how to get out of it.
I say, “Would you still talk to her now, if you could?”
“I don’t know. We didn’t part on good terms. She really hurt me.”
“Then she’s definitely an ex–best friend.”
Margaret looks at the brownstone. “Don’t you feel there are a lot of once–best friends going around? That’s what break was like for me. It didn’t hurt to see people, but it wasn’t the same.”
Andie says, “I guess going away to college will do that.”
We start walking again.
Andie continues to talk: “I kept looking forward to vacation—a whole month to be home. It sounded ideal. Now I can’t wait to go back. All those people I thought I’d see ... I just didn’t.”
