“I think it’s nice,” their mom said, tossing an at-home dye kit into their basket. “Go ahead, Stina, throw it in. I’m feeling generous.”
“Big money, big money,” Kristina chanted, like a contestant onWheel of Fortune. Gabby couldn’t help but smile. They were at the discount beauty supply store on Route 9, trawling the aisles of pressed powder foundation and organic hair masks while a dusting of snow fell outside. A trip to the beauty supply store was a sort of all-purpose emotional marker inthe Hart house—not because Gabby’s mom wasn’t a feminist or thought they all needed a vast arsenal of potions to be beautiful, but because she recognized that sometimes if you were feeling happy or sad or like a piece of shit, it helped to buy eleven different nail polishes for ninety-nine cents each and convince yourself, for a little while, that they were the keys to the life that you truly wanted. She’d taken one look at Gabby this morning and demanded they all get in the car.
“Cheer up,” Celia said now, bumping her in the arm as they considered rows of prettily wrapped castile soaps. Celia was home for winter break for exactly eighteen more days, not that Gabby was counting. “It’s not such a huge loss, all things considered.”
Gabby glanced up at her tone, frowning. “What doesthatmean?”
“I just mean that Ryan’s, like...” She waved her hand vaguely. “You know how he is.”
“No, I don’t,” Gabby said flatly. “How is he?”
Celia rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean,” she said, picking up a big purple bottle of body wash and examining the label. “Like, kind of a giant meathead.”
“Fuck you, Celia.” Gabby felt her whole body jump-start. “Just because you’ve taken one women’s studies course at college or whatever doesn’t mean you know anything about him, or about me, or about our friendship. So you can keep your opinions to yourself, thanks.”
“Easy,” Celia said in that voice she got when she thoughtGabby was overreacting, looking a little stung. “I’m just trying to make you feel better.”
“You be easy,” Gabby said hotly. She thought of the word of the day app on Ryan’s ancient iPhone. She thought of his head slamming against the ice the night before. She thought of how calmly he’d talked to her when she’d had that panicker the very first time he’d taken her to a party, and suddenly she wasn’t at all confident that she wasn’t about to burst into tears. She felt fiercely defensive of him, even though thirty seconds ago she would have said the same thing Celia had said to anyone who would listen. Worse, probably. “I’m going to wait outside.”
“Gabby—” Celia started, but Gabby was already gone. She didn’t have the car keys, but she was too worked up to go back inside and get them from her mom, so instead she leaned against the trunk and dug her phone out of her coat pocket, scrolling through until she got to Ryan’s name.Hey, she keyed in, then swallowed her pride like a mouthful of cough syrup and hit send.
Ryan didn’t text back.
NUMBER 4
THE NEW YORK TRIP
SENIOR YEAR, WINTER
GABBY
Ryan put his signal on, glanced over his shoulder, and merged onto the Taconic Parkway South. “Top ten nontouristy things to do in New York City,” he announced.
“I have no idea,” Gabby said from the backseat. Even though they only lived just up the river from Manhattan, her family went down rarely, to see the dinosaurs at the Museum of Natural History or the occasional Broadway matinee. “I only know touristy things.”
“I kind of like touristy things,” Chelsea offered. She and Ryan were doing an overnight in the city to celebrate their one-year anniversary, had plans to go to dinner and see the Rockefeller tree. Gabby wasn’t exactly sure how Ryan had managed to book a hotel room—she had a feeling his dad had probably been involved—but it was her first time visiting Shay down at college, and she was grateful for the ride.
“What are you guys doing tonight, huh?” Ryan asked over his shoulder. “I mean, knowing Shay, she’s probably taking you to hear a jazz trio where all the musicians are subway rats, but—”
Gabby snorted. “You’re a dick,” she said, not without amusement.
“And they’re all wearing little rat turtlenecks—”
“Uh-huh.”
“And little rat berets—”
“All right, now you’re just stealing fromThe Muppet Show,” Chelsea pointed out, but Gabby was laughing.
“There you go,” Ryan said, glancing at her in the rearview. The car was a new acquisition, a prehistoric beater sedan he’d found on Craigslist and paid for with money from overtime at Walter’s. Ryan loved it like it was his own child. “You’ve been sitting there since you got in looking like you’re about to die.”
“Leave her alone,” Chelsea chided.
“I have not,” Gabby said. She tucked her hands up into the sleeves of her jacket—she’d put it on backward, was wearing it like a blanket with her knees curled up underneath. She hated everything about being long-distance. She’d spent her life curating a tiny collection of people she cared about desperately, and she wanted to have all of them around her always, the way she’d arranged her army of stuffed animals on her bed when she was small.
She and Shay had planned to visit every few weeks—afterall, it was only two hours on the commuter train, one end of the line to the other—but all autumn things had been getting in the way. They’d seen each other for Thanksgiving, although Shay had a paper to write and Gabby’s aunt Liz had been in town from Cincinnati and Shay had to get back early on Sunday for a meeting, so they’d only had a little bit of time to hang out. All Gabby wanted to do was lie in Shay’s college bed all weekend, to smell her smell and eat crispy M&M’s while watching shows she’d already seen on Netflix. All she wanted was to feel like things were normal again.
“You nervous?” Ryan asked, looking at her one more time over his shoulder.
