Revenge Wears Prada (11 page)

“Ex-boyfriend,” Lily said when Andy posed this question to her. They were sitting in Lily’s childhood bedroom at her grandmother’s house in Connecticut, drinking some kind of syrupy citrus tea Lily had bought from the Korean manicurist who had served it at her last nail appointment.

Andy’s mouth dropped open. “Did you really just say that?”

“I’m not trying to hurt you, Andy, but I think it’s important you start facing reality.”

“Facing reality? What does that mean? It’s barely been a month.”

“A month in which you haven’t heard a word from him. Now, I’m sure that won’t be the case forever, but I do think he’s
sending a pretty clear message. I’m not saying I agree with him, but I don’t want you to think that—”

Andy held up her hand. “I get it, thanks.”

“Don’t be like that. I know this is hard. I’m not saying it isn’t. You loved each other. But I think you need to start focusing on moving forward with your life.”

Andy snorted. “Is that one of your brilliant pearls of wisdom from your twelve-step meetings?”

Lily leaned back as though she’d been struck. “I’m only saying it because I care about you,” she said quietly.

“I’m sorry, Lil, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re right, I know you’re right. I just can’t believe . . .” As hard as she tried to choke back the tears, her throat tightened and her eyes welled. She sobbed.

“Come here, sweetheart,” Lily said, moving closer to Andy’s floor cushion.

In an instant her friend’s arms were wrapped around her, and Andy realized this was the first time anyone had hugged her in weeks. It felt good, so pathetically good.

“He’s just being a typical guy. Taking some time, doing his thing. He’ll come around.”

Andy wiped away tears and managed a small smile. “I know.” She nodded. But they both knew Alex was no typical guy, and he’d given no indication whatsoever that he was going to come around, not then or ever.

Lily flopped down on the floor. “It’s time you started thinking about having an affair.”

“An affair? Don’t you have to be in a relationship before you can cheat on someone?”

“A fling, a one-night stand, whatever. Do I even have to remind you how long it’s been since you’ve had sex with someone else? Because I will . . .”

“I don’t think that is really—”

“Sophomore year, Scott whatever his name was, the one with the really unfortunate underbite, who you bonded with one night in the coed bathroom while I puked? Remember him?”

Andy put her hand to her forehead. “Oh, make it stop.”

“And then he wrote you that card? With ‘Last Night’ on the front and ‘You rocked my world’ on the inside, and you thought it was the sweetest, most romantic thing anyone could ever do?”

“Please, I beg of you.”

“You slept with him for four months! You overlooked his Tevas, his refusal to do his own laundry, his insistence on sending you ‘Just because’ Hallmark cards. You’ve proven yourself capable of wearing blinders when it comes to men. I’m just saying: do it again!”

“Lily—”

“Or don’t. You’re in a position to upgrade if you want. Two words: Christian Collinsworth. Doesn’t he still crop up every now and then?”

“Yes, but he’s only interested because I’m taken. Was taken. As soon as he senses I’m available, he’ll go running.”

“If by ‘available’ you mean ‘open to another relationship,’ then yes, you’re probably right. But if you mean ‘open to the idea of no-commitment sex purely for pleasure,’ I think you’ll find him willing.”

“Why don’t we get out of here?” Andy, desperate to change the topic, scrolled through the e-mails on her BlackBerry. “Travelzoo is offering four days and three nights in Jamaica, flight, hotel, and meals included, for three ninety-nine over Presidents’ Day weekend. Not bad.”

Lily was silent.

“Come on, it’ll be fun. We’ll get some sun, drink some margaritas—well, not you, but I will—maybe meet some guys? It’s been a tough winter all around. We deserve a break.”

Andy knew something was wrong when Lily continued her silence, staring at the carpet.

“What? Bring your books. You can read on the beach. It’s exactly what we both need.”

“I’m moving,” Lily said, her voice almost a whisper.

“You’re what?”

“Moving.”

“Apartments? You found somewhere? I thought the plan was to finish out the school year here since you only have class twice a week and then start to look for a place in the summer.”

“I’m moving to Colorado.”

Andy stared at her, but she couldn’t bring herself to say anything. Lily broke off a microscopic corner of a cinnamon rugelach but left it on the plate. They didn’t speak for almost a minute, which to Andy felt like an hour.

Finally Lily took a deep breath. “I just really need a change, I think. The drinking, the accident, the month in rehab . . . I just associate so many things with the city, so many negative connotations. I haven’t even told my grandmother yet.”

“Colorado?” Andy had so many questions, but she was too shocked to say much else.

“UC Boulder is making it really easy for me to transfer my credits, and they’ll give me a full ride for only teaching one undergraduate class each semester. They have fresh air and a great program and a whole lot of people who don’t know my whole story already.” When Lily looked up, her eyes were filled with tears. “They don’t have you; that’s the only part of the whole thing making me sad. I’m going to miss you so much.”

Blubbering ensued. Both girls were sobbing and hugging and wiping mascara from their cheeks, unable to imagine a situation where an entire country separated them. Andy tried to be supportive by asking Lily a million questions and paying close attention to the answers, but all she could think about was the obvious: in a few weeks’ time, she was going to be all alone in New York City. No Alex. No Lily. No life.

A few days after Lily’s departure, Andy retreated back to her parents’ house in Avon. She’d just finished scarfing down three servings of her mother’s butter-and-heavy-cream-laden mashed
potatoes, washed down with two glasses of Pinot, and was considering unbuttoning her jeans when her mother reached across the table to take Andy’s hand and announced that she and Andy’s father were getting divorced.

“I can’t stress enough how much we love both you and Jill, and how of course this has nothing to do with either of you,” Mrs. Sachs said, talking a mile a minute.

“She’s not a child, Roberta. She certainly doesn’t think she’s the reason her parents’ marriage is ending.” Her father’s tone was sharper than normal, and if she were being honest with herself, she’d have admitted she’d noticed it had been that way for some time.

“It’s completely mutual and amicable. No one is . . . seeing anyone else, nothing like that. We’ve just grown apart after so many years.”

“We want different things,” her father added unhelpfully.

Andy nodded.

“Aren’t you going to say anything?” Mrs. Sachs’s brow furrowed in parental concern.

“What’s there to say?” Andy downed the rest of her wine. “Does Jill know?”

Her father nodded and Mrs. Sachs cleared her throat.

“Well, just if you . . . have any . . . questions or anything?” Her mother looked worried. A quick glance at her father confirmed he was about to launch into full shrink mode, start interrogating her about her feelings and making irritating comments like
Whatever you’re feeling right now is understandable
and
I know this will take some getting used to,
and she wasn’t in the mood for it.

Andy shrugged. “Look, it’s your deal. So long as you’re both happy, it’s none of my business.” She wiped her mouth with her napkin, thanked her mother for dinner, and left the kitchen. No doubt she was reverting back to teenage brattiness, but she couldn’t help herself. She also knew that the demise of her parents’ thirty-four-year marriage had nothing to do with her, but
she couldn’t help thinking,
First Alex, then Lily, now this.
It was too much.

As far as distractions went, logging in the hours researching, interviewing, and writing
Happily Ever After
articles worked for a little while, but Andy still couldn’t fill that interminable stretch of time between finishing work and going to sleep. She’d gotten drinks a couple of times with her editor, a tiger of a woman who mostly looked over Andy’s shoulder at the recent college graduates milling around the happy-hour bars they frequented, and occasionally she’d see a Brown acquaintance for dinner or a friend visiting New York on business, but mostly Andy was alone. Alex had dropped off the face of the planet. He hadn’t called a single time, and the only contact had been a curt “Thanks so much for remembering, hope you’re well” e-mail in response to a long, emotional, and in hindsight, humiliating voice mail Andy left for his twenty-fourth birthday. Lily was happily settled in Boulder and babbling excitedly about her apartment, her new office, and some yoga class she’d tried and loved. She couldn’t even fake being miserable for Andy’s sake. And Andy’s parents officially separated after agreeing that Mrs. Sachs would keep the house and Andy’s father would move to a new condo closer to town. Apparently the papers were filed, they were both in therapy—although separately this time—and each was “at peace” with the decision.

It was a long, cold winter. A long, cold,
lonely
winter. And so she did what every young New Yorker before her had done at some point during their first decade in the city and signed up for a “How to Boil Water” cooking class.

It had seemed like a good idea, considering she only used her oven for storing catalogs and magazines. The only “cooking” she ever did was with a coffeepot or a jar of peanut butter, and ordering in—regardless of how frugal she tried to be—was way too expensive. It
would
have been a good idea, if New York wasn’t the smallest city in the world at the exact times you needed anonymity:
sitting across the test kitchen from Andy on her very first day of class, looking supremely hassled and a lot intimidating, was none other than
Runway
first assistant extraordinaire Emily Charlton.

Eight million people in New York City and Andy couldn’t avoid her only known enemy? She desperately wished for a baseball cap, oversize sunglasses, anything at all that could shield her from the imminent blaze-eyed glare that still haunted Andy’s nightmares. Should she leave? Withdraw? See about attending another night? As she debated her options, the instructor read the class roster; at the sound of Andy’s name, Emily jolted a bit but recovered well. They managed to avoid eye contact and came to an unspoken agreement to pretend they didn’t recognize each other. Emily was absent the second class, and Andy was hopeful she had bailed on the course altogether; Andy missed the third one because of work. Each was displeased to see the other at the fourth class, but there was some subtle shift making it too difficult for them to ignore each other entirely, and the girls nodded an icy acknowledgment. By the end of the fifth class, Andy grunted a barely discernible “Hey” in Emily’s general direction and Emily grunted back. Only one more session to go! It was conceivable, even likely, that they could each finish out the course with nothing more than guttural sounds exchanged, and Andy was relieved. But then the unthinkable happened. One minute the instructor was reading the ingredient list for that night’s meal, and the next he was pairing the two sworn enemies together as “kitchen partners,” putting Emily in charge of prep work and instructing Andy to oversee the sautéing. Their eyes met for the first time, but each looked quickly away. One glance and Andy could tell: Emily was dreading this as much as she was.

They moved wordlessly into position side by side, and when Emily settled into a rhythm of slicing zucchini into matchsticks, Andy forced herself to say, “So, how is everything?”

“Everything? It’s fine.” Emily still excelled at conveying that
she found every word Andy uttered extremely distasteful. It was almost comforting to see nothing had changed. Although Andy could tell Emily didn’t want to ask and couldn’t have cared less about the answer, Emily managed to ask, “How about you?”

“Oh, me? Fine, everything’s fine. I can’t believe it’s already been a year, can you?”

Silence.

“You remember Alex, right? Well, he ended up moving to Mississippi, for a teaching job.” Andy still couldn’t bring herself to admit that he’d broken up with her. She willed herself to stop talking but she couldn’t. “And Lily, that friend of mine who was always stopping by the office late at night, after Miranda left, the one who had the accident while I was in Paris? She moved too! To Boulder. I never thought she had it in her, but she’s become a yoga fanatic and a rock climber in, like, under six months. I’m actually writing now for a wedding blog,
Happily Ever After.
Have you heard of it?”

Emily smiled, not meanly but not nicely either. “Is
Happily Ever After
affiliated with
The
New Yorker
? Because I remember there was a lot of talk about writing for them . . .”

Andy felt her face grow hot. How naïve she’d been! So young and foolish. A couple of years hitting the pavement, interviewing subjects and writing dozens of pieces that would never get published, cold-calling editors and relentlessly pitching story ideas, had set her straight: it was an enormous accomplishment to be published anywhere, writing about
anything,
in this city.

“Yeah, that was pretty stupid of me,” Andy said quietly. She stole a quick glance at Emily’s thigh-high boots and buttery leather motorcycle jacket and asked, “What about you? Are you still at
Runway
?”

She’d inquired merely to be polite since there was no doubt Emily had been promoted to something glamorous, where she would happily remain until she married a billionaire or died, whichever came first.

Emily doubled down on her zucchini slicing, and Andy prayed she wouldn’t nick off a fingertip. “No.”

The tension was palpable as Andy accepted Emily’s matchsticks and sprinkled them with chopped garlic, salt, and pepper before adding them to the sizzling pan. Immediately it began spitting olive oil.