Time Flies (26 page)

To:
Finn Miller

From:
Melanie

Subject:
Re: Re: playlist

You knew groin was a typo, right?

Remember my friend B.J.? Well, I’m staying with herd and she’s on the committee, so I’ll be there early, too. I can’t believe it’s almost here. I have this crazy feeling, as if this, as if
we
were meant to pee.

I’ve been listening to your playlist over and over again. Today’s favorite song: “You Are Ho Beautiful.”

The tide was out. A long expanse of sand stretched before me, like a life filled with possibility. I stepped over the jumble of pebbles and seaweed at the high-tide line and then turned back. A perfect piece of sea glass I’d almost missed sparkled up at me.

I reached down to pick it up. I turned it over in my hand a few times, and then I called Ted Brody.

He answered his phone on the second ring. “Well, isn’t this a nice surprise. Unless you accidentally called the wrong number and you’re about to yell at me.”

I laughed. “Nope, I just thought it was my turn to call you.”

“I’m glad you did. So, what’s up?”

“I have an idea for the cement walkway that leads up to your restaurant.”

“And to think I wasn’t even aware that ideas for cement walkways were a possibility.”

“Okay, picture this. We mix up a batch of cement and spread just a thin coat on top of the existing walkway. We sprinkle some sea glass over it, and smooth it down with a board. And once it’s dry, Sprout has a sparkling, beckoning entrance that’s not only unique and beautiful, but impossible to resist. Customers will be lined up out to the street.”

“I like the sound of that.”

I bent down and picked up another piece of sea glass. “They’ve
done it down by the waterfront here, and it’s spectacular. I’ll take some pictures for you.”

“Sounds great. But in case you’ve forgotten, Atlanta isn’t on the ocean, so finding sea glass here can be surprisingly tricky.”

I laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m on it. The Christmas Tree Shop sells it by the bag, really cheap.”

“Christmas Tree Shop? I’m not sure that’s exactly the look I’m going for. The sea glass isn’t red and green, is it?”

I laughed some more. “No, they sell tons of beachy stuff, too. I don’t even know how to explain it. It’s so hard for me to imagine someone not knowing what the Christmas Tree Shop is.”

I looked out at the ocean while I waited for him to say something. The tide had turned and water was eating up the beach again, wave by wave.

“Um,” I finally said. “I just meant that everyone here has the same frame of reference.”

“Yeah, it’s amazing that we can even converse without an interpreter.”

“That’s not what—”

“Listen, I hate to cut you short, but there’s a delivery I’ve got to check up on. I’ll leave you to your tribe.”

I was still looking at my cell phone when B.J. yelled down from the edge of the beach that it was my turn to take a shower.

CHAPTER 27

B.J. and I were parked outside the mall waiting for Macy’s to open.

We took a sip of our coffee at the exact same moment.

“Jinx,” B.J. said.

“Owe me a Tab,” I said at the same time.

“So,” B.J. said. “Ask me who I was talking to on the phone while you ran into Starbucks.”

“Who?”

B.J. sighed and took another sip of Tab. “My. Husband.”

“Lovely,” I said in my best British accent. “It’s heartening beyond all measure to come upon this empirical evidence that functional marriages still exist, isn’t it?”

B.J. burped. “That’s a really bad British accent. Do me a favor and don’t use it tonight, okay? Do you want to know why that
romantic husband of mine left me three messages last night while my phone was out in the car?”

I sighed. “Because he was worried about you?”

B.J. shook her head.

I hoped this wasn’t going to be too gaggable. “Because he missed you?”

B.J. shook her head again. A woman with a key on a lanyard was just unlocking Macy’s front door and getting ready to push it open.

I grabbed my door handle. “I give up,” I said. “Why
did
that romantic husband of yours leave you three messages?”

B.J. tilted her head back and drained the rest of her Tab. Then she made the pink metal crumple between the heels of both hands. There was a sculpture in there somewhere, but I couldn’t quite wrap my brain around it.

She threw her crushed Tab can over her shoulder into the backseat.

She reached for her door. “He couldn’t find the ketchup.”

B.J. and I stepped out of our dressing rooms and looked at each other. Then we pivoted like twin Midlife Barbies to face the three-panel mirror. My peasant blouse was coral and B.J.’s was turquoise, and they were billowy enough to cover everything that went south at our age. Our white skinny jeans even had some kind of magic stretch in them that made us look, well, practically skinny.

“Oh, Louise,” B.J. said. “Look at us. I knew we were still gorgeous.”

I couldn’t take my eyes off us. “You’re only letting me be Louise to talk me into this.”

B.J. turned sideways and pulled in her stomach. “We’ll be the hit of the reunion, Romy. Big hoop earrings. High strappy sandals. Well, not high-high, but maybe the highest we can find with good arch support. And we can always bring flip-flops with us for backup.”

I turned sideways and pulled in my stomach, too. I let my stomach back out. The good news was that in this top, you couldn’t really see much difference.

“You don’t think it would be weird to show up dressed alike?”

B.J. dropped her head forward and flipped it back. Her hair defied gravity and floated around her face like a
Flashdance
flashback. “Are you kidding? Everybody else will wish they’d thought of it first.”

I gave my hair a quick toss. Then I lowered the elastic at the top of my peasant blouse so that the big ruffle that circled the whole thing dropped below my shoulders the way it was supposed to.

“See,” B.J. said. “Total sexitude with full upper-arm coverage.”

I turned my back to the mirror and looked over my shoulder. My tattoo, puffy and angry and scabby and itchy, was fully exposed. Just looking at it made me want to scratch. Carefully.

I looked at B.J. She wiggled her ruffle down to match mine.

“It’ll be fine,” she said. “I mean, I’m on the committee, so I’ll just make sure they keep the lights down low. Nobody will be able to see anything this small without their reading glasses anyway, but they won’t want to put them on, because they won’t want everyone else to know they can’t see anything without them.”

“It terrifies me that I can follow that.” I turned my head and
looked over my other shoulder. Even squinting, my tattoo was not a pretty sight.

“How about this,” B.J. said. She lifted the ruffle up on my tattoo side and hooked it over my shoulder. The angry tattoo was gone and my other shoulder didn’t look half bad.

“I guess it could work,” I said. “I just had such a vision of you and me and our badass tattoos.”

B.J. pulled the shoulder of her blouse down a little lower. “Oh, don’t worry. We’ll still be badass. Trust me.”

B.J. dropped me off at my sister’s house on her way to meet the rest of the reunion committee.

“Maybe I should go with you,” I said. “I could help decorate.”

“We have plenty of people,” B.J. said. “And if you don’t stop by to see her now, you’ll run out of time, and she’ll be pissed and then things will be awkward the next time you see each other.”

“Yeah, that’ll be different.” I gazed at my sister’s perfect house. “Okay, an hour and a half tops. And keep your cell with you in case I need an early rescue. And don’t leave until we’re sure she’s home.”

I should have called first. I wouldn’t even stop by B.J.’s if she lived down the street from me without at least sending her a quick text on the way over. But somehow, even though I knew I should have, I didn’t.

When I rang it, my sister’s doorbell played a loud rendition of “The William Tell Overture.” No wonder I had sister issues.

I was just about to turn and run back to the safety of the
car when the heavy oak door finally opened. Marion’s hair was chin-length and tawny this time, and she didn’t have even a hint of regrowth at the roots. Her posture was still exactly like our mother’s had been. Her back screamed
I’m standing up straight
and then her shoulders curved forward as if she’d forgotten to take them along for the ride. The vertical lines between the outsides of her nose and the corners of her mouth had deepened. Now they looked just like the ones our father used to have.

“I wondered when you’d show your face,” she said. “That big box you sent is taking up half the garage.”

I’d almost forgotten about my box spring ladies. It seemed like such a long, long time ago that I’d packed them up and shipped them off. I couldn’t wait to put them in Mustang Sally’s rear seat so we could all ride around together like we were back in high school. And it would be so great if one of Marshbury’s high-end tourist shops would take them on consignment. Nothing would give me more satisfaction than having Kurt think I hadn’t even noticed he canceled that credit card. That I didn’t need a thing from him, ever again.

I faked a smile. “Sorry. I should have called to tell you.”

She just looked at me.

“Good to see you,” I said. I leaned in for an awkward hug.

Marion patted me once on the back of the shoulder and pulled away.

“Ouch,” I said.

“What’s wrong?” she said. Not with any real concern, but as if she couldn’t wait to tell me she was healthy as a horse.

“Nothing,” I said. “Actually, B.J. talked me into getting a tattoo with her.”

She shook her head. “Why does that not surprise me.”

I bit my tongue so I wouldn’t say,
What do you mean by that?
Because then she’d say,
What do you think I mean by that?
And then we’d be fighting already.