You Knew Me When (23 page)

“Hey, at least you have a ring.” Katherine slid the ruby off her finger, leaving it familiarly bare.

“You could have had one too.” Laney bowed her head, instantly regretting that she might have said too much.

“From whom?” Katherine laughed.

“Grant.” Laney's expression was stone-cold sober, and she watched as Katherine's sobered too.

“What do you mean?”

“Forget it. I shouldn't have said anything.”

“Are you kidding? Now you have to tell me.”

Laney took a deep breath through her nose and exhaled out her mouth. “He was going to propose.”

Laney eyed Katherine attentively as the look on her face morphed from controlled confusion to uninhibited astonishment. She'd always assumed that somewhere, deep down, Katherine had known. But by the authenticity of her reaction, Laney gathered that was not the case. Not even a little.

“When?” Katherine shook her head incredulously.

“Before you left. He had the ring and everything.” She paused. “I think he still does.”

“I never . . . no one . . .” Katherine sat paralyzed, unable to formulate a cohesive sentence. And then she did something neither of them had expected. She started to cry.

I
t's been a strange week in Nantucket. When Laney first suggested these plans almost a year ago, it sounded like a revolutionary idea. Then she took it one step further and convinced my dad, the Drakes, and her boyfriend Rick's parents to kick in and rent us a small but clean house—a short bike ride from the beach—as our graduation gifts. Seven days of unadulterated sunshine, succulent lobsters, best friends, significant others, and cocktails from noon to night. The icing on the cake: not a single “real adult” in sight. Definitely a suitable springboard into an era promising work, responsibility, and financial independence. Our final free week, as we came to refer to it, became the light at the end of a long, convoluted tunnel congested with tests, papers, job applications, and, ultimately, packing up our lives of four years to dive head-, and empty wallets–, first into the big, bad world of uncertainty. Grant graduated last year, so it wasn't quite the same for him, but he never had a last hoorah and he, too, was planning to leave his father's shipping company—eventually—and strike out on his own, so we were all pretty excited.

As the vacation approached, I started feeling a little stressed-out. None of my job applications had been met with offers of employment, and while Jane said I could keep my internship at Blend, the stipend wasn't nearly enough to support myself in New York City, even with Laney as a roommate. Of course, Laney didn't share my anxiety. For one, her parents are able and willing to subsidize her rent, bills, and lifestyle expenses to a certain extent. Same goes for Grant, to a lesser extent. They're old-fashioned that way. And then there's also the fact that Laney still thinks we can move to Manhattan, find a “fab pad”—her words, not mine—land well-paying, glamorous jobs, and live happily ever after with the wave of her magic wand. It's a combination of ignorance and invincibility, for which Luella holds the Drakes responsible. Fortunately, I do not live with my head in the clouds, nor does my dad. He's firm in his conviction that relocating to the city without a means of income is not only a stupid plan, but also an unrealistic one at that. Most likely because he saw what happened with my mom. If he hadn't saved the day, she'd probably have had to move back home to Iowa. Or she could have become a big-time movie star, playing Tom Cruise's love interest in major motion pictures. It's really a toss-up.

Anyway, maybe it's got something to do with my stress or the fact that Laney's been sick to her stomach the whole week, puking daily, but the whole dynamic has been tense. Rick, as it turns out, is everything Laney said he was—cute, nice, and smart. I'd met him only once before, briefly, when I was home for Thanksgiving break, but he really is great, especially for Laney. Unfortunately, most of his time in Nantucket has been spent playing Florence Nightingale, and when he's not doing that, he and Grant are usually out on the deck, drinking beers and shooting the shit—whatever that entails. Laney has been somewhat grouchy. I can't blame her. Out of all of us, she was the one who romanticized the trip the most. And while Grant and I have had a lot of alone time together, it hasn't been exactly the way it used to be. I really can't explain why. He keeps saying how much I've changed, like it's a bad thing. I haven't mentioned as much, but I think
not
changing at all over the course of four years might be worse. Not that Grant needs to change. He's perfect the way he is. Sometimes I just feel like he doesn't fully understand me anymore. Even though we've been dating for what seems like forever, the times we have been able to spend together over school holidays haven't been enough to nourish the relationship. We've always had the summer months to get things back on track, although we haven't actually acknowledged that, but it's worked.

This final summer, though, things have been slightly, well, awkward, which I feel weird even saying. I mean, he's Grant. My Grant. When we were home and he was working every day, we'd see each other only in the evenings, and everything was fine. Being together all day, every day, is different. Honestly, he's getting on my nerves a little—mostly insignificant things like the way he consumes half a sandwich in one bite and then has to chew with his mouth slightly open in order to break the huge wad into digestible pieces.

There are also a few bigger things. Like the issue of moving to New York. Grant keeps insisting he wants to be together forever, more so than usual, but he refuses to commit to leaving his dad's company, which is inconveniently located in Vermont. I guess he's making good money and feels like he needs to save up, which is fine—great, actually. I keep telling him he has time to do that, since Laney and I aren't planning to leave until the fall, but every time I try to nail him down on a long-term plan, he changes the subject. It kind of feels like he doesn't want to go. Either that or he's just being wishy-washy. Come to think of it, Grant never really has an opinion on anything—what we're going to do, where we're going to eat, what show we should watch. He always defers to me. Always. I know that seems like a silly gripe. Like, who wouldn't want someone so affable? But, truthfully, I don't want to make every decision in our lives all the time. Also, he's pretty content doing nothing. Sometimes I think he could sit in front of the TV or lie by the pool indefinitely. I need to be going, doing, experiencing, and learning. I think that's part of what he means when he says I've changed.

So now here we are. It's Saturday, and I'm guessing this free week hasn't lived up to anyone's original projections. I have to go back to Manchester today, since Hazel is throwing a little birthday dinner for my dad. Laney, Grant, and Rick are going to stay the final night. Laney is committed to one healthy, or at least non-throwing-up, day on the beach. At first I was kind of disappointed that Grant couldn't come home with me for my dad's party, but he's got to close up the house, and it's his name on the rental car, since Rick is going back to Boston, where his family lives. I'm not entirely sure what's going to happen with Laney and Rick. It's obvious they're in love, but Laney hasn't mentioned inviting Rick to New York with us as of yet. I think she's afraid to admit, even to me, that she found someone she might actually want to be with in the long term. Naturally, Rick wasn't part of her master plan. Though—as she's reminded me repeatedly—neither was Grant.

“We have to go, or I'm going to miss my ferry,” I called up the steps to where Grant was getting dressed. He insisted on taking the ferry ride with me to ensure that I catch the right bus from Hyannis back to Vermont.

“Do we have any more ginger ale?” Instead of Grant, Laney appeared at the top of the staircase, gripping the railing as she walked very slowly down the steps. Her typically sun-kissed skin was an unflattering shade of green, and I noticed that she was still wearing the same pink cotton robe she'd had on for the last two days. She's actually been a reasonably good sport about being sick, which is unlike her. I'd have been more than moderately grouchy in her shoes. That's the thing about Laney: every now and then she does surprise you, in a good way. Or it could be Rick's influence.

“Let me look.” I opened the refrigerator, pulled a can from the top shelf, and then reached into the cabinet above the sink for a tall glass. I filled it with ice, tipped the soda in, and rushed over to help Laney to the couch. “Oh, sweetie. You really don't look good.”

“Thanks.” She smiled feebly and sat down, allowing me to prop some pillows behind her back so she could sip the ginger ale from an incline. “I don't know what this is, but it's a stubborn fucking bug. I'll tell you that.”

“No kidding. I think you need to see a doctor.” I leaned over the back of the couch to check the stairs, anxious for Grant to materialize. “I know you don't like doctors, but can we agree it's time?”

“Rick already found a guy who can see me today. Someone his dad knows who practices here in the summer.” Laney's eyes were bloodshot and her blond curls were matted against her forehead, which was glistening with sweat.

“Good. I'm really glad to hear that.” I pushed her hair out of her face. “I'll see you tomorrow, okay? Rest, relax, and know that I love you.”

“You ready to go?” Grant emerged from behind us with my suitcase in tow.

“Ready as I'll ever be.” I kissed Laney on the cheek and stood to leave, but she grabbed my arm with what little energy she had before I could walk away.

“As soon as I feel better, we're going to nail down our master plan, right?”

“You got it.” I nodded definitively. We'd still have to find jobs and an apartment we could afford, but Laney wasn't in the mind-set for straight talk, not that she ever is. “Say good-bye to Rick for me. And tell him he has my stamp of approval, okay?”

“I will.” She grinned faintly. “He'll like that.”

•   •   •

Grant
and I didn't talk much on the ferry ride, in part because I was feeling a little nauseous, but also because he knows I'm waiting for him to make a decision about New York, and every time he alludes to anything in the future—even something as simple as telling me he loves me—we end up bickering about his lack of dedication to the master plan. I'll say something like, “You have to make a choice one way or another.” And he'll say something like, “I don't understand what the rush is. Why does this ridiculous master plan have to commence so soon?” And then I'll reply, “It's
not
ridiculous.” Even though it kind of is. And then he'll say, “Well, it's not
my
master plan and it never was.” I knew the whole thing was liable to rear its ugly head again at some point, so I figured it was better not to waste the beautiful ferry ride squabbling.

“This is me.” I motioned toward the Greyhound bus, from which I could already smell the faint stench of body odor and fast food emanating.

“I'll see you tomorrow, okay?” He held my face in the palms of his hands and looked at me with such pure adoration in his eyes, it made me feel guilty. “I love you, Kitty. More than anything.”

“I love you too.” I stood on my tippy toes to kiss him properly. “We'll figure everything out when you get home?” I couldn't help myself. The least he could do was commit to committing.

“Kitty,” he sighed, and his hands dropped to his sides. “Do we have to do this now?”

“Do what?” I hated having to nag, but what choice did I have? My father didn't have a job ready and waiting for me, nor was he willing to support me, unemployed, indefinitely.

“You know what I'm talking about. I just want to have one moment with you where we're not planning everything out. Relax. No matter what happens, we're in it together. Forever. Okay?”

“I guess.” I forced a smile, let him kiss me again, and boarded the bus.

•   •   •

Sunday
morning after the party, I came downstairs around ten thirty—much later than I typically sleep—to find my dad practically bursting to tell me that Jane Sachs had called with a job offer, a full-time staff position at Blend with a real salary, albeit minimal,
and
health insurance. For whatever reason, the words
health insurance
are like liquid gold to most parents, my father included. Jane might as well have phoned to announce that Barbra Streisand was on her way to Manchester to marry him.

Job offer aside, apparently Jane charmed the pants off my dad, which isn't saying much, because Jane could charm the pants off a plant. Fortunately, Hazel—who was still cleaning up from the birthday dinner—seemed to find the whole thing adorable. In fact, when my dad recounted the entire conversation, word for word and breath for breath, she stood at the sink, giggling like a schoolgirl cooing over her first crush. As expected, Hazel outdid herself last night. It was a small group—just ten of us—me, my dad, Hazel, Luella, and three other couples they're friends with. Hazel erected a long folding table in the backyard, draped it in a gauzy gold cloth, and placed flickering votive candles down the center, from one end to the other. She set out their fine china—cream-colored plates with a hairline gold trim to complement the linens—and heavy crystal wineglasses. The feast itself was a stunning salute to all of my dad's favorite dishes, anointed with Hazel's gourmet touch. There were tarts and quiches, even pigs in blankets, which I'm pretty sure are not standard fare at the dinners Luella normally attends. For the main course, Hazel prepared a prime rib so tender, you could cut it with a spoon. When it came time for dessert, she revealed a four-tier birthday cake she'd baked herself, with a homemade raspberry jam filling. Every guest cleaned their plate, and we must have emptied a bottle of wine per person. Thus the late-morning arousal.

As luck would have it, my dad, who was still beaming from the spectacular evening—and, in small part, the conversation with Jane—had the smarts to tell her that I was out for a run, rather than recovering from a hangover. Little does Jane know, I do not run.

“You're going to call her back
immediately
, right?” He regarded me anxiously, proffering a Post-it note with a series of numbers scribbled in his chicken-scratch handwriting. “She said she needs to hear from you as soon as possible. I think the job starts tomorrow.”

“
What
?” Now I was really awake. “That can't be right. Obviously, she doesn't expect me to move to New York overnight.” I shook my head disbelievingly. On the one hand, it sounded preposterous. On the other hand, it sounded exactly like what little I knew of Jane and, with that in mind, my body quivered in anticipation.

“Oh, and Luella called too. She said she wanted to see you as soon as you were up. I told her you were sleeping, if that's okay.” I glanced at my dad, who was already beset with pride at the mere notion that someone in New York City had called to hire his daughter. His little Kitty Kat. And to offer health insurance.