Frenemies(12)

Quivering with fury, and that slippery emotion that had brought tears to my eyes, the one I refused to name, I surged to my feet and headed for the party. I wanted that freaking martini, and I wanted to kill Helen. Not necessarily in that order.

I was brought up short by the immovable wall of Henry that appeared before me as I walked into the living room. This was evidently not my night.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Henry said, laughing. “I didn’t say a word.”

“Your nonverbal communication is deafening,” I retorted.

“I knew Helen wanted to reach out to you,” Henry said, watching me so closely that I was forced to look away. I concentrated on his ever-present selection of bimbos, two of whom hovered just behind him, each dressed as some form of leotard-wearing cat. It was fun to watch them snarl at each other from behind masses of thick, blown-out hair and identical fake smiles.

Then Henry’s actual words penetrated.

“Reach out to me?” I echoed. “Are you kidding?”

“I knew she wanted to,” Henry clarified. “I didn’t realize she wanted to drag you out of the room and be such a drama about it.”

“Because if you had, you would have leapt right in there and helped me out?” I was as incredulous as I was sarcastic. “Because you’re such a Good Samaritan?”

“The last time I tried to help you—”

“Good call, Henry,” I snapped. “After a moment of sharing and growing with Helen, what I really want to do is revisit that nightmare. Thanks.”

There was a moment of silence. His eyes seemed particularly blue, but that could have been the lack of oxygen I was taking in as I fought off hysterics.

“If you’ll excuse me,” I managed to say after the moment dragged on and became, if possible, even more uncomfortable, “I’ll gather what’s left of my dignity and we can return to our regularly scheduled program of hating each other.”

“I think you’re a strange one, and I have no clue what goes on in your head,” Henry said, as if he’d given the matter some thought. “But I wouldn’t go so far as to say I hate you. That’s just one of those girl games you like to play.”

Several feminist enclaves in Cambridge and out in Northampton keeled over and died at that one. I wasn’t sure what it said about me and my commitment to the sisterhood that all I could muster up was an eye roll.

“Whatever.” I felt surly and ungracious, a feeling I associated with being near Henry.

He didn’t say another word as I stepped around him, but I was sure I could feel his eyes on me long after I thought he should have looked away.


This time, when Georgia handed me a drink, I took it.

I could only hope she was no longer monitoring Henry’s conversations with other women—a reflex she’d maintained for a long time after the worst of the crush had ended—because I felt far too unsettled to discuss it. Especially with Georgia.

So I told her what Helen had said—and even reenacted the hand-grabbing—and then we stood there in silence for a long moment. Georgia scowled across the room in the general direction of Helen—whose horrible donkey laugh could just be heard now and again, braying above the music.

“I’m finishing this drink and then I’m out of here” was what I said when I could finally speak.

“Right after your private moment with Helen? As if she wounded you in some way? As if she was right?” Georgia’s eyes flashed. “No way are we leaving.”

“Fine.” My snippy tone made it clear it wasn’t fine at all. “Where are Amy Lee and Oscar?” To be honest, I was slightly hurt that they weren’t standing by to see what Helen had wanted.

“I think they’re having marital relations in one of the bathrooms,” Georgia said.

“They are not!” I replied. Although I hoped it was true. At least that would mean someone was enjoying the evening.

“No, they’re really not,” Georgia said with a sigh. “I assume they’re having one of those boring conversations about property values with other assorted married people in the kitchen. Although wouldn’t that be funny if they were bathroom boinking?”

“Sure.” I raised my eyebrows at her. “If we were seventeen.”

“I refuse to participate in those discussions, fascinating as I’m sure it is to consider the market in Natick,” Georgia said. She gave me a benevolent sort of smile. “I felt it was my duty as your friend to maintain my vigil. What if you needed someone to race to your side at a moment’s notice and pry Helen’s claws from your face?”

“And the fact that you’re standing next to the bar is, I’m sure, purely coincidental.”

“Purely.”

“We actually can’t talk about Helen,” I said after considering it. “It might tip me over the edge.” Besides that very valid fear, I knew that Georgia had never made any secret of the fact that she considered me a lunatic to waste a second on Helen once freshman year ended. She and Amy Lee both thought I should have excised Helen from my life years ago. Neither was moved when I ranted on about what friendship meant and how it wasn’t always pillow fights and sleepovers, as shown on TV.

“Okay.” Georgia considered her glass for a moment, then looked up. “I think Chris Starling was flirting with me.”