The Loose Ends List(2)

“No way. That would totally wash you out. My stylist says blue eyes, light skin, dark hair. Keep it brown.”

“Your stylist lives in Connecticut,” I say as my phone vibrates. It’s a text from Gram. I need to talk to you right away. It’s urgent. My stomach sinks. Gram has never texted me before. I run outside to call her.

“Gram, what’s wrong?”

“You don’t return my calls now? Are you too popular for your grandmother?”

“You just freaked me out. You never text me.”

“You wouldn’t answer your phone. I happen to know that thing is glued to you at all times.”

My heart is still racing. “Can you not do that again, please?”

“So what are you doing that’s so important?” Gram says.

“I was making my Loose Ends list.”

“What’s a Loose Ends list? Sounds fascinating.”

“It’s a list of the things I never got to in high school that I want to do before college.”

“Like blow jobs?”

“Oh my God, Gram. You’re disgusting.”

“So, I need you all to come to my place tonight at seven sharp.”

“But it’s Friday. I have to drive everyone to a big party.” Gram knows I’m the permanently designated driver of a powder-blue minivan.

“Hon, I have something important to share, and I need the family here. Somebody else will have to drive your bimbo cheerleader friends.” There’s a strange urgency in her voice.

“You’re making me nervous.” Gram always has surprises up her sleeve, but she usually blurts them out before she can build any anticipation. “Did you call Mom?”

“I got your father. He said they would be here. I had to bribe him with Indian food and theater tickets, mooch that he is.” Gram thinks Dad is a weird, socially awkward freeloader and that Mom ended up with him because she has the emotional fortitude of a newborn panda.

She’s kind of right.

It’s a good thing I haven’t had to rely on my parents for much more than stargazing and shoe shopping. Gram takes care of everything. We shop, eat out, visit museums, take amazing trips, and meet famous people. Once, just to piss off Dad, Gram got her board member friend from the planetarium to give Jeb and me a private show.

Gram always delivers. So I will play her little game and go to her mystery meeting.

“Fine, Gram. I’ll be there. Can you give me a clue?”

“No.” She hangs up.

“I have to go into the city.” I grab my stuff and hug Lizzie good-bye.

“Wait, what are you talking about?” Lizzie yanks my T-shirt.

“My grandmother needs us for some surprise announcement. I have a feeling she’s engaged to Drippy.”

“Why do you have to go into the city for that? Even the college people are coming to this party.” Lizzie’s whining. “Can you at least come later?”

“I have no idea when I’ll be back. This is bizarre, even for her.”



I find Rachel, my neighbor and former best friend, watching TV in our living room. Our mothers have been friends since we were in utero. Mom spends her afternoons at Rachel’s house drinking while Bev eats. They accept each other unconditionally and dwell in the underworld of the American housewife, sipping cocktails, eating cupcakes, and watching prerecorded episodes of Kathie Lee and Hoda.

My friendship with Rachel became a struggle in fourth grade. My Barbies were not compatible with Rachel’s LEGOs. We tried. We even built a LEGO yacht for the Barbies, but they just couldn’t get comfortable.

By seventh grade, I had found Lizzie, Remy, and Abby. We dressed one another up like Barbies, and called ourselves the E’s because our names ended with the E sound. We group texted and had sleepovers, studied together, and made appearances at all the parties.

There was no place for a Rachel among E’s.

Of course, our mothers were devastated. They labeled me a snot and Rachel a victim of exclusion and bitchiness. So we sat them down one afternoon, when they were all tanked up on gin and banana bread, and explained the situation.

“Mom,” Rachel started, “I am not a victim. I have friends. Most of them are boys, but that’s because boys are the only ones who get my computer games. Maddie and I need to go our separate ways right now. We will always be friends, but our interests are diverging.”

“Good word, Rach,” I said. “I promise we’ll reverge—”

“Converge,” Rachel interrupted.

“Converge, when we’re adults and have children and our interests don’t matter anymore.” And that ended that. We still hang out, just not in public. Rachel is a stargazer, too, because she’s obsessed with Star Trek and always on the lookout for alien life-forms.

“Rach, Gram’s up to her old cryptic tricks.” She looks up from her box of donut holes. “She wants us all to go to her apartment tonight for an announcement.”

“Maybe she’s getting another tattoo.” Rachel knows Gram.

“I hope not. I saw her ass a couple weeks ago, and the seahorse is sagging like someone whacked it with a flyswatter.”

Dad comes up from the basement. “Astrid wants us at her place in two hours. I’m guessing she’s going to announce her engagement to that Denny.”