Beyond the Point(69)
“Here, here,” said Locke.
“Here, here,” said Hannah.
The table clinked glasses.
Avery took a big swallow of wine. Dominic was right: Dani did love to share her joy with others. And her wealth, too, now that she had it to share. Dani had purchased plane tickets for Avery and Hannah with her frequent-flier miles. She’d even offered to put Avery and Noah up in a hotel nearby, but Noah didn’t feel comfortable accepting that much charity, so instead of staying at the Hilton with Hannah and Tim, they were stuck at a Holiday Inn.
It was strange to think that this soon after college, the world had already pushed Dani into such a different tax bracket. In the Army, everyone of the same rank made exactly the same amount of money—Avery could look at Hannah, Locke, and Tim, and know exactly what their bank accounts likely said. You had to hand it to communism. At least with forced equality, you didn’t have to deal with your feelings of inferiority.
Avery hated that she felt—what was it? Envious of? Surprised by?—her friend’s success, but it was hard not to. When Avery and Noah had arrived in Dani’s cobblestoned North End neighborhood earlier that morning, they’d speculated how much rent she must have been paying to have such a stunning view of the river. The historic three-story town house must have been at least three thousand square feet. Her fully renovated chef’s kitchen had black onyx countertops, a shiny marble backsplash, and stainless steel appliances. A man dressed in white was busy chopping onions on a butcher block—he turned out to be a private chef Dani had hired for the occasion. As if she couldn’t be bothered with stuffing a stick of butter in the ass of a turkey. As if, all of a sudden, that was below her.
Across the room, an industrial dining table had been set for a crowd, with silver place settings and crystal water goblets next to delicate wine glasses, like in a restaurant. A brown leather sofa in the living room was flanked on either side by low-slung modern chairs. And Dani’s apartment walls weren’t bare, like Avery’s quarters. Colorful African art had been hung professionally in every corner, like Dani had hired an interior designer. And the final touch was Tim and Hannah—Tim with his high and tight haircut and classic blue collared shirt, standing next to Hannah, whose long dirty blond hair fell in loose waves down her shoulders. When Avery and Noah had arrived, the Nesmiths had stood in Dani’s kitchen sipping a beer, like the entire scene had been staged for an open house. Avery’s mouth had hung open, in awe.
“Insane, right?” Tim had said, noticing Avery’s surprise. “Not exactly Fort Bragg. But it’ll do.”
Hannah had given Avery a stiff hug and mentioned how ironic it was that Noah and Tim would meet for the first time in Boston, rather than at Fort Bragg, where they all lived.
“Where have you been, stranger?” said Hannah.
Avery had tried not to take that dig personally, but there was an edge in Hannah’s voice that was hard to ignore.
Just after three o’clock, Locke Coleman had arrived, walking through the door with his arms up over his head, like a heavyweight wrestler who had just won a match. He looked exactly as he had in college: shining face, gap-toothed grin. Hugs abounded. And Dani looked the same as she always had whenever Locke was around: dazzled. But before Avery could leave the kitchen to welcome Locke, a petite girl with rich brunette hair came up the stairs behind him, holding a pie. For the second time in one day, Avery’s jaw had dropped.
“I’m fine,” Dani had said later, when she, Avery, and Hannah were alone together in the kitchen. “Why wouldn’t I be? Locke and I are just friends. We were always just friends.”
Avery and Hannah had exchanged a look, their agreement over Dani’s denial momentarily bridging the distance that existed between them. They stood in silence until Dani poured herself a generous glass of wine and took a long guzzle.
“Let’s talk about something else,” Dani had said, changing the subject. “Tell me about tool shed guy.”
Avery started with the long rides on his motorcycle that he’d taken her on throughout the spring, rides that ended in lakeside picnics or hikes to waterfalls. She’d described his vintage two-door BMW—so sleek—and the trip they’d taken to California that summer, which he’d paid for entirely. She’d complained about his schedule: Noah constantly left on deployments that were sporadic and unpredictable in their length and location. And since his work was classified, she’d had to learn to be comfortable not knowing where he was going or when he might return. She told her friends what she and Noah shared in common—a love of fitness, good wine, and music—and avoided any subjects that might raise their concern. As it turned out, Noah wasn’t thirty, like he’d originally said. He was actually thirty-six, a fact Avery only discovered when she’d asked to look at the picture on his driver’s license and noticed the year he was born. He said he’d never lied—he promised that on their first date, he’d told her he was in his thirties, but Avery remembered it differently. Not that it mattered. It was only a thirteen-year difference.
She knew his age would matter to her friends, though. So she avoided admitting the truth about his age, because she didn’t want to spend Thanksgiving justifying their relationship. Instead, she was going to spend it feeling his warm hand against her neck.
As Dominic took his seat, the table quieted and candlelight flickered across all of their faces. In particular, Avery focused on Tim and Hannah, who were seated across from her. All night, they’d been leaning into one another. Touching. Kissing. Nothing inappropriate, of course—it was Hannah after all—but even from the outside, you could sense an urgency in their faces. Time was running out before they deployed. And while Avery still wasn’t a huge fan of Tim, she appreciated how quickly he’d welcomed Noah into their fold, offering him a beer and talking to him about the Army all afternoon.