Cackle(27)

“My fault,” she says. “I’m a bad influence. I’m sorry, pet.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m the one who drank it. I guess . . . this is the second time in the past week that I’ve gotten drunk. I don’t want to be this sad, single thirtysomething getting wine drunk multiple times a week. I don’t know.”

“Do you not like wine?”

“I do.”

Sophie takes a slow sip of her coffee. “Annie, why would you say ‘sad, single thirtysomething’?”

I’ve offended her. “I’m sorry. I just meant that’s how I feel.”

“No. No, I don’t think you did,” she says. She slowly unfolds a grin. “You think being single is a sad state of being. I promise you, it’s not.”

“No, I know.”

“Do you?”

Honestly, I don’t. I don’t want to end up alone. I don’t want to be an old maid. I want to be with someone. Share my life. Have someone love me. Want me.

“But why?” she asks.

“Sorry?”

“Why do you feel you need someone to love you, to want you? Why are you seeking that outside yourself?”

I’m confused. Did I say it out loud? Did I think out loud?

She puts her elbows on the table and leans forward. “You think you need it, but you don’t. I’m proof enough of that, don’t you think?”

“We’re different.”

“We’re not.”

Our pancakes arrive. They’re the thickest, fluffiest pancakes I’ve ever seen in my life. They swim in a garishly pink strawberry compote. A fat dollop of cream sits on top of the pile.

“You want to think we’re different, Annie. I’m telling you, we’re not.”

“Sophie,” I say, “you’re beautiful. You could have anyone you want. It’s not like that for me. I’m not . . . I’m not like you. I want a relationship. I want to love someone and have them love me back.”

“You want sex?”

“What? No. Well, I mean . . . that’s part of it, I guess. But no.”

“Sex is easy,” she says. “I, personally, find I can do it better myself. But I understand wanting it from someone else.”

She takes a big bite of pancake. A drop of pink strawberry goo oozes out of the side of her mouth. She scoops it up with her tongue.

“It’s love,” I say. “I want love.”

“You want validation.” She’s not being mean. Her tone is as soft and warm as ever. She’s being honest. Only the honesty is just as bad.

“Yeah. Maybe I do.”

“You’re never going to get it. Not from someone else, darling. Not from Sam.”

“He did love me.”

“No, pet,” she says, “he didn’t. Or else you wouldn’t be here crying over pancakes.”

I bring my hand up to my face. My cheeks are wet. I didn’t realize.

“Annie, I only say this because I know you’re above what you seek. Meaning, you’re . . . What’s the word? Lowballing? Is that what it is?”

“I guess.” I can’t help but laugh a little. It’s funny hearing her say it with her haughty accent.

“Your life can be so much more than chasing after some domestic fantasy.”

“I don’t think that’s what I . . . I don’t know. I don’t know if that’s what I’m doing.”

She skewers a strawberry with her fork. “All right. I don’t presume to know everything.”

She winks at me.

I reach with a shaky hand for my coffee. I drink it black.

“I just ask that you hear what I’m saying to you, Annie. Yes?”

“I hear you.”

“Good,” she says. “Now, onto other things. How’s work? How’s your class?”

I feel my face fall, my muscles drooping in defeat at the thought of school.

“Oh, dear, I’ve done it again!”

“No, it’s fine. Work is fine. There are a few kids in my afternoon English class who are . . .”

“Fucking assholes?” she asks.

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Want me to curse them for you?”

“Sure,” I say.

“Done.”

In the morning sun, her skin is flawless. Pearlescent. She doesn’t have a single wrinkle, a single pore. She keeps insinuating she’s old, older than me, but she doesn’t look it.

“I’m sorry you didn’t sleep well last night,” she says. “I feel like a failure as a host.”

She flags down Tom and asks him to refill our coffee mugs.

“You will come back, won’t you?” Her eyes go wide and watery.

There’s a vulnerability to her. I recognize it clearly because it’s so familiar to me. It’s like we’re wearing the same perfume. It triggers such a profound empathy I want to leap across the table and hug her.

“Of course,” I say. “Of course I will.”

“Do you like to swim? I can clear out the pool. I don’t use it. I don’t like water, but if you do, I can clean and fill it. It’s indoors, so you can use it in the winter.”