The Mothers(29)

Aubrey opened her eyes again. They were watering, and Nadia dabbed a tissue, careful not to smear her eyeliner.

“I wish I could be more like you,” Aubrey said.

“Trust me,” Nadia said. “You don’t want to be like me.”

That night, the beach was empty aside from the flicker of a bonfire past the lifeguard tower. Almost deserted, like their own private island. She reached for Aubrey’s hand, Aubrey lagging behind her, tugging at the black minidress.

“Don’t let me drink too much,” she said.

“That’s the point—we’re gonna loosen you up.”

“Nadia, seriously. I’m such a lightweight.”

“Oh, you can’t be that bad.”

“That’s what you think.”

Cody Richardson’s kitchen was more crowded than usual. Tall skaters in ripped skinny jeans howled over beer pong while beside them, three fat blondes counted out loud before downing tequila shots. On the floor, a pale, freckled girl passed a joint to two skinny boys who were too busy making out to notice. Nadia mixed Aubrey a drink, but she shook her head.

“That’s too much,” she said, pushing the cup back.

“It’s only two shots!”

“You didn’t even measure it.”

“I poured for two seconds. Same thing.”

After her first cup, Aubrey started to relax. After her second, she was smiling, no longer caring that her dress almost showed her ass. After her third, she was dancing with a boy who certainly cared that her dress almost showed her ass, so Nadia pulled her away before he got too handsy. Aubrey was an adorable drunk. She clung to Nadia, throwing her arms around her, toying with her hair. She plopped into her lap, an arm around her shoulder. She told Nadia she loved her, twice. Both times, Nadia laughed it off.

“No,” Aubrey said, “I really do love you.”

When was the last time anyone had told her that? She felt embarrassed that she couldn’t remember, so she pretended not to hear. She twisted open a bottle of water and handed it to Aubrey.

“Have some,” she said, “before you puke.”

Partying at Cody’s sober was a strange experience. She felt like she was in a museum, sneaking under the guardrails for a closer look at the exhibits. She noticed the details, the sadness behind smiles, the tired faces, strained with pretend happiness. She was comforted, in a way, to know that she wasn’t the only one who sometimes faked it. She finished her beer, barely buzzed, while Aubrey tried to goad her into drinking more.

“I can’t,” Nadia said. “I’m driving.”

“But you’re not even having fun!”

“I am . . .”

Aubrey pouted. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am, and you’re having fun. That’s the point.”

“But you’re just sitting there.”

“I’m having fun through you,” she said.

And she was, oddly enough, even though she was sober, even though she was disappointed that she hadn’t seen Luke. She felt grateful, almost, watching Aubrey party with the giddiness of someone who had just wrenched herself free of her body.

—

“JESUS, AUBREY.” Nadia hooked an arm around her waist as she helped her up Monique and Kasey’s driveway. “You are a lightweight.”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“Oh yes you are—”

“No . . .”

“Yes, you fucking are.” She fumbled through Aubrey’s purse for the gold house key. “Now, shut up, okay? Everyone’s probably sleeping.”

She clamped a hand over Aubrey’s mouth as she shuttled her inside the dark house. Floorboards creaked underneath them and she stepped lightly, ushering Aubrey down the hall, her hand moist from her breathing. Inside her bedroom, Aubrey flopped onto the bed, stretching out like a starfish. Nadia wiggled out of her dress. She glanced into the mirror. Behind her, Aubrey propped herself up on her elbows, watching her undress.

“You’re so pretty,” she said.

Nadia laughed, rummaging through the drawer for a T-shirt to sleep in. She felt uncomfortable, knowing that Aubrey was looking. She’d never liked anyone watching her undress, not even Luke. She pulled on a faded Chargers T-shirt, piling her hair into a sloppy bun.

“You are,” Aubrey said. “You are so pretty, it’s not even fair.”

“Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

“But I’m not tired.”

“Want to change into shorts? You’re not sleeping in that, are you?”

“We’ll talk, right?” Aubrey said. “When you’re in college.”

Nadia’s throat tightened, but she didn’t say anything, shielded by the dark and the quiet. “Of course,” she finally said, unsure if she was trying to comfort Aubrey or herself.

Down the hall, the air conditioner hummed loudly, but her mind refused to settle, not even after Aubrey grew quiet and still beside her. She slept on her stomach, like a baby, and in the darkness, Nadia rested a hand on her back, feeling it rise and fall.

“Remember the trampoline?” Aubrey said. “That I told you about? The one in my neighbor’s yard?”

“What about it?”

Aubrey clenched her eyes shut, her voice dropping to a whisper. “That was the first secret I ever kept.”