The Writing Retreat(106)

“I’m okay. But, listen.” I leaned closer. “I’m sorry about what happened between us. I acted really immaturely. I shouldn’t have avoided you like that.”

“Water under the bridge.” He waved a hand. “I can’t believe you even remember that, after what happened to you right after.” He shook his head. “Man. I still can’t fully wrap my head around what you went through.”

“Me either.” I smiled. “But thanks for saying that.”

“Anyway.” Pete hefted the book, clearly ready to move on to another topic. “This is great. I read it in, like, a day. Would you…” He looked a little embarrassed. “Would you sign it for me?”

“Of course.” I pulled out a Sharpie from my dress pocket.

To Pete. Thanks for being such a good friend.

“I was also wondering.” His cheeks reddened. “Can I—could we get lunch or something sometime? I mean, just as friends. Or… whatever.” He looked tortured. Without thinking, I pulled him into a hug. When we separated, he looked relieved.

“I’d love to,” I said sincerely. “But I’m actually moving to LA this weekend.”

“This weekend?” His eyes widened. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” I heard Ursula’s laughter and glanced over at her. “I just needed a change.”

“Well, if you’re ever back in New York…” He grinned.

I nodded. “I’ll definitely hit you up. No whiskey shots, though.”

“Alex! OMG.” Wren’s friend Craig, waiting behind Pete, became impatient. He swept in front of Pete and grabbed me in a hug, smelling of cigarette smoke and musky cologne. “Honey, the book is fabulous.” Ridhi appeared by his side in a hot-pink tank dress more appropriate for a Miami club.

I hadn’t even considered my ex-friends would show up, but of course they were here. Where the action was.

“So fabulous,” Ridhi seconded, diving straight in for her hug.

I smiled and chatted before noticing who was waiting behind them. Craig and Ridhi stopped in mid-sentence and parted to let Wren through.

“Hi, Al.” She hugged me tightly as Ridhi and Craig respectfully retreated. “It’s wonderful.”

“Thanks.” She was one of the first people I’d thanked in the acknowledgments, even though I’d seen little of her over the past six months. She’d actually reached out a lot, inviting me to A-list parties, fashion events, restaurant openings. It was almost like she was an ex trying to woo me back. But I hadn’t gone. Things had changed too much. I had changed too much.

“You all packed up?” Wren held on to my arms, studying me like a proud parent. The scars on her face were only barely visible now, thanks to Manhattan’s top dermatologist. She was dressed down, in loose jeans and a tank top. She’d started brushing her blunt bangs to the side, letting them grow out, and she wore a soft peach lipstick instead of her trademark red.

“Pretty much.” I bobbed my head. “The movers are coming tomorrow. I’m making it an early night.”

“Promise me you’ll come back for my book party this fall?” She was smiling but her eyes filled with tears.

“Of course,” I said vehemently. Tears sprang to my eyes with our shared knowledge that I probably wouldn’t.

It had taken a literal massacre, but Wren and I were officially over.

“I’ll miss you.” This I said honestly, and we grabbed each other in a final hug.

Others were crowding in, wanting to talk to me, so Wren squeezed my arm and walked away. Craig and Ridhi trailed after her like baby chicks.

“Congrats!” My editor, Sheena, pulled me into a hug. “Enjoy tonight, lady.” She grinned and winked, not noticing my shiny eyes. “Tomorrow we’ll talk about what you’re going to write next.”



* * *



That night I lay on my couch, surrounded by moving boxes, and texted with Keira. She’d helped me find an apartment near her, meeting with the broker and showing it to me on FaceTime. She’d also grilled the building manager and had even negotiated the rent down a little bit. I had a lot more about self-advocacy to learn from her.

Between her and Ursula, I knew that the move would be okay. Like Daphne, I had no idea where I’d eventually end up. But right now something about the warmth and sunshine of LA was calling to me.

I texted with Zoe’s dad today, Keira texted. I said we’d plan another call with him and M this month.

Perfect, thanks, I responded. Keira, Wren, and I had decided to start a nonprofit for young writers in Zoe’s name, with the input of her father and boyfriend—whose name was Michael, not Jack, as she’d told us. I was only just beginning to be able to think about Zoe without a despairing, bottomless sorrow.

There was so much that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that we’d survived, and Zoe, Yana, and Chitra hadn’t. It wasn’t fair that Chitra’s daughter no longer had a mother. It wasn’t fair that Zoe had spent much of her life tracking down a secret that would kill her. It also wasn’t fair that her aunt Lucy hadn’t made it to thirty, hadn’t lived to write more books.

But it was how it had happened. It was something we were going to have to learn to live with.

BTW, your party looked so fun, Keira wrote. So many people!!