The Herd(7)

Katie would love the Herd, was already impressed—I could tell. She’d been ready to roll her eyes, but the way her face lit up as she walked through…it was vindicating, I’ll admit.

Next to me, Mikki pulled a massive nubby cardigan from her backpack and swung it over her shoulders. She looked so cozy in her billowy pants and blanketlike sweater; I felt the squeeze of faux-leather leggings against my own waist.

“So this is the first time Eleanor and Katie have seen each other?” she asked. “Since she got back, I mean.”

“Yeah, first time.” Too bad—maybe if they’d seen each other sooner, somewhere private, Eleanor could have asked Katie the inevitable How’s your mom? without me cringing and blushing three feet away. It wasn’t Eleanor’s fault, it was kind of her to ask…well, that was the problem: The fault was all mine. I’m the older sister, the one with means and, as a freelance publicist, a flexible work schedule—the obvious candidate for moving back home. And yet I’d put it off, panicked at the prospect of having to spend all that time with Mom. I’d cried with relief and shame when Katie announced she would be the one to move to Michigan.

I cleared my throat. “I guess she needed a little time to get her bearings.”

“Well, and Eleanor’s become a bigger deal since Katie moved away. Maybe she felt intimidated.”

“Maybe.”

I’m the one who studied psychology, but Mikki (BA in visual arts) was a keen observer too. It’s what makes her such a good artist, most likely: She can people-watch, drawn in by the smallest details and spinning them into larger narratives. The gaudy engagement ring peeking out from a frayed jacket cuff. The gold-link watch, sagging on a skinny wrist. And yet she often misses things the rest of the world can’t shut up about: a meme that breaks the Internet, a major piece of news.

Eleanor and Mikki were roommates in the dorm freshman year—random roommates, and randomly just two doors down from me, because the Fates are kind like that sometimes. Eleanor and I met during move-in day, smiling at each other across a thrumming certainty that yes, we would be friends. Eleanor quickly grew close with Mikki, an arty yet unpretentious hipster from Asheville and the first in her family to attend college. Orientation week, when other freshmen were wandering the campus in massive frightened globs, we were already a trio.

A burst of high, chattering voices from the corner; a gaggle of women had come upon the pair they were looking for, hugs and exclamations all around. I recognized a few of them: They were starting a nonprofit to aid disaster relief efforts with phone-tree technology. Around them, other Herders flashed their chins in the group’s direction, moving like a school of fish.

“I can’t wait for the Fort Greene location to open,” Mikki said. “It’s such a zoo in here.”

“I miss being able to sit outside. You were the last one who could stand it.”

“I know—but I had the entire roof to myself. I was shivering and typing with fingerless gloves, some real Mr. Popper’s Penguins shit.” She mimed it, waggling her fingers. The closing of the Herd’s rooftop garden had felt like a small death. Winters always hit me hard, the frost seeping into my lungs and camping there as something like sorrow, a sweeping melancholia no pricy therapeutic lamp could counter. It’s one of the reasons I’d moved to L.A. after graduation. Though not the most pressing one—the incident I’d smashed into the tiniest corner of my mind.

Mikki pulled a vape pen from her backpack and took a hit.

“Didn’t Eleanor already yell at you for that?”

She smirked. “It’s CBD. I need constant calming. And c’mon, you know we can do whatever we want here.” Mikki’s favorite pastime is making me uncomfortable. “Hey, you staying for Monday Mocktails? It’s the bartender from Bamboo tonight.”

“That new tiki bar in SoHo?” I tilted my head. “I’m surprised Eleanor didn’t write it off as, like, cultural appropriation.”

“I guess when New York Mag devotes three pages to your cocktails, you get a free pass. I think they bill themselves as ‘Pacific kitsch’ or something.”

“Figures.” I drummed my nails on my computer. “I have a client meeting at four, so I’ll have to miss this one. You should ask Katie, though. It’d be good for her to start making friends here.”

“You shouldn’t worry about her.” She nodded toward the other rooms, toward Eleanor’s office, past the Gleam Room I’d ducked into this morning when no one was looking: UGLY CUNTS.

“She’s got friends in high places.”



* * *



—

“Hana!”

I was zooming toward the elevators, answering an email on my phone as I walked, when I heard the holler. I looked back and saw Eleanor leaning out of her office door, hinging at the waist so only her head and shoulders popped out, like someone in a goofy sitcom. She was forcing a smile, but her eyes gave her away.

I walked over. “What can I do for you?”

“Have a seat.” She leaned back, as if it were my job to begin the conversation. My phone lit up and I turned it over on my lap.

“So how’d it go with Katie?” I said brightly.

“She is such a rising star. It’s so cool to see.”

“I know, I’m so proud of her.”