You Are Not Alone(25)

She’d lost one family, but she’d found another.





CHAPTER SEVENTEEN



SHAY


On average, women report having eight close friends. Studies have found that, when under stress, women tend to seek out these female friendships. Instead of simply experiencing the adrenal-based “fight or flight” response, women also secrete the “bonding hormone,” oxytocin. This phenomenon has been termed “tend and befriend.”

—Data Book, page 18



I LEARNED SO MANY THINGS about Cassandra and Jane Moore at the café this morning: everything from the flavor of tea they drink—jasmine for Cassandra, and rose hip for Jane—to how Jane’s eyebrows tilt up slightly when she listens, to how gracefully Cassandra gestures with her slim fingers.

As they hugged me goodbye, Cassandra told me to keep the raincoat for now since she had her umbrella. “Just text me and we’ll figure it out,” she’d said, right before the sisters hurried to the curb and hailed a cab. Naturally, one pulled over within seconds.

While I sat on the bus to work, I wondered if I should have just come clean and admitted I didn’t have a cat. At least I’d undone part of my lie by explaining I’d been by Amanda’s side when she’d jumped, and that was why her death had so affected me. But I was such a wreck when they found me clutching the subway pole; how could I admit I’d completely fabricated the story about sharing a veterinarian with Amanda? I’d sound pathological.

Especially to these women; not only are they glamorous and magnetic, they’re highly successful. When I googled them, I learned they founded their own boutique PR firm while still in their mid-twenties, and that they represent a couple of names even I recognize. Cassandra is thirty-two and Jane is thirty, so my age puts me right between them, which makes their accomplishments even more impressive.

I also discovered that the yoga class Cassandra frequents requires more raw strength than it does a Zen mind-set.

“Downward Dog into a plank,” the instructor at Yoga Flow commands, walking over to adjust my form. I’m wearing the leggings and tank top I packed for the spin class I had planned to take that evening. After I found the receipt for a package of ten classes from this yoga studio in the pocket of Cassandra’s raincoat along with a tin of cinnamon Altoids, I altered my plans.

When I called the studio to reserve a mat at the eight P.M. Ashtanga class, I told myself it would be grounding and relaxing—exactly what I needed after the intense distress of the morning. But that’s not the real reason I’m here.

Cassandra and Jane are powerful, confident, alluring—everything I’m not.

I guess I just wanted to take a tiny step in their shoes.

I run my tongue over my teeth, still tasting the faintest trace of cinnamon. The tin of Altoids was almost completely full, so I knew Cassandra wouldn’t notice if one was missing.

“Let’s prepare for Savasana,” the instructor says.

I glance at the woman next to me to get a cue for the pose, then lie on my back with my palms faceup.

“Today’s word is gratitude. Allow your mind to be filled with something or someone you are grateful for,” the instructor continues. He rings a chime four times, the crisp, delicate notes reverberating through the air.

Cassandra and Jane, I think instantly. If they hadn’t magically appeared this morning outside the subway, I don’t know what would have happened. I felt as if I were shattering, and they put me back together.

I know women as in demand and special as Cassandra and Jane don’t need me as a friend. But I can’t help thinking about how that word sounded coming from Cassandra’s lips when she told the hostess we wanted a booth.

Even their names have the sound of mantras.

I close my eyes and feel my body melt into the mat.

When the instructor rings the bell again, I slowly get up and gather my things from the locker, including Cassandra’s raincoat. It kept me warm today, but I know that, like Cassandra and Jane’s company, it isn’t mine to keep.

I reach for my phone and slowly type in a message: I wanted to thank you and Jane again for today. I can drop your jacket off tomorrow if that works.

I stare at my phone for at least a minute, but there’s no reply.



* * *



It’s nearly nine-thirty when I return to my apartment. I climb the flight up to 2C and fumble through my bag for my keys. Before I can unlock the door, Sean opens it.

I take a step back, surprised. “Oh, are you heading out?”

“Actually, no, I’ve been waiting for you.” He clears his throat. “Do you have a moment to talk?”

“Sure.”

His eyes flitter away from mine. His speech is more formal than usual. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands; he finally clasps them in front of him.

All of this signals he’s going to deliver bad news.

“Want a beer? I was about to open one.”

I don’t, but I grab two of the Blue Moons I brought home the other night while Sean slices up the orange I toss to him.

“So, what’s up?”

He walks over to sit down on the couch and I feel my heart plummet.

But when he finally tells me what it is, I force myself to smile. I even hug him. “No problem. I get it. And I’m happy for you.”