You Are Not Alone(27)
“It’s so good to see you!” Jane says.
“You look great!” Cassandra adds.
I feel my skin betray me by flushing again, but this time, it’s with pleasure. I once read that a sincere compliment is so powerful because it activates the reward centers in the brain, creating the same reaction that receiving money does. It truly does feel like a gift.
I’m especially glad I made such an effort, because Cassandra is in a chic dress with a skinny alligator-patterned belt, and Jane wears a fitted cream leather jacket with dark-rinse jeans and heels. A few guys are sitting at a nearby table, and I see one swiveling his head to check them out. The sisters don’t even appear to notice; this sort of thing must happen to them all the time.
They’ve claimed the chairs opposite each other, which means I’m in the middle.
“Oh, before I forget.” I hand Cassandra a sturdy bag from Lululemon. I’d gotten it when I picked up a pair of running tights on sale last year and I’d saved it because it was so much nicer than the usual plastic or cheap paper bags stores give out.
Now Cassandra’s poppy-colored raincoat is carefully folded inside. Her yoga card and Altoids are in the left pocket, where I’d found them.
“Thank you!” Cassandra exclaims, almost like I’ve given her a present rather than simply returned the item she lent me.
“Your arms are so toned!” Jane adds. “That explains the Lululemon bag. Do you have Michelle Obama’s trainer?”
“Thanks.” I laugh, feeling a little embarrassed. “This place is really cool.” It’s crowded, but the tables are far enough apart that it feels private.
“Wait until you try the cocktails,” Jane replies. “We love the Moscow Mules.”
I don’t even know what the ingredients are, but when the waiter comes by, I order one.
Cassandra leans closer to me. “So, how are you feeling?”
Better than I have in a long time, I think. All my worries about my job, my living situation, even my new phobia, have suddenly receded. I was so distracted getting ready for tonight that it pushed those nagging issues out of the forefront of my mind.
But I just say, “I’m good. Thanks again for the other day—I hadn’t slept well and I was going through a rough patch.”
“We’ve all been there.” Jane touches my forearm. “A few months ago, this investment banker I thought I was going to marry broke up with me. I couldn’t even get out of bed, but this one”—she jabs a thumb at Cassandra—“kept bringing me lattes and dragging me to work. If it hadn’t been for her, I’d still be hiding under the covers.”
It’s hard to imagine anyone breaking up with Jane, I think, watching her full lips curve into a smile, revealing perfect white teeth. But Cassandra nods and says, “Hey, that’s what sisters are for. Well, that and stealing your favorite clothes.”
We all laugh, and my little breakdown the other day doesn’t feel as humiliating.
“Three Moscow Mules,” the waiter says, setting down copper mugs garnished with limes and fresh sprigs of mint.
Cassandra lifts her mug. “Cheers.”
I clink mine against theirs, then take a sip. It’s icy and refreshing, with a nice kick of ginger.
The number one rule for getting people to like you is to ask them about themselves. So I lob a question to them.
“Do you guys work around here?” I already know that they do. By now I’ve checked out their website and even googled a few of their clients: a handbag designer, a gallery owner, and a young actor who has a part in an upcoming independent film.
They chat for a while about their company, then ask about me. I describe my work as a data analyst and explain I’m temping at a law firm. But I make it sound like I have a lot of leads and it’s only a matter of time before I end up somewhere new and exciting.
Cassandra and Jane lean toward me, listening intently. Jane keeps smiling, her dimple flashing, while Cassandra nods encouragingly.
Something strange starts to happen: As I talk about my potential opportunities, I begin to believe they will materialize. I feel more expansive; more self-assured. It’s like their confidence and success are infectious.
The waiter appears with three more copper cups. “Another round of Moscow Mules, compliments of the gentlemen over there.”
I glance at the table of men, and one of them raises his glass to us.
“Cheers, guys,” Cassandra calls, then she turns back to me. It’s like she’s thanking someone for opening a door; she’s gracious but completely nonchalant. This, too, must happen to them all the time.
I start in on my new drink. I feel warm and glowing inside, but I can’t tell if it’s from the alcohol or if I’m just high from their company.
Cassandra has left a perfect crimson crescent near the lip of her mug. One of the differences between her and Jane is that Cassandra seems to favor a more dramatic look, while Jane is softer. Her lipstick leaves a faint pink mark, like mine.
Even Cassandra’s jewelry is striking: a chunky cocktail ring with an onyx stone on her right hand, and dangling gold earrings. But the necklace she’s fiddling with is—
I do a double take.
It’s a simple gold chain with a sunburst charm.
I’m too stunned to speak.
First Amanda disappeared, then I thought I saw her reappear going into the subway. Then I gave her necklace to the police, and now it’s back.