Authors: Liz Fenton
“Same thing.” Rachel crosses her arms over her chest looking even more like an eighteen-year-old.
“Anyway,” John continues. “Since the moment we checked in, people have been marveling at how she hasn’t changed a bit and she’s afraid she’ll win the award.”
“Didn’t you guys just get here? Like five minutes ago?”
“All the more reason why I think I’m going to win,” Rachel says, looking terrified.
“Well, all I meant when I said that you looked the same is that you look beautiful. And
if
you win, the reason will be because you haven’t changed, not because you’re not successful.”
I touch her arm gently to let her know I mean it, but she looks away. John and I exchange a look.
Rachel’s in a mood tonight.
I swallow the lump that’s been building in my throat since I rode up in the elevator with two couples bantering about how lucky they were to have found a babysitter while I’d stared down at the velvet five-inch stilettos that were already pinching my pinkie toes, the pain a welcome distraction from the chatter around me.
How could she not realize that this night might be hard for me too?
“Rachel! Casey! John! Of
course
I’d find the three of you together. I mean, how crazy that nothing has changed in
twenty
years!” Class president, head cheerleader, and resident mean girl Julie Meyers bounces up looking nothing like her high school self, an extra fifty pounds hanging from her formerly petite frame. I think about Patrick Sanders drowning his high school memories of being rejected by her in a stiff drink and want to tell him he’s better off.
“Wow, y’all look great!” She grabs Rachel and twirls her around. “Girl, you look exactly the
same
!”
John and I share another look. I signal Brian for another round. He gives me a knowing look.
See, I told you this brings out the worst in people
. I roll my eyes at him.
But once the drinks kick in, it seems like everyone’s having fun, even Rachel. I’ve been trying to follow Destiny’s advice, even hauling my ass off the bar stool and flirting with a few men my own age. Apparently, this twenty-year reunion is packed with recent divorcées. I had felt some apprehension about coming here without ever having been married, but now I wonder if it was worse to come here saying you tried and failed. I try to keep the smile pasted on my face as they discuss their child
custody schedule and bitterness over alimony payments and think that while twenty-somethings may be lacking in maturity, at least they don’t have this kind of baggage.
I try to catch Rachel’s eye from across the room. I’m trapped talking to the former chess club president and his wife and I think they’re pitching me some sort of chess reality show, but I tuned out a few minutes ago when the DJ started playing Cutting Crew. She finally comes over to rescue me. She’s much more relaxed than she was earlier, her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are shiny from the alcohol. I’m reminded again of the girl who charmed John at the water tower so many years ago.
“Are you having fun yet?” I ask tentatively, looking for signs that her insecurities from earlier are gone. She’d seemed down lately and I certainly hadn’t succeeded in making her feel better, not that I’d tried that hard. Our conversations only seem to go from bad to worse because I can never say—or as in the case of the phone call about this reunion—
not say—
the right thing. I definitely don’t know what to tell her when she complains about Charlotte being up all night or Sophie throwing a tantrum over some outfit. I just listen, because what am I supposed to say? I don’t get what’s
that
stressful about her life. We were both broadcasting majors in college, but I often think that even though she was immensely talented, Rachel would have gotten eaten alive had she ended up with a career in TV.
“You know what? I
am
having a good time,” Rachel says as she loops her arm through mine, making me miss the girls we used to be.
“Where’s John?” I ask, glancing around before finding him leaning against the bar talking to a woman whose name I can’t remember. By the way he’s gesturing, it’s clear he’s telling a story, and by the way she’s leaning in, just a little too close, it’s
obvious she’d listen to that story on repeat for hours. John’s always been a good-looking guy who, at six foot four, has turned more than his share of heads. I remember in high school and college Rachel used to get so jealous, secretly confiding in me that she wondered if she was pretty enough for him. And of course she was—and still is.
I elbow Rachel. “Look at that woman throwing herself at John; so pathetic. I should go over there and save him.” I motion toward the nameless woman with the large, hungry eyes who looks like she wants to take a big bite out of him.
She waves it off. “Oh please. Let him have the attention. We’ve been together forever and we’re
so boring
. Boring as hell.” She smiles and twirls the straw in her empty glass. “Ready for another drink?”
“Welcome, everyone!” Julie Meyers is up at the podium demanding our attention. “It’s time for the awards!”
Rachel stiffens and John walks back to us and drapes his arms around her possessively. She leans into him and exhales and I feel a pang in my stomach. Even if it’s boring as hell, it must be nice to be someone’s
someone
. Someone you can exhale into.
Julie starts calling out the awards: Most Likely to Star in a Reality Show on Bravo; Person with the Fewest Original Body Parts; and my favorite, The Number-One MILF and Number-One DILF. People are running up to the stage with the excitement of an audience member selected to be on
The Price Is Right
.
“I think you showed less emotion when you won your Emmy last year!” Rachel whispers to me and we share a laugh.
“Okay, next up, our most successful graduate. Now I think we can all guess who this is!” Julie locks eyes with me as she calls my name. “Casey Lee, get up here!”
I look over at Rachel and John. John is whistling and Rachel’s face is frozen until I catch her eye and she quickly composes herself and starts to clap. I walk up to the podium and grab my award, say a hurried thank-you, and head back down as quickly as possible, Rachel’s expressionless face etched in my mind. “It’s nothing,” I say to her when I return, trying to let her know that she wouldn’t have been so upset that I won if she understood how much I’ve given up to get it. She nods silently and looks away.
I look over to my right and watch Patrick Sanders walking dejectedly over to the bar.
How the hell did I win this over him?
He could buy this hotel if he wanted. Brian has his drink waiting when he walks up and looks over at me with a knowing smile that says
I told you so.
Julie’s voice shrills over the microphone again. “And now for our last award, Least Changed!”
John and I exchange a panicked look.
“Rachel Cole!”
CHAPTER 4
rachel
“Rachel Cole. Where are you? Come on up here and get your award!” Julie is grinning widely, completely unaware that I’d rather give birth to triplets than accept the Least Changed award.
So what if it’s technically an honor for someone who still looks the same—a compliment even. I know what it really means, what everyone’s really thinking: that I’ve done nothing with my life.
I’m not sure if I should collect my award with the dignity of an Academy Award winner or get up there and tell everyone off. The four Belvedere and sodas I’ve downed are pulling for me to give the crowd the finger. With each step toward the stage, I feel my anger mount. I can hear nothing but the sound of my out-of-style high heels on the linoleum floor.
I walk up the stairs to the podium and Julie congratulates me yet again and hands me a plastic award. A trinket I’ve seen at the dollar store. I think of Sophie’s cheap soccer trophies and
medals, which she recently relegated to a box in the garage, and I realize they look like Olympic medals compared to this.
I scan the sea of my classmates and see a man holding up his glass to me and cheering and it takes a moment for it to register that it’s Jake Johnson, our senior class president and captain of the volleyball team. He’s got a paunch and a comb-over now, but a huge smile is plastered across his face. He’s obviously having a great time even though he no longer looks like an Abercrombie & Fitch model. He swings his arm over the shoulders of the editor of our high school newspaper, Nancy Myers. She smiles my way, not a care in the world, even though she looks older than her thirty-eight years, gray at the temples and deep lines around her eyes. She’s having fun too—the kind of time I hoped I’d have.
I had been so excited to see my old friends and relive fun memories, never expecting the moment I walked in that I’d become consumed with insecurity, instantly transforming into a gangly fifteen-year-old who never felt she was pretty enough or smart enough
or just enough in general
. Not for John or for anyone. But somehow, back then, I was able to mask it, only whispering my true feelings to Casey late at night on the cordless phone I sneaked into my bedroom, the darkness giving me the courage to say the words. At school, I became an overachiever, taking on one more extracurricular activity, joining one more club, anything to prove myself. But now, standing here as a grown woman, I’m finding it almost impossible to swallow my tears. I quickly mumble a sarcastic “thanks a lot” into the microphone and stumble down the stairs, leaving a wide-eyed Julie behind, still clasping my trinket in her hand. I head toward the double doors leading out of the ballroom.
“Where are you going? You okay?” Casey calls after me.
I turn around slowly, ready to tell her how I’m feeling, until I see the Most Successful award dangling from her perfectly manicured left hand. Her hair is styled expertly, her makeup was obviously done by the award-winning makeup artist at her studio, and the designer minidress is hugging her in all the right places. Not only has she realized all of her dreams professionally, she looks more gorgeous than ever.
“I need to be alone.” I turn toward the door again so she won’t see my eyes filling with tears.
“Hey, don’t go. Talk to me,” Casey says quietly.
“Talk to
you
?
You
have no idea what I’m feeling.”
I ignore the hurt look in Casey’s eyes and snap, “Oh, wait, you probably have people to call for this. A life coach on speed dial, perhaps?”
I see John approaching, a concerned look on his face, but I shake my head to warn him not to get in the middle of this.
“What crawled up your ass? Don’t let some silly award mess with your head. It’s not worth it,” Casey pleads.
“Said the most successful to the least successful.”
“For the last time, your award was for still looking the same, which is meant as a compliment. You haven’t aged a day since you were eighteen. You should be flattered!”
“Flattered? Just look at them.” I motion toward no one in particular. “They know I haven’t lived up to their expectations. I was voted most likely to succeed in high school yet my biggest accomplishment is what? President of the PTA? No, wait, I’ve got something better than that: I won the brownie bake-off at Sophie’s school two years ago.” I glare at John, still watching us from a safe distance. I think of the headhunter I’d secretly met
with just days before finding out I was pregnant with Charlotte; the résumé we’d crafted; the excitement I’d felt as I thought of working outside of the home again.
I hated to admit it, but having another baby had changed us. Suddenly we were fighting about everything: who would get up with her, who
should
get up with her; another college tuition on a single income; my refusal to let John continue with his weekly poker night because I needed help. I don’t remember it being this hard before, but then again, it was sixteen years ago and I was a much different mom and wife back then; more patient and less exhausted.
“No one here is thinking you aren’t a success except
you
. No one is pitying you except
you
. Don’t tell me you’re actually jealous of
this
?” Casey waves her trophy in front of me. “You want it? Take it!” Casey tries to push it into my hand, but I step back and it falls on the floor between us and a group of classmates looks our way.
“I don’t want your award. It doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You have everything you ever wanted.”
Casey shakes her head. “Okay, fine. You want to have this out. We’ll have this out. Why don’t you have everything you ever wanted? Why didn’t you ever go back to work? Why did you give up?” Casey challenges.
“You think having a baby is giving up? God, you have no clue what you’re talking about. It wasn’t as simple as you thought it was. You think I could’ve finished college while I was pregnant and then gotten a job at some TV station all while trying to take care of a newborn?”
“If you wanted it bad enough,” she says, her words slicing through me.
“You just don’t get it. You’ve never actually had a baby.”
Casey scoffs then looks away, sadness crossing her eyes. And then I know I’ve gone too far.
“Okay, you two, let’s end this thing right now,” John says in a hushed tone as he walks up with the bartender, who is carrying two drinks. “These are from our friend Brian,” he says. “He wisely suggested you two need to drink these and let go of whatever it is you’re fighting about.”
Brian smiles broadly, eyeing the two shot glasses full of a bright purple liquid. “I made these extra special for the two of you.”
Casey rolls her eyes. “You think it’s so simple. Like a couple of shots can make us forget all the BS that’s gone on tonight? A lot’s been said.”
John puts his arms around both of us. “You guys have been fighting like sisters for years. Angry one minute, best friends again the next. Why should tonight be any different?” He gives me a supportive look, “It’s just a high school reunion, right?” He kisses me on the cheek. Then he turns to Casey, “Just knock back one of these and call a truce.”