Good Luck with That

by Kristan Higgins

  Georgia and I looked at each other, agape in horror. “My nephew cannot pull a dead rabbit out of a hat in front of six hundred of his peers,” she said.

  “No. No. That would be bad. Um . . . what do we do?”

  She bit her nail. “We . . . we find him and take the dead rabbit and switch it with this one.”

  “Can’t we just call him and tell him that Zeus One is dead?” I asked.

  “No! He loves Zeus One!”

  “He’s fourteen, Georgia. Rainbow Bridge and all that? No?”

  She swallowed. “He’s sensitive. If we tell him, he might . . . I don’t know. Cry during the act or something. Or not go on, and he actually gets school credit for this. If he doesn’t go on, Hunter will lecture him, and it will be bad enough, because Hunter thinks he’s doing stand-up comedy. If he knew about the magic ahead of time, he’d torture Mason, and now—”

  “Okay, stop talking. We’ll switch rabbits. How do we do that?”

  “I don’t know! The show starts in half an hour.”

  “Let’s go, then. I’ll drive. Don’t make me hold the rabbit. They creep me out.”

  We ran to my car, which still smelled like pesto and meat and reminded me that I was starving. Flew over to the high school. The parking lot was mobbed, and well-dressed parents and children streamed inside. “Text him, text him, text him,” I chanted as we pulled into a space, cutting off a sleek Mercedes.

  “I can’t! I’m holding the bunny.”

  “Okay, fine. I will.” I dictated a text into my phone. “Dear Mason, hi, honey, good luck, can we see you beforehand? So excited! Really want to see you before you go on, okay?”

  We got into the auditorium, which was crowded with people. “Hide the rabbit,” I whispered.

  “Right.” She looked down. “I don’t have my purse.”

  “Pocket?”

  She shook her head, eyes wide.

  “Fine,” I ground out. “Put it in mine.” My jacket had wide, deep pockets. If the rabbit peed or pooped in there, I would have to kill myself. I cringed a little as she transferred the wee beastie and it settled against me, one of its back feet thumping against my hip. “Ew. Make this happen fast.”

  “Hello, neighbors!” It was Leo and Jenny, who wore a black turtleneck that stopped about an inch above the waistband of her very expensive-looking jeans. Skinny women. They had no idea. The rabbit thumped again, and I twitched.

  “Hey, guys,” Jenny said. “What are you doing here?”

  Georgia didn’t answer.

  “Her nephew is performing tonight,” I said. “And you?”

  “I have a student or four playing,” Leo said. “Jenny insisted on coming because she adores me.”

  “That’s mostly true,” she agreed. “Georgia, what’s your nephew doing?”

  “Magic,” Georgia said.

  Leo winced, then fixed his face.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “We all feel that way.”

  “Well. See you guys in there,” Jenny said. “Good luck to your nephew.” Hand in hand (sigh), they made their way through the crowd into the auditorium. Georgia stood there, jabbing her phone.

  “Hey,” I hissed. “I have a live rabbit in my pocket that’s maybe about to chew through the fabric of my coat and start eating my liver. Can we transfer the goods, please?”

  “I’m trying!” Georgia whispered back. “He’s not answering his phone.”

  “Georgia. Marley. How are you both tonight?”

  Oh, God. If there was one thing to guarantee Georgia freezing up, it was the molten, dark chocolate voice of Rafael Santiago.

  My bestie made a squeaking sound, like a mouse dying.

  “Mason asked me to come,” Rafe said. “I hope you do not mind.” He only had eyes for Georgia, and man, if some guy looked at me the way he looked at her, we would be doing it on the floor, crowds or no crowds, children or no children, rabbit or no rabbit.

  “Uncle Rafe!” came a voice, and it was Mason’s. Thank God. “I’m so happy you made it! Hey, Marley! Hi, G!”

  “Son.” Crap. Mason’s tight-ass father who always pretended not to know me walked up to what was now turning into our pretty big group.

  Mason’s face fell a notch. “Hey, Dad.”

  “Hello, Hunter,” Rafe said.

  Hunter ignored him, instead focusing on Mason. “What are you wearing? Is that a cape? You’re not wearing that onstage, are you?”

  “Magicians generally wear capes,” Georgia said.

  I jerked as the rabbit thumped again. Did that mean it was scared? Sick? Murderous? Did death await me with nasty, big, pointy teeth?

  “You said you were doing stand-up,” Hunter said.

  “Well, it’s a little of both,” he said. His eyes darted to Georgia’s.

  “I’m really excited,” she said. “I got a preview, and he’s fantastic.” She stepped on my foot and tilted her head at Mason’s hand.

  Mason did not have the hat. He was holding a wand, but no hat.

  “Where’s your hat?” I asked, ever subtle.

  “Backstage.”

  “I have to go to the bathroom!” I blurted. “Good luck, honey. I mean, break a leg!”

  I dodged and twisted through the crowd, going into the auditorium, up the stairs onto the stage. The rabbit was freaking out in my pocket. Soon, I would start screaming.

  “Hi!” I said to a pretty girl. “Do you know where Mason Sloane’s stuff is?”

  “Um, no?” she said.

  “The magician?”

  “Oh, him.” She rolled her eyes. “Over there, maybe?” She pointed, and yes! There was a top hat.

  Damn it. The lights were going down. I ran to the hat, jerked out the false bottom and pushed Zeus the Second in, my skin crawling in a massive wave of heebie-jeebies as his little claws scritched my palm, and braced myself to grab Dead Zeus.

  “Marley?”

  Mason again! I closed the false bottom of the hat and straightened up. “Honey! Just . . . I got lost!”

  The dead rabbit was still in the hat. Did rabbits cannibalize each other? Would Zeus Two die of terror, being in a dark place with a corpse?

  “Go sit down,” Mason said. “They’re in the ninth row.” He picked up the hat.

  “Mason—” I began.

  “You can’t be back here,” said an adult. “Please find your seat.”

  “See you after,” Mason said. His eyes were worried as he looked around at all the other kids, the girls dressed in dance gear or gorgeous dresses, the guys dressed not in capes.

  “Good luck, honey,” I said. What else could I do? I prayed, that’s what. St. Francis, St. Jude, St. Nick, St. Anyone. “Help him out, Frankie,” I whispered as I made my way to the ninth row.

  Georgia jumped up. “Did you do it?”

  “Sort of,” I whispered.

  “What does that mean?”

  “The alive one is in there. But the dead one is, too.”

  “Oh, my God.” She clasped her head with both hands.

  “Please, take my seat,” Rafael said. This put me in between Georgia and Hunter, with Rafe on Georgia’s other side. “I don’t think my former brother-in-law is pleased to see me,” he added in a lower voice. “You are doing us both a favor.”

  Great. So now it went Rafael, Georgia, me and Hunter. Why did I have to sit next to the evil brother? Hadn’t I already had a vermin in my pocket this night? Did I have to sit next to one, too?

  “Is there any way we can fix this?” Georgia whispered.

  Rafe looked at us, tilting his head. “Is there a problem, ladies?” he asked.

  “No!” I said merrily. “We’re great.” To Georgia, I whispered, “I’m sorry. I did my best. He came up right when I was—”

  “Can you be quiet already?” Hunter said. He didn’t make e
ye contact, just stared at the stage, jaw locked, arms folded tight.

  “Hello, Hunter, nice to see you again,” I lied.

  “Do we know each other?”

  “Marley DeFelice. I’ve been your sister’s best friend for almost twenty years, and I’m a big fan of your son.” I forced a smile.

  “No wonder he has no friends, hanging around middle-aged women all the time.”

  “Shut up, Hunter,” Georgia said, her voice tight.

  “Just stating a fact,” he said.

  “And he does have friends,” Georgia said. Rafe touched her shoulder, and she jumped.

  Maybe he has no friends because his father’s an asshole, I thought. Another possibility. “He’s a wonderful kid,” I said.

  Hunter scanned me, snorted and looked away. I knew that look. You’re fat. You don’t matter.

  “Oh, I made it! Thank goodness!” Georgia’s mother squeezed into our row. “Hunter, let me sit next to you, darling.”

  “Yes, by all means, Mrs. Sloane,” I said. We all stood up and shuffled to let her past so she could sit on the other side of her son.

  I caught a glimpse of some familiar faces a few rows behind us. Georgia’s father and stepmother and the two little girls. Because this night was cursed, we were stuck sitting with Hunter and Big Kitty, instead of the nice branch of the family.

  I leaned across Rafe and touched Georgia’s hand, nodding at her dad. Her face lit up, and she gave a small wave.

  Their family was complicated, that was for sure.

  For the next forty-five minutes, I sat sweating with nerves. Georgia, too, was dying a slow death, shifting her legs, her arms, rubbing her forehead, biting her nails. Not only had she somehow killed a rabbit today, she was sitting next to her ex-husband. And she might have rabies.

  I wished Will was here. I hoped he wasn’t too lonely. I hoped he was sitting in his garden, drinking wine and reading a good book, not hunched in front of his computer, working.

  The kids were way too talented. Of course, Cambry-on-Hudson was the type of place where the children took violin lessons in the womb, which was painful for the mother but paid off at these sort of events. There were gymnasts and singers and dancers, three violinists (see?), a cellist, Leo’s four piano students, and a girl who did the soliloquy from Hamlet.

  And then, finally . . .

  “Okay, folks,” said the principal, who was acting as master of ceremonies, “we’re changing it up a little. Mason the Magnificent, performing some magic tricks for your pleasure!”

  “Jesus,” Hunter muttered. “A magic act.”

  I wanted to kick him.

  Georgia leaned forward. “Shut up and be supportive,” she hissed.

  “Stop fighting, children.” Big Kitty sighed. I could smell the alcohol fumes on her breath and hoped she hadn’t driven herself.

  Mason came onstage, his shoulders hunched. “Hi, everyone,” he said, and his poor little voice was shaking. “Um . . . you guys know Penn and Teller, right? They’re like a married couple? Because only one of them gets to talk.”

  I bit my lip. The poor child! “Haha! Hahaha!” I fake-laughed. “Good one. Totally like my parents.” No one else in our group spoke.

  “What do you call a magician on a plane?” Mason said. “A flying sorcerer!”

  Crickets.

  “Hey there, Kendra.” Mason forged ahead. “Looks like you survived Avada Kedavra, because you’re drop-dead gorgeous!”

  Nothing. A few groans.

  “Ha!” I said. “Harry Potter! Good one!”

  I looked over at Georgia. Tears were welling in her eyes. Before I could reach over to squeeze her hand, Rafe put his arm around the back of her seat. Murmured something to her. She nodded.

  “Can I have a lovely assistant from the audience?” Mason asked. The sweat glistened on his face, which was blotchy with terror. How he wasn’t peeing himself or running offstage was beyond me. “Adele! How about you?” His voice shook. “Come on up here and have some fun.”

  “That’s the girl he likes,” Georgia whispered.

  “He is very brave,” Rafe murmured.

  The audience waited, shifting irritably as, after too long a pause, a very pretty girl—one of the violinists—came up onstage.

  “Whoa, what’s this? I think you need to wash your ears better, Adele, because look what I found!” Mason pulled a quarter from behind her ear, then dropped it on the stage, where it rolled away.

  This time, there were a few chuckles. Not the nice kind.

  It was agonizing. Whenever I saw Mason, he was so damn sweet and funny, smart and geeky in the best possible way. Here, when it mattered so much, all of that seemed gone.

  “Adele,” he said, his voice cracking, “can you look in my hat and see that there’s nothing there, right?”

  The girl looked and smiled gamely. “It’s empty,” she said.

  “Right! It totally is.” He tipped it upside down to demonstrate. Put his hand inside and waved it around, showing the audience.

  “Okay, Adele, if you don’t mind, uh, holding my wand?”

  “Dude!” a male voice shouted. “She’s way outta your league!”

  Mason turned scarlet. “Oh, I didn’t mean . . . I mean, not that way, but . . . Can you hold the hat, then?”

  “Next!” someone shouted.

  “Hang on one second,” Mason pleaded. “This is the best part.”

  “Oh, God,” Georgia whispered.

  Adele took the hat.

  “Abracadabra!” Mason said, reached in the hat—Please, Frankie—and pulled out a clump of black fur. I braced myself.

  The clump was moving.

  Fast.

  In fact, the clump was . . . uh . . . well, there were two rabbits, all right, and they were both quite alive.

  Oh, yes. Alive and mating.

  Mason, mouth open, held the rabbits up. There was a stunned silence . . . then a roar of laughter.

  The bunnies were humping as fast as bunnies do, and somehow, the top one was gripping the bottom one, who was just sort of dangling there (best not to think about the physics involved).

  I looked over at Georgia. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open.

  “You’re really good at CPR,” I said to my friend, and she looked at me, then started laughing and crying both.

  Onstage, Mason put the rabbits down. The top Zeus jumped off and hopped away.

  “You can’t just leave her like that,” Mason said, getting another belly laugh from the audience. Then, sure enough, Top Zeus came hopping back and mounted Bottom Zeus for another round.

  The audience went crazy. People were wiping tears from their eyes, rocking back and forth. And yeah, mating rabbits is a pretty funny sight, especially when they look like children’s stuffed animals.

  When Top Zeus hopped off again, Mason said, “Adele, help me out, okay? We’ve had enough rabbit porn tonight.”

  They picked up the rabbits, Adele smiling warmly at Mason. The lad had the grace to simply lean into the microphone and say, “Thanks, everyone.”

  He got a standing ovation.

  CHAPTER 29

  Georgia

  Get closure with your ex after your marriage breaks up because you were fat.

  (Why am I making this so hard? Can’t I just tuck in a shirt and call it a day?)

  The night belonged to Mason.

  When the crowd stood up, cheering, I had to choke back tears of joy.

  Just six months ago, my beautiful nephew had overdosed on Tylenol. Now he was being clapped on the back by fellow students, parents reaching out to pat his shoulder and tell him how funny he was.

  Dad and Cherish and the girls came over, ignoring the death stare from Hunter, the hiss from Big Kitty. Dad wiped his eyes, still laughing. “Fantastic,” he managed.

  �
��It was so cute how those bunnies were giving each other piggyback rides,” Paris said innocently.

  Rafe looked at me, smiling, and my heart swelled. He’d come here for Mason, and . . . well, that was everything.

  The man of the hour finally made it to us, the bunnies alive and well in his hat, sexy time over for the night, apparently. He hugged me. “I was so scared,” he whispered.

  “You were incredible,” I said, sneaking in a kiss to his cheek.

  He went on to shake Rafe’s hand, hug Georgia, Dad, Cherish, my mom . . . even Hunter clapped him briskly on the back and said, “I had my worries. Good thing those rabbits were fucking.”

  I closed my eyes. That was my brother—swearing in front of our half sisters (whom he never acknowledged). God forbid he just say, Great job, son.

  “I should be on my way,” Rafe said to me.

  “Oh,” I said. “Rafe . . . you were so good to come. Thank you.”

  “I love Mason,” he said simply, and the stone in my stomach grew white-hot.

  “Can we talk?” I blurted. “Do you have a little time?”

  He glanced down. “Not at the moment, I’m afraid.”

  My heart sank. “Right. I understand. It’s Friday, I’m sure your restaurant is mobbed, and—” And he had a girlfriend who might not want him talking to his ex-wife. Rafe himself might not want to talk to his ex-wife.

  “Tomorrow?” he said. “Perhaps you could come to the city?”

  I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “I could. Thank you.”

  “Very well. Meet me in front of Pamplona at four o’clock.”

  “Okay. Thank you.”

  Tomorrow, that was good. That way I’d have time to think of something to say.

  * * *

  • • •

  I couldn’t think of anything to say.

  Marley and I were sitting in her living room Saturday afternoon, and I had a notepad and my laptop. I had Googled how to get closure with your ex and come up with 192,731 articles about why closure was impossible.

  “So I’m guessing this falls under ‘tell off the people who judged us when we were fat,’” she said. She had the list memorized.