by Laura Hankin
“Wow,” Ally said when it finally faded to black.
“Beautiful,” said Beth.
“I know. Let me just write a comment,” Valerie said. She typed quickly, with a loud clacking, A lifetime of joy to the both of you. I’ve never seen such a beautiful couple! You are destined for happiness, I just know it!! I hope someday I can find a love like the two of you share!!!
She submitted it. “All right,” she said, taking a deep breath and shaking her shoulders as she let it out. “Sit! Sit! Oh, wait, let me clear off—there’s so much mess, just one second.” She pulled over a flowered armchair so that it faced her own seat across the desk, then lifted a stack of romance novels off an ottoman. With the pile of books clutched to her chest, she used one foot to nudge the ottoman over next to the armchair, and then carefully placed the books down on the windowsill. Ally caught flashes of some of the covers—a man in pirate regalia, a woman in a gown fetchingly falling off her shoulders. She squinted at one with a bunch of cats pictured under the title CAT-tastrophe in the Old Hotel and wondered if that was a romance novel too, then tried to figure out if she could surreptitiously take a picture of it on her phone and send it to Gabby, since Beth still wasn’t meeting her eyes.
“Go ahead, please, sit!” Valerie said, so she took the armchair. Beth was already perched on the ottoman, leaning forward, her hands folded neatly in her lap. “What can I do for you two? I’m thrilled to see you.”
“It’s so nice to see you too,” Beth said. “Actually, we’re here to ask for your help.”
“Of course!” Valerie said, her face overtaken by a smile. Her tears had smudged her mascara down underneath her eyes, which combined with her sharp little nose, made Ally feel like she was talking to a middle-aged raccoon. “Anything!”
“Well,” Beth began. “As you know, my grandmother is leaving Britton Hills soon—”
“Oh, I do know! I can’t believe it. It’s hard to imagine this town without her. The going-away party sounds like it will be a bit of excitement, though.”
“Good! We’re glad you’re coming,” Ally said. She really wanted to reach over and wipe away Valerie’s mascara puddles.
“I was thinking of bringing my deviled eggs. Do you think she might like them?” Valerie asked, looking worried. “I’ve been told they’re very good.”
“That would be wonderful, thank you,” Beth said, and Valerie gave a relieved sigh. “So, the reason we’re here is that we were going through her stuff to help her pack, and we found this letter. It looks like she was too afraid to send it to you.” Here, Beth put a letter down on Valerie’s desk. Valerie gasped, snatched it, and read it, silently mouthing some of the words as she did so. Ally had to stop herself from mouthing the words along with her. She nearly had it memorized after she and Beth had so carefully composed it.
Dear Valerie,
I’m worried that I’ll never have a chance to reunite with my former best friend, and it’s tearing me up inside. For a long time, we were incredibly special to each other. We always made time, no matter what, to meet up every Wednesday night at Monroe’s for dinner. But then it all went wrong, and now we haven’t spoken for years. One of us will be leaving Britton Hills very soon, and I fear that we won’t ever see each other again. I want to reach out to her, to tell her how much I still care about her, though I may outwardly pretend otherwise. But I’m nervous that she doesn’t feel the same way, and that she won’t be able to forgive me for the long years of silence. The thought of showing up at her door to apologize terrifies me. What should I do, Valerie? I know she reads your advice column. Part of me hopes she sees this letter and lets me know that she still cares about me too, but just hoping for that feels like the coward’s way out.
Sincerely,
Fearful Former Friend
“Oh dear,” Valerie said, when she’d finishing reading. “How sad. How terribly sad to think of Stella, so afraid and so lonely. You never can tell about people. Of course I’ll help. I’ll write an answer now! Oh, I’m just bursting with ideas! ‘FFF, Confront your fear head-on!’ Maybe I’ll encourage her to take out a full-page advertisement for an apology note. I could send over a photographer to take a picture of her looking really penitent, and I’m sure I could convince my brother to put it on the front page. Ooh, or what if she arranged for a hot-air balloon ride . . .” She reached out her hands and indicated that both girls should take them. They did, and she gave their palms a squeeze. “This is exciting,” she said. “Don’t worry about a thing, because I am going to fix it all up!”
“Valerie, that’s so kind of you,” Beth said, finally looking over at Ally.
Ally interjected quickly. “But actually, we were wondering if you’d print a response we’d written.”
Valerie blinked, and withdrew her hands. “Oh. I—I’m sorry, what?”
“Well,” Ally continued, “we came up with this idea that we think will really work, so we went ahead and wrote a letter, and thought it would be nice and easy for you to just print that. Here, I’ll read it to you.”
Dear FFF,
Oh, honey, I understand! It can be very scary to put yourself in a vulnerable emotional situation. But I’ll think you’ll be kicking yourself forever if you don’t say anything to her. So speaking of kicking, I’m here to give you the kick in the pants you need. As I write this, I’m making a reservation for Monroe’s tonight at 6 pm, two people, center front table, because, after all, it’s Wednesday! Go, enjoy a bottle of Merlot on me, and talk it out with your friend. I’m sure she is just as fearful as you are. (FFF’s friend—if you’re reading this, which I assume you are, you’d better show up!) Turn that Former Friendship into a Fixed Friendship!
As always,
Valerie
When she finished reading the letter, she looked at Valerie expectantly. Valerie was focusing on the tissue in her hands, twisting it tightly, so Ally couldn’t see her face. Nobody was saying anything.
“So,” Ally said, “we hoped you could run it Wednesday morning. Thoughts?”
“That’s a very sweet idea,” Valerie said. Finally, she looked up and briefly met Ally’s eye, blinking rapidly.
Ally’s stomach dropped when she saw Valerie’s face. All the hope and purpose of a few moments ago had drained away. Now Valerie only looked wounded. She’d understood perfectly why they’d written the letter themselves. Suddenly, Ally felt the terror of thinking that you’d made a life for yourself producing something of quality, only to have the world nonchalantly tell you that it was shit. She thought how heartbreaking it would be to try as fully and deeply as you could, and then to have nothing but fluff come out. She could so easily turn into Valerie, in another universe.
And then she wondered if maybe it wasn’t only another universe, but this universe. Maybe none of the songs she had written were as laughable as Valerie’s column. Maybe they didn’t lend themselves as easily to derision. But were they actually any better? And then with the documentary—she hadn’t even turned on the camera yet. At least Valerie tried, and followed through.
She wanted to rewind time to before she’d let Valerie know what they really thought of her. Given that time manipulation was out of her wheelhouse, she thought about slinking out the door instead, running back to Grandma Stella’s, and getting into bed.
Then she felt Beth’s hand grab her own, squeezing gently. It anchored her.
“You know,” Beth said. “Hearing what we wrote aloud—I think we got a little carried away. Don’t you think so, Ally?”
“Yes,” Ally said. “Totally carried away. I don’t know what we were thinking.”
“We wanted so much to help Grandma Stella, so we came up with the idea, and then just ran with it,” Beth said. “But obviously we don’t have your experience, so I think it lacks the spark of your real letters.”
“You don’t have to say that,” Valerie said. “It’s just as good as anything I could do.
Better, even.” She gave them a smile so weak it threatened to droop into a frown at any second. “Maybe the two of you should take over for me. Ha-ha.”
“I’m sorry,” Beth said. “But that’s crazy. Do you seriously think this is as good as what you do?”
“Yes.” She tossed the tissue toward the trash can, and missed.
“Well, try telling that to all the people you’ve helped, which must be about half of the Britton Hills population at this point.” Beth was getting passionate now, speaking with an urgency that Ally couldn’t look away from. “Try telling that to me, two summers ago, when I was feeling like total garbage, and I wrote in to you not really expecting anything, and then you helped me turn my whole month around. If you hadn’t told me to get out there and, I quote, ‘Make your own fun and you’ll make a difference,’ I probably would’ve just moped around the whole time I was up here.”
“Solitary Summer?” Valerie asked. “That was you?”
Beth nodded. Ally wondered briefly what Solitary Summer’s problem had been, if it had been about her. Valerie’s tremulous smile grew stronger and stronger, and she straightened back up, excitement returning to her face. “Oh,” she said. “I’m so glad I was able to help.”
For the first time in a while, Ally felt Beth’s goodness as something not oppressive, but light and wonderful. She marveled at how effortlessly Beth could make people better and sensed her own self growing better in Beth’s presence too.
“I’m sorry if we came off as insensitive,” she said to Valerie. “You should write what you think is best. Beth’s right. You really are the expert.”
“No,” Valerie said now. “Or rather, yes.” She squared her shoulders. “I am the expert, but I love your letter. And there’s something so romantic about the fact that the two of you wrote it, that you took matters into your own hands because you care about Stella so much. It’s beautiful. I’m publishing it the way it is, Wednesday morning, journalistic integrity be damned!”
“You’re sure?” Beth asked.
“One hundred percent positive.”
“Well, thank you,” Ally said. “That’s wonderful. You’re wonderful.”
They stood up to leave, helping Valerie push her chairs back into place, and as they headed toward the door, Valerie called out, “Wait!” She opened a drawer in her desk and shuffled around in it, then came toward them shyly with two books, giving one to each of them.
“I self-published,” she said. “Just a small printing. I haven’t shown it to many people, but maybe you’ll appreciate it.” She kissed them again on the cheek, this time without all the excess moisture of the first kiss.
So they left with two copies of Valerie’s own romance novel, Big City, Strong Arms. When they stepped back outside, onto the sidewalk, Ally turned to Beth.
“Thanks for saving that, after I nearly fucked it all up.”
“No worries,” Beth said, and Ally really felt like she meant it. “Now, let’s get back to Grandma Stella’s so that we can start reading this aloud to each other as soon as possible.”
TWELVE
As Monday afternoon slipped into a gorgeous early evening, Beth stood in front of a mirror in the third bedroom, braiding her hair.
“No,” Ally said. “You are not having dinner with Owen looking like this.” She was sprawled on their bed, barefoot in yet another winsome sundress, her fingers picking at the tassels of a cerulean throw pillow.
“Yes, I am,” Beth said. She gave her reflection the once-over, staring into her own green eyes. No makeup—she hardly ever wore it anyway. Her hair was pulled tightly back. She’d put on her usual denim shorts, which came to midthigh, and a loose, white cotton T-shirt with a slight V-neck. She’d gotten it in a pack of three extra-small men’s undershirts from some big-box store while home in Wilmington. Her sneakers and a sweatshirt would complete the look.
“My God,” Ally said. “Tell me that you’re wearing sexy underwear. Please.”
“Do fraying orange granny panties count?” She pulled the waistband up out of her shorts to demonstrate.
Ally groaned and threw the pillow at her. “You’re hopeless.” Beth caught the pillow and threw it back at Ally, who let out an “Oof!” when it hit her.
“No, I’m strategic. If I wear unsexy underwear, I’m less likely to let him see it.”
“Fine,” Ally said, pushing herself off the bed and joining Beth at the mirror. “Wear the granny panties. But at least let me do this.” She tugged the elastic out of Beth’s hair and, before Beth could protest, loosened the careful braid so that her hair fanned out across her shoulders and down her back. She combed it with her fingers, and Beth closed her eyes at the pleasant, gentle tug on her scalp. “Better.”
“Okay,” Beth replied. They smiled at each other in the mirror, their side-by-side reflections almost touching but not quite, Beth nearly half a head taller than Ally. “Will you be all right without me? I’ll be home by nine, I’m sure.”
“Don’t worry, Mom,” Ally said. She pursed her lips and played with her own hair, testing out a high ponytail. “I’m a big girl. I’ll find some way to occupy myself.” She gave up on the high ponytail, shot a last glance at herself, and then turned to Beth. “Now go!”
“Okay, okay,” Beth said, walking down the hallway.
“I hope you two get very friendly,” Ally called after her.
“We aren’t going to!” Beth called back, and marched out the door.
• • •
OWEN was waiting for her outside Mulberry’s, sitting on a bench, his muscled calves outstretched. He fiddled with a canvas bag at his side, moving things around within it. Like Beth, he wore sneakers, shorts, and a T-shirt. As Beth approached, she studied him for a second—his solidness, the easy unself-conscious way his body occupied space (in contrast to how she carried tension with her in her shoulders, her fists, clenching them sometimes without realizing it). In this moment, he had a slight nervous energy too, caused, she gathered, by the fact that he was waiting for her.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey!” he replied, jumping to his feet. He made a brief movement forward as if to hug her but seemed to think better of it.
The sky above them was a cloudless blue, smooth and unbroken. Beth thought fleetingly that she and Ally had won the weather jackpot for their trip. She could stand in this dry stillness for hours. Being outside felt as important to her as breathing.
“It’s such an awesome night,” Owen said, as if he’d read her thoughts. “Want to have a picnic?”
“I really do,” she said.
“I was hoping you’d say that, ’cause I brought supplies.” He held up the canvas bag. “Oh, I just realized—do you want beer or wine? I didn’t pack anything like that, but we can stop off and grab some if you want.”
“I’m all right,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “I’m not a big drinker.”
“Yeah, me neither.”
He led her past the harbor, over the rock beach and sand, and through the tall grass to his favorite picnicking spot.
“Are you going to give me the guided nature walk version of this?” she asked, so he did, picking up shells and rocks and handing them to her. He told her their names—scientific and not—sharing with her his wonder at the processes of nature that had shaped them into exactly what they were and nothing else. His glee for it all was contagious, and she found herself racing from object to object, picking up pinecones and kelp alike and saying, “Tell me about this!”
Eventually they reached their destination, a granite outcropping against which, lower down, the waves broke into foam. They sat down at the tree line, their backs against different trunks, and Owen pulled their dinner out of the canvas bag.
“We’ve got sandwich-making options,” he said, laying out a loaf of sliced wheat bread, glistening fresh tomatoes, hummus, peanut butter, and jelly.
“Please, I pack amazing picnic dinners for all my friends. Owen ‘Picnic King’ Mulberry. That’s me.” He handed her the bread and she spread half of a slice with the hummus and tomatoes, and the other half with the PB&J. He did the same. “Besides,” he said, “I’m not paying for your dinner. You owe me six dollars.”
Owen passed his massive stainless-steel water bottle to her as they ate. He was, she thought, someone with whom she would very much like to be friends. He was intelligent and funny and considerate, with a warm, ready laugh and an ability to ask questions that made her think. He had just enough imperfections (the cookies he’d baked them for dessert had turned out rock-hard and bizarrely salty) to keep him from taking himself too seriously. The only problem was that as she watched his mouth move, saying thoughtful things, she couldn’t stop wanting to press her own mouth against it.
The sky turned a rosy pink, reflecting in the ocean beneath them, as they asked each other getting-to-know-you questions. She divulged her love of all things science fiction, and that a major source of stress for her was finding the kindest way to tell people that they had food in their teeth. He confessed to tearing up during the occasional Pixar movie and that, once in college, when his friends had gone to a tattoo parlor, he’d tagged along and gotten a tattoo of a freckle on his leg, to see what it felt like.