“Okay.” Emily shrugged. “If you’re so invested in being the victim, who am I to take that away from you?”
“Oh!” Victoria cried in frustration. “You are so…so…” Too mad to find the word she wanted, Victoria threw a cucumber slice at her sister. As Emily shouted in protest, Victoria stormed out of the kitchen. She had a party to go to. Just because she was the victim didn’t mean she was going to curl up under the covers in a dark room. She’d bailed on enough things because of Jack.
She wasn’t going to bail on Nana.
JANE HAD SPENT a lot of time on the Barnard campus. Nana loved attending lectures and poetry readings at her alma mater, and Jane had fantasized about going to college there someday, showing Nana her dorm room, taking Nana with her to classes on visiting day. It had always made being on campus exciting, like she was getting a tiny window into her future as an undergraduate.
Tonight was the first time she had been there since Nana died, and it felt wrong, somehow, like the school should have been buried with its alum. Even as she had the thought, Jane knew it was stupid. How many generations of Barnard graduates had died since the school’s founding? The idea made her feel depressed. Really, when you thought about it, what was the point of anything? What was the point of going to college, of performing in shows, of falling in love?
In the end, you just died anyway.
As they made their way across the quad and toward a modern building she had never been in before, Jane tried to think less depressing thoughts. Nana. She needed to think about Nana and how much she loved her, how amazing she had been. It was wrong to erase everything important about Nana’s life just because Nana had died.
Jane followed her mother and Richard into the elevator. On the fifth floor, the doors opened onto a small, dimly lit corridor with edgar vinyard: the elizabeth rawlings years, a permanent installation painted in small red letters along one wall. There was a small bench beneath the words and a coatrack that, even though it was only a few minutes past eight, already had more than a dozen coats hanging on it.
Jane hung up her coat and stepped through a set of double glass doors into the main gallery space. Everywhere were Nana’s friends and classmates, people Jane had met over the years at parties at Nana’s apartment or at other Barnard events, and they descended on Jane and her mom, hugging them, kissing them, telling them how proud Nana would have been to see them both looking so elegant. It seemed to Jane that no sooner had she extracted herself from one hug than she found herself smothered in another. But even though seeing all these people reminded her of Nana, they didn’t make Jane feel closer to her grandmother. Finally, she backed away from the crowd. She wanted to be with Nana.
She needed to see the paintings.
The first one she stopped at was a portrait of Nana standing at a mirror, applying lipstick. She had her lips pursed slightly, and her head was turned to the side, as though she were evaluating her reflection. The angle at which she was studying herself in the mirror made it seem as if she were looking at the viewer, and Jane found herself suddenly looking into her grandmother’s eyes. Nana had been much older when Jane was born than she was in this painting, but her eyes hadn’t changed. They were the same round shape and green hue as Jane’s, and they looked back at her with the same nonjudgmental understanding they’d always had when they looked at her granddaughter.
Jane wished more than anything that she could ask Nana’s advice about what had happened with Simon. Nana would have been able to tell if there was something messed up with Jane, if she was destined to spend the rest of her life falling for men who would never love her back.
Jane needed to speak to Nana, to somehow reach out to her across the divide between them. She walked over to the bar, where her mother and Richard were talking to one of Nana’s neighbors, an elderly man whose name Jane was never able to recall.
The bartender smiled as she approached. “What can I get you?”
Jane knew exactly what she wanted. “I’d like a piña colada. A virgin piña colada,” she added quickly.
“I’m sorry,” said the bartender, surveying his wares. “I’m afraid I don’t have any piña colada mix. Would you like a Shirley Temple?”
Suddenly, as if it had happened seconds and not years before, Jane remembered. She remembered being a little girl, how the waiter had asked her the exact same question, how indignantly she’d responded. And then Nana had stepped in, smoothing things over with the suggestion that Jane, Victoria, and Natalya try the exotic-sounding virgin piña colada. That had been the first time Jane had heard of the drink that she and her friends now thought of as theirs. She’d thought she would be toasting her birthday with Nana for decades, but really they’d only had a handful of years left together. Her eyes filled with tears, and she stepped away from the bar abruptly, not even replying to his question.
Her mother was deep in conversation with Nana’s neighbor, but Richard looked up as Jane brushed past him. Jane could tell he’d heard the entire exchange. She couldn’t see his face, but she could imagine the condescending smile any adult would wear after listening to her and the bartender talk.
Any adult except Nana, who would have understood completely.
Nana. She would never see Nana again. At the thought, at once completely mundane and utterly monstrous, Jane placed her hand over her mouth. She had to get out of here before she started bawling. To her right was a set of French doors leading to a small balcony. She reached for the handle, praying it would move when she pushed it. To her relief, it did. A moment later she was standing in the chilly night air.
The balcony looked out over the campus and south, to midtown and the southern tip of Manhattan. Was there a corner of this crazy island that wasn’t wrapped up in her memories of Nana? Rubbing her arms for warmth, Jane leaned against the railing and studied the twinkling lights of the city, thinking about all the concerts, plays, restaurants, cafés, and stores she’d gone to because Nana had taken here there. But Nana was gone. And Simon was as good as gone from her life too.
She didn’t think she’d ever felt so alone.
Suddenly the door to the balcony flew open. Jane turned and saw Natalya, her hair a cascade of lush, thick curls. She was wearing the strapless green dress Victoria had chosen for her at Act Two. Over it, she had on a cropped black cardigan sweater.
“Chicken,” said Jane, gesturing at the sweater.
“It’s freezing,” countered Natalya defensively. “I couldn’t not wear a sweater.”
“It hurts to be beautiful,” Jane reminded her.
Before Natalya could point out how stupid it was to believe that, the balcony door opened again and Victoria stepped outside. “Okay, it’s freezing out here,” she observed, in lieu of hello.
“I just needed some air,” explained Jane, putting her elbows on the railing. “I miss Nana. It just feels…wrong that she’s not here.”
“I know,” Victoria agreed. “I miss her too.”
“If she were here, I know just what she’d say,” said Natalya.
“What?” asked Jane, curious.
“She’d say, What are you girls doing outside without a coat?! ”
Jane and Victoria laughed. Natalya was right—Nana had always made them bundle up for their adventures.
“I’d rather be cold than facing people right now,” Victoria answered.
“Yeah,” agreed Jane. “Freezing to death is a small price to pay for privacy.”
Natalya turned around and looked longingly at the warm gallery. “Maybe, only—” but instead of finishing her thought, Natalya let out a yelp. “Hey!”
Jane and Victoria turned to her.
“What?” asked Jane.
“You and Jack broke up, right?” demanded Natalya.
“Nice of you to remind her,” said Jane. “I’m sure she would have forgotten otherwise.”
“No it’s just…” Natalya began.
“What?” Victoria insisted.
Even though it was just the three
of them on the balcony, Natalya lowered her voice to a whisper. “Vicks, I think…I think Jack is here.”
Victoria spun around and stared at Natalya. “You what?”
Without saying a word, Natalya pointed to the room beyond the glass doors. Standing there, looking out at the three girls, was Jack.
VICTORIA STARED AT HIM. He was wearing black jeans and a pale gray sweater over a blue button-down, and he looked so handsome she had to turn away. As if her movement had decided him, Jack strode toward the doors.
“What should we do?” asked Natalya hurriedly.
“Don’t leave me,” begged Victoria.
“We won’t,” Jane promised.
Jack pushed open the doors and walked onto the balcony.
Nobody said anything for a long moment, and then Victoria found her voice. “What are you doing here, Jack?”
“We need to talk.” Jack’s voice was firm.
Protectively, Jane and Natalya moved even closer to their friend.
“About what?” asked Victoria. He’d already broken up with her. What else was there to say?
Jack looked at Jane. He looked at Natalya. Then he asked Victoria, “Can I talk to you alone for a minute?”
“Maybe it would be a good idea if we, you know…” Jane didn’t finish her sentence, just whispered in Victoria’s ear, “We’re only a text away.” Victoria hesitated, then squeezed Jane’s hand and released it.
The two of them slipped silently through the doors.
Once they were gone, Victoria repeated her question. “What are you doing here?”
“Look, I don’t know why Lily told you what I said.”
Had Jack seriously come all the way up here just to blame what had happened between them on Lily? When Lily had done Victoria a favor! Victoria folded her arms across her chest. “First of all, I really don’t see what it matters now. And second of all, I’m grateful to her that she told me.”
Jack rubbed his forehead. “Yeah, well, that makes one of us. Look…I’m sorry that I said that to her, okay? I was kind of joking.”
“You were joking?!” Victoria started to object.
Quickly, Jack interrupted. “I said kind of.” He paused. “I guess I said it to Lily as a joke, you know, like, Oh, well, too bad I love this girl, but we’ve got nothing in common. I guess that’s why she repeated it, because she thought it was just a joke.” He crossed his arms. “But maybe I meant it a little bit, too. I mean, I was bummed you didn’t want to come to the Twilight Zone marathon.”
“I hate science fiction!” Victoria wailed. “And I’d already done all those things you wanted me to do.”
“What? Wait, what are you talking about?” Jack honestly seemed to have no idea what she meant.
“The concert. The recording session.” Victoria counted off items on her fingers as she listed them.
Jack threw up his hands. “You said you wanted to go.”
“Because you wanted to!” Victoria could have cried with frustration. “I don’t care about Lost Leaders. I barely even care about music. I care about you, okay? And here I am, trying to make your interests my interests—which you never do, by the way—and all you can do is tell your friends we have nothing in common?”
“So why didn’t you say something?” Jack seemed as frustrated as Victoria felt. “You said you loved being at the recording session. I thought you were psyched to go to the concert.”
Could Jack seriously not see why she’d done what she’d done? “It was Valentine’s Day! I just wanted to be with you. And you didn’t even care about being with me.” Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over at the memory. Victoria knew that in a minute or two, it would be as if the cucumbers had never happened.
Jack put his hands on his head, yanking his hair in fury. “I did care. I always want to be with you. I just don’t care that much about Valentine’s Day.”
“Well, I do!” Victoria was almost as angry at herself for crying as she was at Jack for making her cry.
“Then why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me you were mad? Why didn’t you at least yell at me?!”
“Because I can’t yell at people!” Victoria yelled at the top of her lungs.
As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Victoria realized how stupid they sounded. She could also see that Jack was trying not to smile.
“Fine,” she said angrily. “Laugh.”
“I’m not laughing,” Jack promised. He pressed his lips together.
Neither of them said anything.
When Victoria finally spoke, her voice was quiet. “How could you have said something like that to Lily and not to me? Even as a joke?”
Jack took a step toward her. “Vicks, I am so, so sorry. Please believe me.” He reached out to stroke her cheek, but she jerked her head away.
“But you…you broke up with me,” she reminded him.
“You think I don’t know that?” His voice was almost a cry. “I didn’t know what else to do. You sounded so mad, and everyone was staring at us and…Vicks, please. If I could take back one thing I’ve ever done in my life, it would be breaking up with you.” He took another step closer to her. “Please?” His voice was a whisper now.
Victoria’s blue eyes shimmered behind their curtain of tears. “I wish you’d said you’d skip Rajiv’s birthday when I told you about this show.”
“I wish I had too.” Jack put his hands on her shoulders. “I wish I’d realized how important it was to you. But I’m here now.”
Victoria bit her lip. “It’s hard for me to ask for things. It’s hard for me to say if I’m upset.”
“Yeah, I think I’m getting that now,” said Jack.
Victoria put her hands on Jack’s waist. “This has been a really bad week,” she admitted.
“Uh-huh,” he agreed. He pressed his forehead to hers. “Vicks, the last thing I would ever want to do is hurt you, okay? And I’m really sorry. And I don’t care if you don’t like listening to music or recording music. You are the kindest, most generous, most beautiful girl I’ve met in my life.”
Victoria pulled away slightly so she could look at Jack. “Do you wish I were more like Lily and Rajiv?”
Jack smiled back at her. “Do you wish I were more like Jane and Natalya?”
Victoria laughed. “No! I mean…sometimes I guess I wish I were as sure of you as I am of them,” she admitted. “But I don’t want you to be different than you are.”
“Well…” said Jack, putting his hands on her waist. “I don’t want you to be different either.”
“But what if we don’t have enough in common?” asked Victoria anxiously.
Jack cocked his head, considering her question. “Maybe what we have in common is less important than how we deal with what we don’t have in common. Like, I don’t like baking, but I like eating all the amazing stuff that you bake. And you don’t care about making music, but you don’t mind listening to me play for you.”
“I love listening to you play for me!” Victoria corrected him quickly.
“Okay,” said Jack. “So there you have it.” For a minute, they just stood there, arms around each other, staring into each other’s eyes.
“And I love you,” Victoria added firmly.
“And I love you, too,” Jack said.
And then Victoria stood on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. As Jack wrapped his arms more tightly around her and kissed her back, she remembered the line Jane had quoted to her. Maybe it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
But it was way better to keep on loving.
NO SOONER HAD Natalya and Jane stepped back inside than Jane was swept up in a hug by a British woman who had apparently been a friend of Nana’s in Zimbabwe, and who began peppering Jane with questions about her life. For a minute, Natalya lingered next to Jane, but then she let the crowd carry her away toward the picture of Nana that had been on the invitation. She was studying the way the artist had made the water look like it was rip
pling in a light wind when her phone rang.
She couldn’t imagine who would be calling her unless it was her parents, wanting to know that she’d arrived at Barnard safely. She slipped her phone out of her bag and saw the one name she never in a million years would have expected to read on the screen.
COLIN.
Colin? Why was Colin calling her? It was Saturday night. Wasn’t he at Alison’s party, laughing and waltzing and having the time of his life with his girlfriend, who he liked so much that he’d fooled around with Natalya behind her back?
Her phone buzzed in her hand like an angry bug. She never wanted to talk to Colin again.
But she had to know why he was calling.
She never wanted to talk to him again.
Why was he calling?
She never wanted to talk to him again.
She had to know.
“What do you want, Colin?” Her voice as she picked up was sharp enough that two or three people turned to look at her, and she ducked her head and quickly crossed the room back to the entryway, empty except for the now overflowing coatrack.
“I want to talk to you.”
“Then talk.” She was surprised by how angry and sure of herself she sounded. If she were Colin, she didn’t know if she would have dared talk to someone who sounded as mad as she did.
But Colin dared. “I want to…no, I need to explain. Natalya, I didn’t mean to be a jerk. I really meant everything I said to you. About liking you and thinking about you all that time. And I planned to break up with Alison on Sunday. That was not a lie.”
Yeah, right. It so clearly was. “Oh, sure. That’s why you said you regretted it.” She emphasized the words so he would know she was repeating his.
“Okay, I deserved that,” Colin admitted. He hesitated, then went on. “Look, I couldn’t explain before, but as of tomorrow’s paper, what I’m about to say isn’t going to be a secret anymore. It might even be on the Web as early as tonight. So I’m not betraying anyone by telling you what I’m about to tell you, but if I’d told you on Monday, I would have been breaking someone’s confidence.”
The Darlings in Love Page 22