“You hope what?” I asked. “Heather?” Behind me, someone else had arrived, shoving the door open so that it hit the wall with a bang.
Heather’s mouth opened and closed and she started to blink as if to clear her vision.
“Hi, everyone,” the tardy arrival said. “Sorry I’m late.”
Heather’s face had turned a deathly shade of pale. “I—I can’t believe you invited her.”
“Who?”
But she had already rushed off so I whipped around to see what she was talking about. And stared into the face of someone I hadn’t seen in twelve long years.
I suddenly wondered where my mother was with my glass of champagne, because my throat was as dry as a desert sandstorm.
“Hey, Brooklyn,” the woman said with a cheeky grin.
“Hello, Sara.”
Chapter Five
“I can’t believe you invited her,” Sara Martin said, her pouty bottom lip sticking out far enough to trip over.
“I didn’t,” I pointed out after I downed several large gulps of champagne. “This is a surprise party. I didn’t arrange it, so I’m not the one who sent out the invitations. I didn’t even know about it until I walked in here.”
Another well-meaning ambush, I thought. Now Heather was upset. Sara was upset. And me? I needed more champagne.
“Well, still.” In lieu of a decent comeback, she tossed her lustrous mane of chestnut hair over her shoulder. Sara was tall, willowy, and reserved—although that quality was tempered with plenty of snark. She had always dressed like a fashion plate and today was no exception. She wore a chic black suit with knee-high boots made of a soft, buttery leather that I coveted unreservedly.
Sara’s perfect wardrobe reminded me that Heather, although petite, outgoing, and funny, usually dressed like a truck driver in her signature blue jeans and clunky boots. We had always laughed about the two of them being total opposites with me in the middle, with my medium height and blond hair. They were both beautiful in completely different ways, so maybe it was no wonder Rod hadn’t been able to decide between them. In the end, though, he had made his choice. And shattered a friendship.
“You had to have known Heather would be here,” I said. “I mean, if my mother called you, she would’ve called her, too. Right? Once upon a time you were my two best friends.”
Sara waved that logic away. “But I saw you talking to her, all cozy and stuff. Why? She’s such a wet blanket. How have you managed to remain friends with her?”
I reminded myself to breathe. Moments ago when Sara arrived, Mom had rushed over with glasses of champagne for both of us. As soon as we had them in our hands, I had dragged Sara down the hall in search of an empty room. There was no way I was going to stay in the happy party room with both her and Heather looking to start World War III.
“Sara, I haven’t seen Heather in twelve years. Just like I haven’t seen you in twelve years. You both slithered out of my life after graduation and I never heard from either of you again. I tried to contact both of you, but you never called, you never wrote.” I shrugged. “I moved on.”
She had the good grace to look remorseful, whether it was really how she felt or not. “I guess I could’ve emailed you.”
I patted my heart. “An email? Such a personal touch.”
She ignored the mockery. “But I knew you were angry with me so I kept avoiding it. And then it was too late.”
“It was never going to be too late,” I insisted. “But you’re right, I was angry. You were mean and heartless to Heather and you completely ignored me. I no longer recognized you as a friend.”
She scowled. “Maybe that’s true, but I figured you would’ve gotten over it by now. Guess not.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m completely over it.” I took another major gulp of champagne and wondered where the bottle was. “Heather, on the other hand, is still hurting.”
“Oh, isn’t that too bad?” she said, all feisty again. “Well, tell her to get over it. My life hasn’t exactly been a bed of roses, you know.”
I almost laughed, but it would’ve sent the wrong message. Here I was, straddling the middle road between two women who used to be very important to me. And suddenly, I’d had enough. There was no way I was going back to being the rope in their personal tug-of-war. “I would love to hear all about your rough, tough life sometime. But right now, you don’t get to be the aggrieved party.”
“Why not?” Sara looked genuinely puzzled. “Heather was awful to me when I tried to reach out to her.”
I was surprised. “You reached out to her? When was that?”
She shrugged. “You know, back in school. When she was kicking me out of my room.”
“Oh, gee. Where’s my tiny violin when I need it? When was that again? Oh yes. Right after you waltzed off with her boyfriend.”
“There’s no need for sarcasm.”
I gave a short laugh. “Trust me, sarcasm is just about the only thing keeping me here with you.”
“You can leave anytime.”
It was tempting. But, “No. I want to talk about this. Did you see her again after she kicked you out of our room?”
“No.” She was pouting again. “She never called me or tried to get together or anything.”
“Did you expect her to?”
“Well . . .”
I plowed ahead. “Did you expect that bygones would be bygones? Did you honestly think she would call you up and say, ‘Hey, kid, let’s get together and talk about old times’? Are you crazy? You’re lucky she didn’t kill you.”
“All right, all right.” She paced from side to side in front of me. “Look, things were a little weird back then. I admit it. But it’s been twelve years, Brooklyn. Come on.”
I studied her for a moment. “I’m really trying to see this from your point of view, but it’s hard. Rod betrayed her. More importantly, you betrayed her. That kind of pain doesn’t go away easily. If ever.”
“Oh, give me a break,” she said sharply, firing a hot look at me. “We were in college, for Pete’s sake. Name one girl who didn’t steal someone else’s boyfriend back then.”
I could’ve named plenty of people, including myself, but that wasn’t the point. “So you finally admit that you stole her boyfriend?”
She scowled, but I could read the guilt in her eyes. “It wasn’t all my fault,” she said, toughing it out. “Rod wanted to break up with her but she wasn’t making it easy.”
“Right, you’re not to blame at all.”
“Fine!” she shouted. Slugging down the rest of her champagne, she set the glass on a nearby table. “I’ll take the blame. Does that make you happy?”
“Doesn’t matter how I feel. You need to tell Heather.”
“Oh sure,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Like she’ll listen to me.”
“You could give it a try.”
She was back to pacing again. After a moment, she turned and glared at me. “Tell me the truth. Don’t you think it’s time she got over it?”
“Maybe I do,” I said, frowning. “But you and I don’t get to put a time limit on her feelings.”
Her eyes narrowed in on me and she leaned closer. “That’s something at least. Seriously, don’t you think she’s just wallowing at this point?”
I hated to say anything, because I had been thinking that very thing. But I wouldn’t betray Heather by admitting it to Sara. My mom used to tell me that men would come and go, but the two things that were certain in life were family and good friends. Heather and Sara had not only been good friends, they had been family to me. And Sara had tossed it all away. “Look, Sara . . .”
“You don’t have to answer,” she said, wearing a superior smile. “I can see what you’re thinking.”
“It doesn’t matter what I’m thinking because again, it’s not our place to decide for her.”
She took a deep breath and let it out. Her eyes softened and she touched my arm. “I didn’t come here to fight with you. I miss you, Brooklyn. I can’t tell you how thrilled I was when your mom called me out of the blue.”
I had never told Mom about Heather and Sara’s fight over Rod. All she knew was that the two women had been my best friends way back when. So why not invite them to be a part of my special day? Mom must’ve figured that since I was going to be attending the librarians’ conference the week before the wedding, she would try to get the two of them to show up as well.
Sara’s eyes welled up. “I don’t blame you for still being mad at me, but I hope we can find a way to be friends again someday.”
“I’m sure we will,” I conceded. “If you tell me where you got those boots, I’ll probably find a way to forgive you.”
She laughed and gazed down at her feet. “Aren’t they awesome? They’re two years old but I’m going to wear them until I’m dead.”
I chuckled. “I don’t blame you. Look, I hope you’ll stay for the party, but I’ll understand either way.” Then I turned toward the door.
“Wait,” she cried. “Can I get a hug at least?”
I sighed. “Of course.”
She wrapped her arms around me for a short moment. I could feel her breath stuttering and wondered if she was crying. Was she really upset about the situation or just feeling sorry for herself?
“Well, this is cozy.”
I jolted back from Sara and whirled around in time to see Heather standing in the doorway. Why did I feel guilty? Of all of us, I was the one who hadn’t done a darn thing. And yet . . .
She started to close the door and I grabbed the knob. “Heather, wait. Come back.”
“Why?”
“Because,” I said lamely, taking her arm and pulling her inside the room. “Look, we were all best friends once and I miss you both.”
“I miss you, too, Brooklyn.” Heather stuck her thumb out toward Sara. “But I don’t miss this snake in the grass. Not one bit.”
“Oh God,” Sara moaned. “Get over it! I can’t believe you’re still harping on something that happened more than ten years ago. You are pitiful.”
Heather got right up close to Sara. “And you are horrible.”
“Stop!” I cried, waving my arms for emphasis. “This is ridiculous. We’re not in grad school anymore. We’re grown-ups and we need to act like it. If I’ve learned anything in the last few years, it’s that life is too short to carry a grudge like this forever.” I shook my finger at both of them. “You two need to work this out right here and right now.”
“Why should we?” Sara demanded.
“Because . . . because this is my party and I say so.”
As exit lines went, it was pretty feeble. Nevertheless, I gave them each a stern look, then turned on my heel and walked out, slamming the door behind me and leaving them alone in the room together.
* * *
• • •
“Do you think they’ll come back to the party?” Mom asked, obviously upset after five long minutes had passed.
“Heather left her purse here,” I said. “She’s got to come back. Right?”
She squeezed my arm. “I had no idea you three had parted on such bad terms.”
“I should’ve told you, but I didn’t want to worry you.” I sighed. “But it did get ugly there for a while.”
“I’m so sorry. If I had known they would bring their bad feelings with them to your wedding shower, I never would’ve invited them.”
I gave her a quick hug because she seemed to need it. My mother had the best heart of anyone I knew and she would worry herself sick over this, even though she had tried to do a nice thing for me. “It’s not your fault, Mom. Don’t worry. Everything will work out for the best.”
“I hope so. But you know me. I just want everyone to be happy.”
“I know. And I am.” A little white lie, but it made Mom smile, so that was good enough for me. We stood at the bar, where I had gone directly from the other room to quickly replenish my champagne. Honestly, those two women had gotten on my next-to-last nerve, and what made it worse was that their little squabble had distressed my mother, who didn’t deserve to feel anything but jubilant tonight.
Thankfully, though, it looked as if everyone else was enjoying the party. The music was wonderful, mostly classic standards, and the champagne was flowing. Two waiters wandered through the crowd carrying trays of the bubbly and hors d’oeuvres. I glanced around and had to smile. “Mom, you’ve outdone yourself.”
“Thank you, sweetie. I had a little help from Alex.”
“I thought I recognized those cupcakes.” My black-belt, high-powered-businesswoman neighbor Alex Monroe liked to relax by baking cupcakes, which automatically qualified her for the world’s-best-neighbor prize as far as I was concerned.
Along one wall of the room was a beautifully laid table with trays and platters and bowls filled with the most delectable-looking goodies I’d seen in a long time. It was all hearty fare since the party would encompass the dinner hour, and my mouth was starting to water at the sight of Kobe beef sliders, pasta salads, and chicken sate served with a yummy-looking peanut sauce. A massive cheese and fruit platter held down one end of the table while a fruit and veggie platter had been placed at the other.
A smaller table held four trays filled with an assortment of beautiful bite-sized pastries. In the center were two multilevel cupcake stands filled with Alex’s glistening treats. I could swear they were calling my name, but first I had to make sure that my two erstwhile friends hadn’t ripped each other’s hair out.
“Oh, here they come,” Mom whispered, staring at the doorway.
“Both of them?” I asked.
“This would be a perfect time to open your gifts,” she said quietly. Her tone was almost pleading and I knew she didn’t want me to tangle with them again tonight.
“Let me just welcome them back to the party and give them some positive strokes for actually speaking to each other.”
She sniffled. “Oh, sweetie, that’s so thoughtful. You’ll make a wonderful mother someday.”
“Mom, please. Get it together.”
She laughed. “You’d better get used to those sorts of comments. Once you’re married you’ll hear them all the time.”
I walked away, mentally cringing at the thought. But I supposed . . . maybe . . . someday . . .
Good grief. Maybe I’d had too much champagne.
“Impossible,” I muttered, and began scoping out the room. Sara had walked to the far end and had begun chatting with one of my bookbinder friends from BABA. Heather was over by the cheese platter, talking to my neighbors, Suzie and Vinnie. I decided to talk to Heather first because she was closest to the food and that cheese platter was beckoning me. I strolled over and joined that little group for a few minutes until Suzie and Vinnie went to sit down and eat.
Alone with Heather, I said, “I’m sorry about what happened. I had no idea she would be here.”
“That’s understandable, since you had no idea I would be here, either.”
I smiled. “True. So how are you holding up?”
“I’m doing better,” she admitted. “We actually had a conversation.”
“That’s great.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” she said, as she spread a chunk of Brie onto a cracker. “It was short and to the point. We’re not exactly back to being the Three Musketeers, but at least we spoke.”
“That’s something, right?”
“I guess so.” She took a deep breath. “I even asked her how Rod was doing.”
“What?” I beamed at her. “I’m so proud of you. That was really bold.”
“Wasn’t it?” She sighed. “And guess what? He’s here. He came to the conference with her.”
“
He’s here?” I grimaced. “Oh dear.”
“It’s fine. Really.” But she began to flex her hands open and closed as though she were trying to relax her muscles. “I should’ve gotten past this years ago. I can’t tell you how many countless hours I’ve spent replaying those horrible scenes with her and Rod over and over in my mind. I guess they sort of got etched into my character. They became a part of me, so how could I let them go?”
I stared at her in admiration. “That’s really insightful, Heather. I’m impressed.”
“It’s not a big deal, Brooklyn, but thanks.” Her cheeks had turned pink and she took a big bite of the cheese and cracker, probably to distract herself from my words of praise. “I’ve got to say, this whole trip has been an eye-opener.”
I nodded, knowing how she felt. “I just hope you feel better.”
“I do,” she said firmly, then frowned. “Or at least I will, eventually, once I’ve been able to figure out exactly what happened and how I feel about it.”
“Sometimes it takes a while to process stuff like that.”
She rolled her eyes. “Well, I’ve had twelve years. It’s about time I worked it out.”
I laughed and gave her a hug. “I really have missed you.”
“You, too.” She fidgeted with her short hair for a moment, tucking a strand behind her ear. “I should probably go, but I wanted to give you something first.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“Well, I saw this and thought of you, so I had no choice.” She pulled a brightly wrapped rectangle from her bag. “It’s not exactly sexy bridal lingerie, but I hope you like it.”
“I love it already.”
She grinned. “Maybe you should open it first.”
“Oh yeah, maybe.” I put my champagne glass on the table and began to unwrap the present. I knew as soon as I touched it that it had to be a book, but until I got the paper off, I had no idea which one.
And then I saw it. It was a battered copy of The Blue Fairy Book by Andrew Lang. I noticed right away that the spine was creased, the boards were rubbed, and the joints were wobbly. Still, I had never seen anything so sweet in my life.
Buried in Books Page 6