“How about this, then,” she offered. “We go out and get you something crazy expensive and fabulous, and we don’t take the tags off. We tuck the tags in and snap some pictures of you in it and then you return it and get your money back. No harm, no foul.”
“I guess we could try. But will you come with me? I hate shopping. Absolutely hate it.”
“Of course,” Jules said.
“And will you let me read your book?”
“When it’s finished.”
If it’s ever finished, she added in her head.
Brooke
“That career fair is this Saturday if you’re still interested,” Brooke said. She had popped Wedding Crashers into the ancient DVD player and the three sisters were curled up on the couch together, waiting for it to cue up. Thursdays were Lexi’s night off and somehow it had become movie night. Brooke was in charge of swinging by the library on her way home from work and checking out something for them to watch. She was the only one who hadn’t seen this particular film yet, but since Lexi knew much of it by heart and quoted it often, Brooke was intimately familiar with most of the laugh-out-loud moments. Recently she’d said to the Little Me Preschool music teacher jokingly, “You shut your mouth when you’re talking to me.” It turned out, Mr. Walters hadn’t seen the movie, either, so Brooke had had quite a bit of backpedaling to do.
“Oh shoot,” Lexi said. “I forgot all about it. I have to work. Sorry, Brooke.”
“Did you just say ‘oh shoot’?” Jules asked, brows lifted.
“What’s wrong with ‘oh shoot’?” Lexi asked with feigned innocence.
“Not a thing,” Jules said. Brooke was surprised when she decided to leave it at that.
Brooke munched on her raw carrots, thinking how nice this was, and how far she and her sisters had come in less than seven months. They’d practically been strangers when they’d been thrust together, and now she’d almost call them friends. She could barely remember the last time Lexi had called her Shamu or made a double-wide comment in reference to her behind; even Jules had seemed to mellow out and wasn’t bossing everyone around all the time or grilling them each time they left the house. Brooke wondered if she was going to miss her sisters when she moved into her big fat mansion all alone.
“Well, you don’t need a career fair now anyway,” Brooke said to Lexi. “You’ve got a job. Besides, it’ll probably just be a bunch of old guys in suits standing around handing out pens.” Brooke had no idea if that was the case, but she didn’t want Lexi to feel bad about skipping out on her. After all, she’d actually said she was sorry; that was huge for Lexi.
“People in suits give me the creeps,” Lexi said.
“People in uniforms obviously don’t,” Jules teased. Lexi blushed beautifully and Brooke considered how unfair it was that Lexi was obviously falling in love when it wasn’t even a condition of her inheritance.
“What about you, Brooke?” Jules asked, turning to her. “Any plans for the weekend?”
Brooke tried to look casual and not the slightest bit guilty, despite the fact that she felt the exact opposite of both of those things. The truth was, putting together Lexi’s art portfolio had given her an idea. She was planning to spend any spare time she could find this weekend at the library researching literary agents for Jules. Her older sister had been so helpful and so supportive with her running and with Project Billy—which was on temporary hold until she buckled down with her running—that Brooke had wanted to return the favor. She’d gently suggested that Jules talk to their mother’s attorney, Mr. Wiley, who supposedly had lots of contacts, but Jules had insisted she wasn’t ready yet, so Brooke had begun researching how to get a book published. What she’d learned was that having an agent was key. Publishers wouldn’t accept manuscripts that hadn’t been previously vetted and approved by an agent, and Brooke was worried her self-critical sister would never take that first step. But what Jules didn’t understand was that an agent could also help her hone what she did have and guide her in finishing it. Jules seemed to think the thing had to be polished and perfect before anyone could so much as take a peek at the first page.
But they didn’t have forever.
She knew she shouldn’t have, but Brooke had snuck into Jules’s desk drawer when her sister was out walking her dogs and she’d read her memoir. Well, the first half at least; she’d run out of time, but she already knew how the story was going to end anyway. She’d been mesmerized by what she’d read and by her sister’s ability to put her feelings—their feelings—down on paper so eloquently and powerfully. Her sister’s writing was brilliant, but what did that matter if nobody ever saw it? Obviously, it was time to take matters into her own hands.
“Brooke?” Jules prodded. “Earth to Brooke?”
“Oh, sorry,” Brooke stammered. “This weekend? Oh, I’m going to the career fair anyway. I told Pam I’d go with her, and you know, free pens! Plus, since Lexi will be working, it will be nice for you and Shawn to have the place to yourselves.” She wiggled her eyebrows at Jules suggestively.
“As much as I’d love to hear all about the crazy monkey-sex you and Shawn plan to have this weekend, do you guys think you could zip it?” Lexi asked. “The movie is rolling and the best line is right in the beginning.”
“You shut your mouth when you’re talking to me,” Jules and Brooke said in unison. Lexi just shook her head and laughed.
Lexi
“It’s not that complicated,” Rob insisted. “You get dressed, maybe in something sort of nice and not your Inside Scoop T-shirt or anything, and then I pick you up and I drive you to a restaurant and we eat a meal together. I’ll pay for it and everything. What do you say?”
Lexi had never been on a real date. She’d never even gone to a homecoming dance or prom in high school. She’d pretended that she didn’t want to and openly mocked the girls who got all googly-eyed about the whole thing, but secretly she had been dying to go. She wanted to get dressed up like a fucking fairy-tale princess, too, and have a cute, nervous boy pin a corsage to her dress. She wanted to wear sparkly pink lip gloss and delicate, pointy kitten-heel shoes and be swept around a dance floor so badly she could taste it. But she knew it could never happen. For one thing, she was pretty sure Juliana would have forbidden her from going because “boys only wanted one thing” (and Lexi wasn’t about to tell her they’d already gotten it from her over and over by the time senior prom rolled around). And even if she miraculously had agreed to let her go, Juliana would have chosen her dress—probably something awful from a discount store—and mortified her in front of any boy who came to pick her up. Of course, there was another reason Lexi had pretended the whole scene nauseated the hell out of her: If she’d gushed and giggled over taffeta and tulle and blinking twinkle lights, her whole tough-chick image would have crumbled. And Lexi couldn’t have that. That was how she had kept anyone from trying to get too close to her. But now she wanted to get close to Rob. She wanted to let down her guard and stop pretending her heart was made of steel and finally let someone in. Lexi was quite aware of the fact that she had seen a lot of scary shit in her day, but nothing she’d ever encountered terrified her more.
“Sure, I guess,” she told Rob.
“Try not to hurt yourself with excitement.” Rob laughed.
“It sounds great,” Lexi said, smiling. Why did she always have to hide behind a veil of indifference? Oh yeah, she thought. Because it’s been your defense mechanism for the last twenty years. She met Rob’s gaze and held it, another gesture she found both unfamiliar and uncomfortable. “Really.”
“What’s your favorite kind of food?” he asked, returning her smile.
Lexi wanted to say something sarcastic—the kind I don’t have to skip out without paying for after I eat it or sell my soul to get in the first place—but she stopped herself. Her favorite kind of food? She genuinely didn’t know. She’d lived for so long on whateve
r scraps she could come by that it hadn’t even occurred to her to develop a list of favorites or a preference for this over the other. The only thing she could think of was her mother’s lasagna. Juliana had been an amazing cook, and if Lexi recalled correctly, her lasagna had been out of this world. All three girls would consistently request it as their “anything goes” birthday dinners, and their dad used to jokingly threaten to leak her recipe to the newspaper, just to get their mom all riled up. Jules actually was a pretty good cook, too, although she rarely made anything as decadent and delicious as a cheesy, meaty, homemade lasagna.
“I guess Italian,” Lexi said.
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Rob said. “Have you ever been to Il Tramonto?”
Il Tramonto had been around forever. It was, in fact, one of those fancy-schmancy places the giddy going-to-prom girls would always rave about, and if anyone had bothered to ask, Lexi would have said she was allergic to cheese, so she made a habit of purposely avoiding it. She’d never even set foot inside the place, but she’d passed the stunning stone castle–looking structure a million or more times over the years and wondered if it could ever be half as beautiful on the inside. She’d convinced herself that it couldn’t.
“I’m not sure,” she said now, intentionally vague.
“Well, if you haven’t, you’ll love it. They have the best lasagna I’ve ever tasted in my life. It takes a little longer than the other stuff because they make it in these little individual dishes, but it’s totally worth the wait.”
Lexi smiled. She could almost taste it.
“Sounds amazing,” she said.
“Great. I’ll make a reservation for seven thirty. Do you want me to pick you up here when you get off at six and I can drive you home to get changed?” Rob offered.
“That’s okay,” Lexi told him. “I’ll ride my bike. Well, your bike. I can be ready at seven. Does that work?” Lexi had no idea what people wore to restaurants like Il Tramonto, and she knew she’d be scrambling through Jules’s closet trying to unearth an appropriate outfit. The last thing she needed was Rob sitting on the couch making polite chitchat with her sisters while she flung various items of clothing around and cursed and pulled her hair out.
“Perfect,” Rob said. “And Lexi? No stress, okay? This is supposed to be fun. It’ll be casual, I promise.”
“Why would I be stressed about dinner? I eat it every day, you know.” Lexi knew that she sounded defensive, but she didn’t want Rob to know what a big deal this was for her.
“Great, okay,” Rob said, scooping the last of the crushed nuts from his cup.
“Nuts?” he asked, offering her the spoon.
“Yes, you are,” she said, taking it from him and popping them into her mouth.
Jules
“I’m excited for you,” Shawn said, kissing her on the back of her neck. She stopped putting on her mascara and nuzzled into him.
“I feel so silly even going to this thing,” Jules admitted. “It’s like I’m pretending to be an actual author or something.” The Southern California Writers’ Conference had been Shawn’s idea. He’d tried insisting that she attend the full five days, but the $400 ticket fee had seemed outrageous to her. Finally she’d agreed to the single-day pass, which still came with a hefty $150 price tag. Jules had prayed that forking over that much money would be motivating, but so far all it had done was make her feel guilty.
“Stop talking like that. You are an author. You’re almost finished with your book. It may not be published yet, but it will be. I’ll bet you the definition of author is ‘someone who writes books,’ not ‘somebody who has written something that’s been published.’ Hang on.”
Shawn buzzed out of the bathroom and came right back in, carrying her beat-up old Oxford English Dictionary. It had belonged to her dad and every once in a while she’d swear she could still smell his aftershave on it. Several years before he died, Jules had given it to him for his birthday or maybe Father’s Day—she couldn’t remember which—and it was one of her most cherished possessions. She hadn’t asked Juliana if she could take it; she’d simply slipped it out of his bookshelf and into hers. She’d paid for it, after all, and her dad would have wanted her to have it, she was positive. She still used it to look up words and spellings, even though the Internet was faster and more convenient. Each time the OED announced a list of “new” words they were adding to the mix, like “bestie” and “wackadoodle” and “screenager,” Jules would print it out and fold the page and stick it in the back, because it wasn’t like she was ever going to replace the thing with an updated edition.
“Let’s see, ‘amateur,’ ‘anomaly,’ ‘aster,’ ‘austere’ . . . here we go, ‘author’: ‘a writer of a book, article or report.’ Ha! See? You’re already an author in that case. Oxford says so.”
Jules took the book from him. “Definition number two: ‘Someone who writes books as a profession.’ I think that implies that I’m getting paid here.”
Shawn took the book back from her. “Definition number three: ‘An originator or creator of something, especially a plan or an idea.’ So back to my original statement—ha! You’re an author, Jules. Just face it. If anyone belongs at that conference today, it’s you. I want you to walk in there and own the place, okay? If you do that, you’ll knock them dead.”
“Speaking of knocking . . . knock knock?” It was Brooke, standing outside the open bathroom door.
“Since when do you knock? The door’s open, come on in,” Jules said.
“Well, you’re both in here,” Brooke said, motioning to Shawn.
“When we have sex in the bathroom we almost always close the door,” Jules told her sister. Brooke blushed furiously.
“Sorry. I just . . . I wanted to know if maybe you had a slip I could borrow. I just put on my old one but the elastic must have popped because it won’t stay up. And the dress I was going to wear today definitely needs a slip. If you had one it would probably be tight but I might be able to squeeze into it.”
“I don’t think the elastic popped, you dingbat, I think you’ve lost a bunch of weight! Where are you headed anyway?” Jules hoped the question sounded curious and not prying.
“Wine tasting,” Brooke said quickly.
“At eight o’clock in the morning?” Jules asked before she could stop herself. “Where? With who?”
“I’m driving up to Santa Ynez with some friends from work,” Brooke explained. “There are supposed to be a lot of really beautiful wineries up there, so . . .” She trailed off with a shrug.
“I didn’t even think you liked wine,” Jules remarked.
“Oh, I’m just going for fun. I’m actually the designated driver. I don’t need all those calories anyway.” Brooke fidgeted with her watch, unbuckling and rebuckling the strap.
“Sounds like a good time. Let me just finish my makeup and I’ll find you a slip.” Jules met her sister’s eyes in the mirror, and for a split second she hardly recognized her, and it was more than just the weight loss. She wanted to say how great it was that Brooke was getting out, trying new things and spending time with friends, but she didn’t want to sound patronizing. Instead, she offered a simple truth. “I’m really proud of you, Brooke.” Brooke smiled shyly, doing a lousy job of hiding her own pride.
“She does look great, doesn’t she?” Shawn whispered after Brooke was out of earshot.
“Totally. She’s been running every day, even on the weekends. When I told her she should take a day off every once in a while, she wouldn’t even consider it. She’s going to run that race no problem. Won’t that be so great for her?”
“Um, yeah. And for us! God, Jules, it’s going to happen, isn’t it? I mean, Brooke is totally committed, and she already dumped Jake, and Lexi looks like she’s taking this ice cream job pretty seriously—probably because her boss is Rob’s brother-in-law, but who cares? She hasn’t gotten into any t
rouble or caused any major drama in weeks. And you’re practically finished with your book! It’s going to happen. Goddamn it, it’s really going to happen.” Shawn squeezed her hard and Jules tried not to stiffen.
“Brooke still needs to meet a guy,” Jules said.
“I thought she was flirting with her old high school boyfriend,” Shawn said.
“She’s thinking about considering whether or not she should contemplate the idea.” Jules laughed.
“But still, that won’t be hard. Brooke is beautiful, and even I can see she feels better about herself, more confident. If she just gets out every once in a while, she’ll meet a guy. No problem.”
“I’m just saying it’s not a done deal, so don’t go popping the champagne yet,” Jules said.
“Whatever you say,” Shawn said. “But when we do pop it, it’s not going to be any of that Asti Spumante crap, do you hear me? We’re drinking Dom Pérignon, damn it. Or whatever a good champagne is. I’m going to go look up really expensive champagnes.”
After he’d left, Jules glared at herself in the mirror. It looks like it’s all up to you, she said silently to her reflection. Who would have thought?
Brooke
Brooke took the slip that Jules had found for her and went into the bathroom to dress, replaying Jules’s words in her head. I’m really proud of you, her sister had said. Brooke was pretty sure no human being had ever uttered those words to her before. Even her dad, who’d been an affable, affectionate guy, had never come out and said anything like it that she could recall. It was astonishing to Brooke how good it felt to hear that someone admired and respected you.
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