Follow Me

by Kathleen Barber

  “Good. Don’t make a nuisance of yourself, Brandon,” the senator said, lifting his hand from his son’s shoulder. He then looked to me, clearly expecting cheerful concurrence.

  Rage bubbled inside me while I smiled brightly and echoed, “No problem.”

  With a heavy nod, Senator Potts moved on. As soon as his broad back was turned, I dropped the smile and shot Brandon a cold look, silently warning him that I was over his bullshit, no matter who his father was. He tugged at his cap and smiled smugly.

  “Leave me alone,” I spat at him before spinning around and pushing myself once more through the crowd.

  “Audrey.”

  I whirled at the sound of my name, every last one of my frayed nerves screaming.

  “Hey,” Connor said, looking at me with concern. “Is everything all right?”

  I forced myself to rearrange my features into a pleasant smile. “Everything’s perfect. Glad you made it.”

  “Yeah, thanks for the invite. I’ve always wanted to come to something like this.”

  “You haven’t seen Cat, have you?” I asked, casting another glance around the gallery.

  “Not yet. I just got here.” Connor stretched his neck and looked over the crowd. “Aha, there she is. Come on, I’ll lead the way.”

  He took my arm and began guiding me across the room. As we made our way to where Cat was standing, talking to a blond man I didn’t recognize, my neck crawled once again with the feeling of eyes on me. This time, I didn’t turn around.

  I’m not giving you the satisfaction, Brandon, I thought as I gritted my teeth.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CAT

  I checked the time on my phone. Connor said he was on his way twenty minutes ago. Our office was less than a fifteen-minute walk from the museum; he should have arrived by now. I tightened my grip on my wine as scenarios ran through my mind. Maybe he had stepped off a curb and been hit by one of the ubiquitous tour buses. Maybe he had been struck by someone texting while operating a motorized scooter. Maybe he had been denied admittance by the door staff.

  Or maybe he had changed his mind about spending the evening with me and gone home. My cheeks grew hot as I considered this last, and most likely, possibility. I shouldn’t have let Audrey talk me into inviting him here. Connor had no interest in me beyond friendship; he never had. I decided to give it another ten minutes. If he hadn’t made an appearance by then, I was leaving. I wouldn’t subject myself to this humiliation much longer.

  “Cathy? Cathy Harrell?”

  My blood froze in my veins. I hadn’t gone by “Cathy” in years, not since middle school. Not since I’d become a different person. Apprehensively, I looked up from my phone.

  “Cathy? It is you, isn’t it?”

  I struggled to place the man standing before me. Handsome in an unassuming way with a mop of loosely curled blond hair and warm brown eyes, he looked vaguely familiar.

  “It’s me,” he said, offering a dimpled smile. “Max Metcalf. From Camp Blackwood.”

  My mouth filled with acid as images of bloodstained rocks swam before my eyes. Don’t panic, I told myself, summoning every ounce of self-possession I had. Remember, it was an accident.

  “Max,” I said, my anxiety turning his name into a question. I struggled to modulate my tone and added, “It’s been a really long time.”

  “It sure has been,” he said, reaching out for a half hug, to which I submitted reluctantly. “It’s been, what? Fifteen, sixteen years?”

  “Longer, I think.”

  “Cat!”

  I turned in the direction of Audrey’s voice and saw her approaching with Connor, still in the gray slacks and light blue shirt he’d worn to work that day, at her side. My jaw clenched suspiciously. How long had Connor been here, chatting it up with Audrey, while I waited and agonized over whether he would show up? And why was his hand on her arm? I searched Audrey’s face for indications of guilt, but she gave nothing away. Then again, she’d shown no contrition the night Connor tried to kiss her, nor had she when she kissed Bruce Gellar, or any of the dozens of other times Audrey had waltzed off with something she knew I coveted, whether it be a leadership position or just the last slice of pizza.

  “Look who I found!” Audrey exclaimed, presenting Connor to me as though he were hers to give.

  Still, I was grateful for the interruption. “If you’ll excuse me,” I started to say to Max, but Audrey had already aimed her glossy smile at him and was introducing herself. Stomach tightening, I thought to myself, This can’t end well.

  “Sorry,” Connor said to me, smiling apologetically. “I got hung up at work.”

  “It’s no problem,” I lied. “I haven’t been here long.”

  “Who’s that?” he asked, nodding to Max, who was laughing at something Audrey had said.

  “Someone I used to know. Come on, let’s go see the exhibit.”

  “Shouldn’t we wait for Audrey?”

  “She’s busy.” I took a step away and beckoned him. “Come on, before it gets too crowded.”

  With one final glance at Audrey and her form-fitting black dress, Connor followed me to the start of the exhibit. I could feel all my muscles unclenching and a wave of relief washing over me as I put distance between myself and Max Metcalf and whatever memories he might have from camp.

  * * *

  AN HOUR LATER, I had just returned to the gallery after a restroom break and was looking for Connor when Max strolled over, smiling pleasantly.

  “Hey, Cathy. What do you think?”

  I think you should leave me alone, I thought as my palms prickled with sweat.

  Aloud, I said, “It’s interesting.”

  He laughed. “That’s a lukewarm response. Not your thing, huh?”

  I shrugged, a forcedly casual motion I hoped would communicate the depth of my disinterest in speaking with him. It had taken hours upon hours of therapy and a lot of hard work to put that devastating summer behind me, and I would kill Max Metcalf before I let him reveal a single second of it to Connor.

  Oblivious, Max continued. “Do you come to many museum events? I feel like I would have run into you.”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m just here to support my friend.”

  “That’s nice of you. What was her name? Audrey? She seemed cool.”

  I nodded tightly and looked around for an exit from the conversation. My gaze landed on Audrey standing near one of the dioramas, her head bent over her phone, and I nodded in her direction. “Speaking of, I really should be getting back over to her, so …”

  Max followed my line of sight, and as we both watched, Connor approached Audrey, touching her lightly on her exposed shoulder to get her attention. She looked up, startled, but then offered him a beaming smile, one that showed every dazzlingly white tooth, even the crooked one. My stomach shifted unpleasantly.

  “Is that her boyfriend?” Max asked.

  “No,” I said more forcefully than I intended.

  Max looked at me curiously.

  “I mean, no,” I tried again. “Connor is my friend.”

  “Got it. So, is she dating anyone else?”

  I was so relieved by the question I almost laughed. Max wasn’t hanging around because he wanted to reminisce about our shared past at camp. He was only interested in Audrey. Just like everyone else. If I hadn’t been so thankful, I would have been insulted.

  “She’s not seeing anyone right now,” I said, purposefully omitting mention of Nick. “Are you asking because you’re interested in her?”

  Spots of rose appeared in his cheeks. “I’m that obvious, huh? I’m sure she gets hit on all the time, but … I don’t know. Earlier, we were talking about how it’s always really hard to find something to eat at these things—you know, because we’re both vegetarians—and I kind of thought we had a connection.”

  Everyone thinks they have a connection with Audrey, I thought drily. That’s part of her charm.

  “Maybe you could put in a good
word for me?” he suggested. “We could double-date. Me and Audrey, you and your friend over there.”

  I shuddered as I imagined what an uncomfortable evening that would be: I would be pining after Connor like some sort of lovesick schoolgirl while he no doubt ogled Audrey in the same manner he’d been doing all night, and, across the table, Audrey and Max would be swapping stories about when they met me. Well, I met Cat when she was an awkward wallflower during sorority rush, what about you? Oh, I met her at camp, back when …

  I pressed a fist into my stomach to stop the awful churning.

  “I don’t know,” I hedged. “It’s been a really long time, Max. I barely know you.”

  “You do know me, though,” he protested, face imploring. “We shared that summer at Camp Blackwood together. A person never forgets camp.”

  My skin prickled with gooseflesh. A person never forgets camp. The words sounded too deliberate not to be a threat, but his expression was open, warm.

  “I’ve changed since camp,” I said hesitantly. “Audrey … she didn’t know me then, and …”

  “Say no more. I understand. You can trust me, Cathy.”

  “Cat.”

  He tilted his head. “What?”

  “I go by Cat now.”

  “Okay.” He nodded. “You can trust me, Cat. I promise.”

  I hesitated. Could I trust him? I had only known him that one summer, and we’d only spent minimal time together. I remembered him as being kind, willing to talk to the likes of me even though not an outcast himself. A few more fuzzy, pleasant memories surfaced, and I found myself relaxing. Of course it wasn’t a threat. He was a nice guy. He would probably be good for Audrey, much better than her continued liaison with that Neanderthal Nick.

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll help you with Audrey.”

  “Thanks, Cat,” he said, face cracking open in a genuine smile. “That’s really nice of you.”

  My gaze drifted across the room to where Audrey still stood in conversation with Connor. Her body was angled toward his, one hand toying with her long hair as she laughed about something. Connor smiled down at her, his expression covetous. Of course. If nothing else, putting Max in front of Audrey might dissuade her from flirting with Connor all night.

  “Come on,” I said, grabbing Max’s arm roughly. “Let’s go say hi.”

  * * *

  “CAT, HEY,” AUDREY SAID, dropping the lock of hair and beaming at me like she hadn’t just been making eyes at the man she’d invited to be my date. “Connor and I are talking about the exhibit. What do you think?”

  I looked to Connor, who didn’t meet my eyes. I wondered what he had said to Audrey about the show. To me, he had said that framing women’s deaths as art was a gross practice. From the way Audrey was smiling, I doubted that was what he had said to her.

  “It was really something,” I said noncommittally. “Audrey, I think you met Max earlier.”

  “Sure, hi,” she said, then glanced down at her phone, thumbs moving as she responded to a comment on Instagram.

  Max shot me a pleading look; Connor had yet to make eye contact with me.

  If you don’t do something, you’re going to have to stand here and watch Audrey and Connor flirt all night, a small voice said nastily in my mind.

  “Max and I were just catching up, and I think you guys have a lot in common,” I said, my voice sounding false to my own ears.

  “Yeah?” Audrey asked, looking up and scanning Max’s body appraisingly.

  I glanced over at him, trying to see him through Audrey’s eyes, and blanched. What had I been thinking? This would never work. Max Metcalf, earnest and slightly disheveled, wasn’t Audrey’s type. She went for men like Nick, choosing swagger and vanity muscles over things like intellect and character.

  A person never forgets camp.

  But what if that had been a threat? Max looked harmless, but what if he wasn’t? What if he told Audrey or, worse, Connor about that hideous summer? Panic flickered in my chest. I couldn’t give Max any reason to make good on that threat. It could jeopardize everything I’d worked so hard for. If all I had to do to protect my future was push a date on Audrey, I was more than happy to do it.

  “Yeah,” I said, hoping Audrey didn’t hear my voice wavering. “Maybe you two should get together sometime.”

  “Any friend of Cat’s is a friend of mine,” she said with a shrug. From her purse, she produced a business card and handed it to Max. “Here.”

  He looked down at it and frowned faintly. “What’s this?”

  “My Instagram handle. Direct message me sometime, and we’ll grab coffee.”

  “Oh,” he said, fingering the card’s edges. “Right. Sure. Okay, I’ll just download—”

  “Wait,” Audrey interrupted, looking amused. “Don’t tell me you don’t have Instagram. Cat, are all of your friends technophobes like yourself?”

  I faltered, but Max smiled easily. “I did have Instagram. Once. But I kept getting inundated with messages from Russian porn bots, and dealing with that didn’t seem worth being able to post the occasional picture of coffee or cool album cover.”

  “Depends on how cool those album covers were,” she said with a slight smile. She reached into her purse again and retrieved a pen, which she used to scrawl her phone number across the card she’d handed him. “Here. Let’s leave the bots out of things. Text me.”

  My stomach turned sour with regret. I’d thought only of the short-term, and completely neglected to consider the long-term implications of setting them up. What if things went well? What if they started dating? How could I ever relax knowing that at any moment, Max Metcalf could be revealing my dark past to my best friend? But it was too late. The wheels were already in motion, and all I could do was hope to not get flattened.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  AUDREY

  I hadn’t had a boyfriend since Nick. Izzy blamed Nick for emotionally scarring me (he hadn’t), and my mother suggested I had never gotten over him (I had). My singledom had less to do with Nick and more to do with me enjoying being unencumbered. I liked not having to answer to anyone, liked being able to stay out until five in the morning without a boyfriend questioning my whereabouts. And I really liked being able to pour all my extra energy into building my online brand.

  The first time Nick called me while he was in New York, I almost didn’t see him. We were only eight months out from graduation, and the last thing I wanted was to fall back into a relationship with him—and a long-distance one at that. But Nick was Nick, and I was powerless against his clear blue eyes and orthodontia-perfected smile. The next thing I knew, I was waking up beside him and already looking forward to seeing him when he was in town again. I thought I’d finally cracked the code: I got to enjoy my favorite parts of Nick without having to endure his less desirable bits, like the way he used to passive-aggressively “like” comments I made on other guys’ Facebooks or the way he never properly replaced the lid on anything.

  Of course, I didn’t let my pseudo-relationship with Nick keep me from exploring other options. I dated occasionally, sometimes seeing someone as many as six or seven times. Most attempts, though, never got off the ground. Far too many dates started with the guy trying to impress me by interrogating the server about the wine list, and then either flat-out ordering for me or making heavy-handed suggestions. (“The only real option here is the branzino,” one particularly insufferable guy had told me, not long before he informed me that Paris was the only “real option” for a weekend getaway.) Depending on how the rest of the date was going, I might play along or I might rebel. The branzino guy earned my scorn for not listening to me when I’d mentioned I was a vegetarian; I mocked him (without including his name or face—I wasn’t that cruel) in my Instagram Stories all night.

  These dates often subjected me to a litany of reasons I should feel honored to be in their presence, and then gave me the opportunity to marvel at their wealth, intelligence, and interests—yet their eyes would glaze ove
r when I tried to tell them anything about me. I was nearly always ready to leave before the entrées arrived, but it was obvious they believed they were charming me. Almost without fail, they would casually ask “So where to next?” as they picked up the check. (It was always, always while they picked up the check, the subtext being that I owed them.) Eventually, I had mostly given up on dates. It wasn’t like I was really missing anything in my life, especially not since I had Nick.

  But my perspective had started to shift since moving to DC. Without Izzy in the next room and my coterie of New York friends, I often found myself alone, binge-watching Netflix and drinking wine. I kept up appearances on my Instagram—sometimes stretching pictures from nights out over several days—but the truth was that I was lonely. I had Cat, sure, but if she was busy—as she often was with work—I had no one to fall back on other than Nick. And maybe Cat was right; maybe the thing with Nick had run its course. Now that we were seeing each other more frequently, I was starting to remember why we had broken up in the first place. Nick could make my body quiver with a single glance, but he was selfish and jealous and could be self-absorbed to the point of being boring. Maybe it was time to consider finding someone else to share those lonely nights, someone with whom I could actually envision a future.

  * * *

  STILL, I HAD SURPRISED MYSELF by giving my phone number to Cat’s friend Max. Based on looks alone, he wasn’t the type of guy I was usually attracted to. That type of guy was—well, Nick. Genetically blessed gym rats with Kanye West–sized egos and possible drinking problems. Max wasn’t bad-looking—far from it, actually—but he wasn’t as glaringly handsome as Nick. He also didn’t have Nick’s sense of style—the shirt and pants he wore to the Rosalind preview were fine, although they could have used a good pressing, but he had paired them with beat-up Vans. Vans. Like some sort of mid-90s skater. But I’d felt like he was really listening to me during our brief chat at the museum, and when he called the day after the preview to ask me out, I found myself smiling at the sound of his voice.