The Last Time I Saw Her

by Alexandra Harrington

  She’d done her hair and makeup before she started the great quest to find a dress, so once she’d found one, she was almost ready. It was a good thing she’d spent approximately four hours conditioning her hair last night.

  The dress was…eighties. The whole thing was pink with big, off-the-shoulder fringed sleeves. It fit, but she felt like she should be in some fun-less town with Kevin Bacon. Maybe people would think she was being ironic. Vintage stuff was in, right?

  Pushing in a pair of earrings, she turned away from the mirror and started down the hall, pulling on her only pair of heels as she went. She found Sean in the living room, sprawled on the sofa. He was focused on the TV with a can of Oland’s resting on his chest, balancing against his chin.

  Sean sat up with a wicked grin. “No, allow me. Summer loving, had you a blast.”

  “Wrong decade.” Charlotte folded her arms. “I take it you aren’t coming? You’re invited, you know.”

  “Yeah…I’m gonna skip it.”

  “You sure? There’s free booze.”

  “Yes, I’m sure,” Sean said in a tone that told her not to ask again.

  “Okay. Whatever. I’ll be back late, don’t wait up. I’m taking the car.”

  “Have fun. Don’t drink and drive.”

  She didn’t bother answering, grabbed Max’s poorly wrapped gift off the kitchen table, and headed out the door. For the first time in the history of humanity, the River John weather seemed to be cooperating for an event that was to be held outside. Backing down the lane, she tried very hard not to think about everyone from school she was going to have to face at this party.

  She’d half considered bailing, but decided if she showed up she could then bail more politely if things ended up going the way they were going in her head. Plus, her recent encounters with Sophie had been good…ish? Better? She’d seen Sophie a couple more times at the restaurant, always alone, and they hadn’t even really talked much but it was better than before. Sophie came early in the morning, when the restaurant was quiet, and she usually just wanted coffee and maybe some toast. Charlotte would top up Sophie’s coffee for free and refused to accept tips. She figured it was unfair that Sophie throw an eighteen-percent gratuity on a three-dollar cup of coffee for the person who abandoned her. Still, a weird situation. Sometimes when Charlotte went by the table Sophie would wave her over to show her something funny on Instagram. Charlotte felt her heart bounce happily whenever Sophie caught her eye, but she wasn’t sure if things were improving or if Sophie was just treating her like a server at the local restaurant she was friendly with.

  Cars lined the side of the road as she got closer to the Hale house. Charlotte parked behind a grey Honda and started walking.

  She found the gravel lane that would eventually lead to Max’s, looping the strap of her clutch around her wrist. She could hear the party long before it came into view. The party was on the grounds beyond the house, near the cliff overlooking the water. String lights glimmered around several giant white tents. It sort of looked like a wedding. Simon had clearly spared no expense. Max said Simon always used his son’s birthday as an elaborate excuse to schmooze and impress his clients while still managing to look like a model father. Max’s words, not hers. She didn’t really care about the subtle meaning behind the party so long as there were finger sandwiches.

  She started down the enormous manicured lawn until she reached a few waist-high round tables at the edge of the tent. Now what? Navigating Social Events 101 was not her favourite class. The crowd was split between kids and adults, but there were at least a couple hundred people there.

  “Oh, hey! I owe Leo five bucks.”

  Charlotte turned. Max had shouldered through the crowd, wearing an expensive-looking suit jacket and clutching a red plastic cup like it was even more expensive.

  Charlotte pushed her hair out of her face. “You bet him I wouldn’t show up?”

  “No, I bet him you wouldn’t look nice.” Max grinned into his cup, dodging her well-aimed swat with her handbag. “What? I said I lost.”

  “Well, thanks.”

  “I’m kidding. I said you wouldn’t show up. But you do look really good.”

  She folded her arms. “And what time did you start drinking?”

  “Around two.” He held his cup out to her but she shook her head. “I think. If I time it right, I’ll be drunk up to, and including, my dad’s horrible speech later.”

  “Wow, that’s…,” she trailed off, glancing over the crowd, “commitment. Here. This is for you.”

  His eyes lit up when she handed him the gift. “You didn’t actually have to.”

  She watched him tear away the newspaper wrapping. Inside was a book, thick and heavy, and it had seen better days. The spine was cracked and the pages were starting to yellow around the edges. Max turned it over in his hands.

  “It was my dad’s,” Charlotte explained. “I know you like this kind of stuff. He got it after high school, when he went to Europe. He ran into—”

  “Dr. Dimitri Leva,” Max finished, eyes scanning the plain cover and nodding to the name along the bottom. The Origin of Gods and Heroes was written straight down the middle. “I’ve watched his documentary on Netflix like eight hundred times.”

  “Oh.” That’d worked out better than she’d planned. “Check the inside cover.”

  Max flipped the cover open before the words had completely left her mouth.

  “Joel,” Max read aloud. “Thanks for the drinks. And for boosting my ego. Here’s to many more long years of travel, and to hoping you’ll find something interesting among the gods and a few monsters. Cheers, Dimitri Leva.” Max shut the book and looked at her. “Since I know you found this in your attic, like, today, this is great. Thank you.”

  “First of all,” Charlotte retorted, “it wasn’t in the attic; I had been using it to balance the wobbly sofa leg. And second, with my luck, it’ll probably end up being worth ten thousand dollars someday.” She smiled. “But you’re welcome. Happy birthday.”

  He took another sip of his drink. “I should probably do some rounds,” he said. “I’ll catch up with you later, Charlie.”

  He held his drink out to her again.

  She shook her head. “Still too early for me.”

  “I just saw Sophie show up with her entourage.”

  Charlotte took the cup gratefully as Max slipped back into the crowd, tucking his new book under one arm as he went.

  There were tiny pink floaties on the surface of her punch. There was a rumour that Thomas Henderson had spiked four of the five bowls already, and she prayed hers was one of them.

  So far, she’d managed to fly mostly under the radar. Most people greeted her like she was an estranged cousin no one talked about. Leo, thankfully, had dedicated a solid twenty minutes to her on the dance floor, which was nice. The sun was hanging lower in the sky, just touching the horizon, the edge nearly slipping behind the water.

  Charlotte turned to leave the designated punch bowl perimeter and found herself facing two girls from school. They stopped short when they saw her, and Charlotte had the feeling she had been the subject of a very recently dropped conversation.

  “Hey, Charlotte.” Emma Langille wiggled her fingers at her with a sickeningly sweet smile. “Long time, eh?”

  Charlotte raised her eyebrows and weighed her options. She considered giving her the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps Emma and her companion, Amy Chamberlain, had gotten personality transplants during the time Charlotte been away. Perhaps they were no longer the girls who’d once convinced a few freshman girls that vodka had the same alcohol percentage as Bud Light, filmed the strip tease that ensued, and plastered it on Instagram. They both emulated Sophie, followed her around and did stuff for her, even though Sophie never asked. But Sophie never stopped them, either. Lackeys might be the right word.

  “Hi, Emma. Amy.”

>   “We’re just getting some punch.” Amy nodded, her giant earrings dangling in sync with her chin.

  “Well, you found the right place.” Charlotte motioned to the table and intended to leave them to their business. “Go right ahead.”

  “Funny, that’s exactly what Ian Donovan said you told him at Blake McIntyre’s party the other night.” Emma smirked.

  Charlotte rolled her eyes and didn’t even bother explaining that she wasn’t even at Blake Mc-whatever’s party, because she didn’t see the point in defending herself.

  “It’s been lovely talking to you both,” she spat, and elbowed her way past them.

  Amy’s hand shot forward, catching Charlotte’s punch glass and sending it flying to the ground at her feet. The plastic cup held up, but the pink liquid splashed all over her shins and shoes.

  “Pull it together, Charlie.” Emma tsked. “Are you drunk already?”

  Charlotte pressed back against the table, away from them. “Not nearly enough for this conversation.”

  “Remember that your blood-alcohol level doesn’t excuse being a slut,” Amy added. Charlotte resisted the urge to drown herself in the punch bowl but instead gave Amy a withering look. “I don’t know who the hell you think you are,” Amy continued, “but the only reason any of us gave you the time of day before was because of Sophie, so I’d watch it.”

  “Any of us?” Charlotte repeated. “What are you guys, the Avengers? And I wasn’t aware of you ever giving me the time of day. I certainly wasn’t giving you mine.”

  Even in heels, Charlotte still stood about a head shorter than both of them. Damn genetics. Made it hard to be intimidating.

  “You act like you’re so much better than the rest of us,” Amy said. “But everyone’s talking about it. Even Sophie. We all know you’re chasing after Max like some pathetic lost puppy.”

  Charlotte scoffed. “Right. Do you have any extra T-shirts for your club? I remember when you asked him to spring formal in grade ten and he said no.”

  Amy balked. “How do you know about that?”

  “Sophie,” Emma said dryly. Emma’s lips pulled an evil smile, and Charlotte watched, half expecting it, as she dumped the contents of her glass down Charlotte’s front.

  The pink punch stained her pink dress—Mom’s dress, Charlotte thought vaguely—spreading a dark magenta pool across her chest. It looked a bit like she’d been shot.

  “Well.” Charlotte sighed, not even sure she had it in her to care anymore. She grabbed her bag off the table. “I’ll see you both in hell.”

  She turned around and stopped in her tracks. Sophie looked stunning in a royal blue sundress with lacy sleeves, her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. The self esteem of every girl at the party was knocked down a few points.

  Sophie studied Charlotte for a few seconds, her eyes flickering between her face and the punch that was sticking to her through her second-hand dress. Sophie leaned to the left the slightest bit, her eyes settling on Emma and Amy before a tiny smirk appeared.

  Sophie looked back to Charlotte. “Would you excuse me? I’m thirsty.”

  Charlotte felt the prickling stab of betrayal as she moved aside.

  Charlotte stood there for several seconds, sticky and frazzled. She wanted nothing more than for the floor to open up and swallow her, but she knew from experience that she wasn’t that lucky. She crossed the dance floor stiffly and intended to disappear under the tents until she got back to her car. Someone caught her around the arm just before she was free of the hell-party.

  “Charlie?”

  It was Max.

  “Are you leaving?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

  “Um,” she started, looking down at her dress. “Punch bowl casualty. I think it’s best that I just go.”

  “What?” Max looked over her head, and she saw recognition flicker on his face when his eyes fell on Sophie and the girls clustered around punch bowl. “Oh,” he said.

  “Have a good night, Max. Really.”

  “No.” Max looked back at her. “Stay.”

  “I feel like an idiot.” She gestured at her silly, ruined, eighties dress. “And I look like one.”

  Max thought about it for several seconds before he turned and headed back toward the punch bowl.

  “Max!” Charlotte whisper-yelled, following clumsily behind him in her heels. Was he going to say something? Duel Amy?

  “Excuse me, ladies, friends, er, Sophie,” Max said as he reached them. “Just getting some punch. You guys look great. You enjoying the party? Great. Glad to hear it. So great.”

  He poured himself a glass of punch and held it to his lips, catching Charlotte’s eye from a few metres away. Max raised his glass to her.

  “Cheers.” He smiled, before promptly dumping the contents down his crisp white dress shirt.

  Charlotte buried her face in her hand while Amy, Emma, and Sophie let out an in-unison gasp.

  “Ah, damn, I’m cut off.” Max shook his head. “Let’s all act like adults, shall we?” he said straight to Sophie. He stepped away from the table and headed back in the direction of the tents.

  On his way past Charlotte, he leaned down and muttered, “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”

  seventeen

  “Please don’t make me go back,” Leo said, half hiding his face along the wall.

  Charlotte cupped her hand around the twisting flame, shielding it from the wind as Leo flicked his lighter again underneath the end of his cigarette.

  “I’m not making you go anywhere,” she said.

  Leo took a long drag and leaned back against the siding of the house. They were avoiding the party, tucked away behind the far side of Max’s house. Leo was easily the best-dressed person at the party. He paired a silver-grey tie with a perfectly pressed white dress shirt and well-fitting salmon-coloured suit jacket. Velvet loafers tied the look together. Leo was definitely the only person Charlotte knew who could pull that off.

  “If Delilah asks me to take her shopping one more time, I’m going to jump into the Atlantic Ocean,” he said, blowing smoke over his shoulder.

  “She just wants to be your friend.”

  “Oh, no, I love Delilah,” Leo said. “It’s not that. Her parents caught her smoking pot, so they took her car away. She literally wants me to drive her to Halifax.”

  “Oh.”

  Leo tilted the cigarette toward her as an offer. She shook her head.

  “Right. My bad,” he said. Leo peeked around the corner of the house; they were just out of sight from the rest of the party. “God, how much longer will this thing go on?”

  Charlotte followed his gaze. It was almost dark, creeping past eight o’clock. “Simon still has to give his toast thing, right?”

  “Jeeze. We’ll have to rein Max in for that one. Keep him from heckling his own father,” Leo said, inhaling deeply.

  “You seen him lately?”

  Leo shook his head, and exhaled. “Last thing he said to me was that you poured punch on him—er, because you’re in love with him, or something—and then he poured it on you.”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes.

  “We should go back.” Leo snuffed the butt out against the siding. “They fall apart without us. Look what happened when you disappeared for a year.”

  “Ten months,” she corrected, mostly to herself.

  Leo looped his arm through hers and guided her back down the lawn towards the tents and more people she would have to refrain from picking a fight with.

  “Come dance,” he said.

  Leo wove her through the crowd to the centre of the dance floor, amid a mix of group dances and couples swaying together with varying levels of interest.

  They killed two Ed Sheeran songs trying to guess exactly how many different types of finger sandwiches were available on the circulating silver pl
atters. Leo swore he’d had a caviar one, but Charlotte didn’t believe him.

  “Can I cut in?” Max slid through the crowd, hovering near Leo’s shoulder. His shirt was still all mussed and ruined.

  “Of course.” Charlotte smiled, pulling away. “I’m gonna go eat some shrimp.”

  “I’ve already danced with him.” Leo laughed. “He’s all yours, C.”

  Leo sashayed back across the dance floor—in the direction of the shrimp platter, Charlotte noted with a twinge of jealousy.

  “Sorry, should’ve clarified,” Max said. “You wanna dance?”

  Charlotte considered for a moment and then said, “Ah, it’s your birthday. What the hell.”

  Max slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “Sticky,” she said, nodding to her dress.

  “I’m sorry. That that happened.”

  Charlotte shrugged, readjusting her hands around his shoulders. “It could have been worse. And I do still kind of deserve it.”

  “Not from Amy and Emma. Sophie, maybe.” Max spun her around under one arm, miscalculating the number of drinks they’d both had. She nearly stumbled in her cheap heels. Charlotte laughed as Max pulled her back upright, his hand finding the low of her back to steady her.

  “This is going to really piss her off,” Max said quietly.

  Charlotte stiffened, her laughter gone. “I didn’t…that’s not what I want,” Charlotte said.

  “Sorry.” Max dropped his hands away from her. “I just meant…us being friends.”

  She looked at him. Were they friends? Drunken dance floor giggling with your ex-best friend’s ex-boyfriend was certainly not a way to get back in said ex-best friend’s good graces. Charlotte took a second to remind herself what was important: Sophie. Always.

  Charlotte looked in the direction Leo had disappeared, praying for his return. Her eyes settled on a few boys clustered near the bar. They’d just arrived. For a second she’d thought it was Sean. Then her hand curled around Max’s elbow.

  “It’s Nick,” she said. “They’re crashing.”