Broken (17 page)

“I have a proposition. You swear never to tell anyone about my secret, including Cara, and I will transfer the apartment to you. But you must also agree to move out.”

“No. First off, I don't believe you. Second, even if I did, I'm only moving when I'm ready,” he said.

“No, you have to move.”

“What are you going to do, sign this over to me now?” he asked.

“I can contact Richard,” I said. He smirked. I was a little alarmed. That was not a good sign. He could've just gone to tell Cara right then. Although I was concerned, I didn't flinch. I learned my game face from Dad. “Take it or leave it.”

“I take it,” he smirked. Almost instantaneously, I felt regret. “You know you'll never get it back. Never.”

I was all out of witty comebacks.

I quietly opened the door. I looked both ways. There were no signs of the surreptitious Cara. My guess was that she had herself tied up somewhere. On my way to the kitchen, I grasped those papers as tightly as possible. I caught a glimpse of her at my front closet. And in came the stomach acid right on cue. I just wasn't made for this confrontation stuff. I walked to the kitchen. I went over every item in that closet in my mind.

One Tums and a peach seemed to be on the menu. I saw a chicken pot pie that Edna left for me on the counter. I put it in the oven. Dimitri raced into the kitchen. This whole scenario was beyond exhausting. He swung the refrigerator open. He took two
glasses out of the cabinet. I sat down at the island. I knew something was coming. The whole time he wore a smirk across his face.

My house had suddenly turned into the
Twilight Zone
. “Did Dad tell you?”

“About? His vacation?” I asked.

“Is that what he said?” Dimitri burst out laughing.

“So what is it you know that I don't?”

“Just that Dad's engaged to be married,” he said.

“You're lying!” I brushed past him. And purposely never looked in his face again. On my way out of the kitchen, he grabbed my arm.

“I'm serious. His girlfriend from the Hamptons is going to be our new mother.”

“We could never have a new mother!” I said.

“Milan, this doesn't change things. I expect to receive a call from Richard in the very near future. Otherwise, the deal is off.”

“I stand by my word. You just do the same. No one is to know,” I said.

“I'm no idiot.” That was my cue to leave before I said anymore. I raced back to the Great Room. Daddy was gone. I went to his bedroom. He wasn't there. What would Mama think of us now?

After school, Frenchy accosted me as I was walking to the car. She asked me if I wanted to go riding with her. I told her I was hungry. She said, “Oh, we can grab a salad. Riding isn't until 7 p.m.” The last time I rode with her, I was in SH. I was certainly no expert at riding, but why not?

A car ride was never just a car ride with Frenchy.

“How was lunch?”

“The usual. Sushi, lattes, and Merek. We missed you,” I said.

“I left fifth period. I hit Cara up to let me back in eighth period. Kim and Sinha don't even take attendance. I really like Michael.” Who was Michael?

“How long?” She looked at me with an eyebrow raised. “Come on,” I said.

She laughed. “Three weeks, two days, 12 hours,” she said.

“What are the seconds?”

“Milan!” she looked surprised.

“Why not like someone at school and save yourself the hike uptown! This one's at Columbia, right?”

“Yup!” So were her last three boy toys. I didn't want to make the distinction, but I believed her father was a Columbia alum. Odd.

“You know, you sound like my Mom.” Did I?

“I'm sorry. I just don't know about dating a guy and only thinking about next week. What happened to forever?” I said.

“I'm kind of …” She shrugged. “In comparison to Sierra, I'm pretty bad. I know that. And I'm pretty good at it.”

“I see. It's like that,” I said.

Frenchy smirked. “You wouldn't know bad if it bit you in the butt.”

“What do you want me to say to that?” I asked.

“Nothing. I like it. My sister … she's hopeless. She's just like you. Except Sierra's got to get a boyfriend sometime this century.”

“You get what you get when you get it. And I think when you get it, it should be close to forever.”

“Really. Things are never that simple. I thought you of all people would know that,” she said.

Had she known? I caught myself staring at Frenchy curiously. “I'm sorry, M. With your mom and all, don't feel like forever is a lie,” she said.

“No.”

“I don't believe in that. Of course you would see the bright side. You have Merek.”

“I guess,” I said.

“He's only the cutest senior boy this year. You dating him probably makes him look even better!”

“I never really thought about it.”

“You have to be kidding. You don't have to keep pretending to be modest, M. We love you anyway. It's obvious you have what we all secretly wish for you, even Cara.” Frenchy rolled her eyes. She stared out the window for a moment. By far, she was one of the most mysterious allies I had. I sometimes never knew what she was going to say.
“The way the boys at school look at you—I could come to school with half a shirt on and I wouldn't get those stares.”

“What is this, some sort of quarter-year crisis? Your stock is certainly not plummeting. In fact, my bet, long term, you're headed for a rally,” I said.

“AP Economics, huh?”

“We have to watch CNBC twice a week. Do you ever wonder if our destinies were decided before we were born?” I asked.

“No, I hate to think about that stuff. That's more Sierra's line. She loves New Agey stuff. Just thinking about it gives me hives.”

“I wonder sometimes if my mother was supposed to die when she did. I feel like, I wish I could've known,” I said.

“I'm sorry, Milan. It's my fault. I brought it up.” Frenchy gave me a hug. “You can rent my mom for a day.” We both smiled.

We went to her house first. Sierra was hanging out with their cousin, Veronica. So it was just me and Frenchy.

At her house, we had beet salads and launched into full-attack mode on her closet.

“Where have you been?” Frenchy asked. I could've asked her the same question. Since Cara came on the scene, I almost never saw her.

“I haven't done that much in the past two weeks. I've just been around. I went to the spa. I joined a butterfly conservation with Cece. I've been trying to figure out what to write for my college application essay,” I said.

“How's the butterfly thing?”

“It's really fun!”

“What's the deal with Cece? I mean, we need to get to know her more.”

“We could all hang out,” I said.

“We could. I wanted to show you my college interview outfits.” She pulled out a couple of business-type outfits from the rear of her walk-in closet.

“Is it me or is your closet bigger?”

“It's bigger. I asked my parents for an extension. They said only if I paid for it. So I swapped out some money from my sweet 16 to pay. The fourth bathroom is now part of my closet.”

“But you already have a bathroom.”

“I know, but it's not connected to my closet. Plus, I gained 200 square feet of space for my clothes.”

Frenchy hung three outfits on the new display racks in the back of her closet. “These are the outfits.” She walked to the front of the closet and pulled some Polaroids off the bulletin board on the inside of the closet door. “This is me in the first outfit.” She handed me a Polaroid of her dressed in Gucci from head to toe. I thought there were just a bit too many logos for my taste.

“Show me the others.”

“This is me in outfit 2 and outfit 3,” she said.

“I am in love. Outfit 3 is a must!”

“Good, that's my favorite too.” While outfit 2, the Pucci, fit Frenchy well, outfit 3 was the perfect combination of sophistication and trend. This silk puffed-sleeve seersucker dress was in, and I happened to be a fan.

“I first saw something like this earlier this year in Paris. Two things every girl wants: the perfect outfit and the perfect guy. I think we solved one of them today. One down, one to go.”

“Come.”

I followed Frenchy out the back door of her closet that used to belong to the fourth bathroom. We walked down the all-white hallway. Her parents' bedroom belonged on the cover of the Sunday
New York Times
real estate page. It was just well done. Views on all four sides of everything uptown and downtown, a dreamy canopy bed, an ultra-sleek sitting furniture and drawing room off the right side. Plus the sky-high ceilings and art fit for MOMA.

“Check out my mom's collection of briefcases.” Frenchy walked into her mother's closet, which was notably half the size of hers. Somehow stuffed in there was a drawer of divine briefcases. “She's going to let me carry one.”

“Where are you interviewing?” I asked as I flipped through the collection. “Nothing beats the LV President Classeur.”

“It's for old ladies.”

“Why not carry an oversize clutch then? It's younger, but just as effective to bring supporting materials to the interviews,” I said.

“Maybe you're right. I'm interviewing at Brown, Yale, NYU, U Penn, and UCLA.” It seemed odd that we hadn't talked about this before.

“NYU and UCLA. They are on entirely different coasts,” I said.

“Both fallbacks. I love L.A. We have a sick beach house out there I would stay at all alone! I would go to community college out there, if I had to. But the greater part of me knows I have to go to a serious school if it's available. And NYU, well, that's my fallback. I don't really want to be that close to my parents if I can help it. And there's, of course, the Sierra factor. NYU is her pick too, and, well, that is not happening.”

“What's your essay about?” I asked.

“Oh, get this. My essay is a manifesto of a teenage girl bombarded by images of perfection created with Photoshop and Spanx.”

“You submitted that essay to Yale?”

“Yes, for early submission. My first choice.”

“I really want to go to NYU,” I said.

“Really, Milan. If I were perfection, I wouldn't bother. I once read that only those who don't know what to do with their lives go to University.”

“I still want to go.”

“Uh, photo shoots in France, relishing my perfection, or studying at the library? The choice seems simple,” she said.

“Or both, not either or.”

“Oh wow! We better start getting dressed. It will take an hour to get to Connecticut.”

“It's a good thing we wear the same shoe size,” I said.

“We should be shoe besties. My shoe closet is yours and your fashion show shoe closet mine,” Frenchy said.

“Why not?” I tried on a pair of orange riding pants and Chanel riding boots.

“Why don't you ride more often? You look amazing in riding gear,” Frenchy said.

“Where you at,
chica
?” Sierra texted.

“With your better half,” I texted.

“Word,” Sierra texted.

“Off to CT,” I texted.

“She show any pictures of her new boyfriend?” Sierra texted.

“No,” I texted.

“Hey, M, have you found the perfect outfit for your interviews?” Frenchy asked.

I was almost ashamed to admit I hadn't been called for any. Her thoughts of me weighed upon me. I just had to tell her.

“I haven't applied yet. I don't know what I'm going to write about,” I said.

“What do you have?”

“I don't know. Nothing good, so far.” I looked at my watch, grabbed my things, and walked out of Frenchy's bedroom. She followed.

We left the house abruptly to head down to the car. In the car, I became curious. Was Frenchy really serious about going to college far, far away from Sierra? It was going to be hard to imagine possibly going to college far, far away from them. If I had known them all my life, the thought would give me a breakdown. I wanted to ask her, but she had her earplugs in. So I rested my head down for the whole ride out there.

When we got there, I was glad. By then, I needed to know. Were we all really going to be apart next year? “Have you and Sierra ever been apart like that? For months and months at a time?” I asked. Frenchy just stared at me. Then she shook her head and looked away.

“Why would you ask me about that?” Frenchy asked.

“You were talking separate colleges. I had never imagined it like that.”

“Oh, yeah? What has Sierra told you?” she asked.

“About what? College? She's just been psyched about her SAT Subject Tests. She never said you guys were going to separate schools.” Frenchy looked me dead in the eyes.

“I am just as much your bestie as she is,” she said.

“I know.”

“What else did she tell you about us being apart?” she asked.

“Nothing. I'd never asked.” I shrugged. I could sense some hostility.

“Don't ask that question ever again.”

“Are you telling me what I can do?” I asked.

“I love you, Milan, but … there are some things you learn quickly. Love cannot protect you.”

“Why are you upset?” I asked. What had I done?

“You know above 65th we don't get upset. We smile even if we stab you in the back.” My jaw dropped. I couldn't help it. Were we in a fight?

“Wait. I don't want to fight with you. Best friends means we are together on the same side. What did I do?” I asked again.

We stood in front of the stables hashing this out. Then a tall, thin young woman appeared. She had a very friendly face and a long dark brown ponytail. Her riding gear was covered in horse hair and dust. “Hey, girls. Why haven't you girls gotten your horses yet? Frenchy, your horse will need a saddle. You always forget.”