Authors: Sarah Pekkanen
The Best of Us
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ontents
For Greer Hendricks and Victoria Sanders
hapter One
The Invitation
TINA ANTONELLI STARED AT
the heavy, cream-colored invitation like it was a loose diamond she’d unearthed in the sandbox at the neighborhood playground. No, it was even more valuable than a diamond, she decided as she leaned against her kitchen counter and felt her nightgown-clad hip squish into something. Grape jelly, she thought absently, recalling her early-morning frenzy of sandwich making for school lunches. She reread the first line of calligraphy:
Please join us in celebrating Dwight’s 35th birthday!
Dwight Glass. Her old friend. How could he be turning thirty-five when she still pictured him at twenty: thin and awkward as a praying mantis, with a shock of brown hair always falling into his eyes? Dwight had lived in one of the coveted private rooms that encircled the grassy quad at the University of Virginia. While other students tossed around Frisbees or footballs on the sprawling lawn, the guys shirtless in the springtime and the girls wearing bright miniskirts or sundresses, Dwight rarely ventured past the little awning in front of his room. He always seemed to be sitting in a straight-backed chair, wearing
an oxford shirt with one too many buttons done up, a thick textbook resting on his lap.
Our plane departs from Dulles International Airport on Sunday, August 18, at 10 a.m. and returns Saturday, August 24, at 5 p.m.
“Our plane,” Tina said, the words as airy and sweet in her mouth as a spoonful of chocolate mousse. She’d heard that Dwight had bought his own Gulfstream a few years ago.
We’ll stay in a villa in Jamaica that comes with a chef who will fulfill all of our culinary requests. You can choose to surf or snorkel, take a helicopter tour of the island—or do absolutely nothing but relax on a private beach and lift a champagne glass for the birthday toast!
A little moan escaped from Tina’s lips. A cook. A private beach. Champagne. She envisioned a whitewashed villa with floor-to-ceiling windows thrown open to reveal a white-sand beach; white couches in the living room—and on the beds, crisp white sheets. Everything could be white because she wouldn’t have to worry about four small children and one large dog spilling, shedding, messing, and breaking.
“Mommy!”
Or yelling.
“Just a sec, honey,” she said.
She imagined herself in a new bathing suit, bronzed like the girls in the Bain de Soleil ads, and mentally erased the pouch of her belly and the crow’s-feet framing her eyes. Why not? She was being offered the trip of a lifetime, from a guy she’d kissed once in college (alcohol was involved, of course; lots of alcohol and dim lighting and the bittersweet knowledge that graduation was just around the corner) and who had drifted in and out of her life in the decade and a half since then. Anything was possible.
The telephone rang.
“Did you get it?” Her best friend, Allie’s usually low, melodic voice tumbled over the line, containing unfamiliar hints of helium.
“It just arrived,” Tina confirmed. “I thought it was a Drugstore.com delivery, so I opened the door in my nightgown to grab the box and I saw this freaking messenger in a tuxedo standing there! How many invitations did Dwight and Pauline send, do you think? It must’ve cost a fortune to have them hand-delivered!”
“Just three,” Allie said. “You and Giovanni, me and Ryan, Savannah and Gary. Pauline called me last week for the addresses.”
“And you didn’t tell?” Tina squealed.
“And deprive the messenger of seeing you in a nightgown with no makeup?” Allie said. “Come on. I never would’ve ruined the surprise for you.”
“I am too wearing makeup,” Tina protested. “It just happens to be left over from yesterday. I fell asleep while putting the kids to bed and woke up in a miniature race car bed at five a.m., looking like a raccoon.”
“I heard Angelina Jolie does that every single night, too,” Allie teased. “Anyway, Pauline told me she was thinking about having a party for Dwight’s thirty-fifth when I talked to them at my birthday party last year. I had no idea it was going to be
this
kind of party, though.”
“Or that it would be just us,” Tina said. “Doesn’t he have any other friends?”
“Come on, Tina.” Allie’s tone softened the rebuke. “They’re inviting you on an amazing trip. And he’s a sweetheart. Be nice.”
That was Allie: In college, Allie had lived next door to Dwight, although he’d been chosen to receive one of the quad’s private rooms because of his academic record, while she’d been awarded one for her leadership qualities. Whenever Dwight had joined their group for pizza and beer or study sessions, it was because Allie had pulled him along—sometimes quite literally by the hand. Back then, she’d read to a blind man once a week at the library, loaned out her class notes to anyone who
asked, and smiled at strangers she passed on the street. She was still doing those things—except now she was volunteering at a homeless shelter and baking cookies anytime the PTA asked. The smiling hadn’t changed, either.
“Okay, okay, but it’s completely insane!” Tina said as she shoved a box of Cheerios into the already crowded pantry. “A weeklong birthday party in Jamaica!”
“It gets better,” Allie said. “Pauline e-mailed me photos of the place. There’s an infinity pool with a waterfall and a huge hot tub and you won’t believe how beautiful the beach is. It’s just going to be us and the staff. Can you believe it?”
“The staff,” Tina repeated in a mock British accent. “But of course. I take my own miniature-size staff everywhere, too, you know. They even accompany me when I go to the bathroom, unless I race there first and lock the door.”
Allie laughed. “Tell you what, I’m about to run to Starbucks. Want me to swing by with lattes?”
“Are you kidding?” Tina said. “First a private jet and butler, now coffee delivery. I think I’ve stumbled into a Calgon ad.”
“Mooooooommy!”
“Or not,” Tina said.
“See you in twenty,” Allie said before hanging up.
“Sorry, honey.” Tina hurried into the living room, where Jessica, her four-year-old, was lying on the couch, watching
Dora the Explorer
. A little puddle with an unmistakable smell had formed on the carpet next to her.
“I frowed up.” Jessica stated the obvious.
“Oh, baby . . . oh, God, Caesar, no! No! Get away from that! Disgusting!”
Tina lunged and grabbed their big, shaggy mutt by the collar, dragging him through the back door and putting him in the yard. She hurried back into the kitchen, scooping up a roll of paper towels, a spray can of carpet cleaner, and a bucket
from the cabinet under the sink. Jessica was the second of their kids to be hit by the stomach bug; Paolo, their eight-year-old, had just gone back to school yesterday after thirty-six hours of retching and moaning.
“I want apple juice,” Jessica whimpered. Tina leaned over and touched her lips to her daughter’s clammy forehead. She felt a flash of guilt as she remembered arguing when Jessica had protested going to pre-K earlier that morning; she’d thought Jessica’s illness was born from the desire for the ginger ale and extra television time she’d seen her big brother receive.
“I’m sorry, honey, we’re out. Do you want water?”
“Apple juice.” Jessica began to cry, a thin, thready sound. Caesar scratched at the back door, doubtless digging deeper gouges into the wood. Tina thought about the enormous jumble of dirty laundry on the basement floor, the egg-encrusted dishes littering the kitchen sink, the new stain on the rug, which already resembled a Rorschach test. She had an hour and a half before she needed to pick up Sammy, her two-and-a-half-year-old, from preschool, and soon after that, the older kids would filter in, demanding snacks and needing rides to soccer practice and slinging backpacks and lunch boxes and shoes across the living room. She’d meant to start fresh today, to begin an exercise routine, to cull the outgrown clothes from the overflowing closets in their brick rambler, to read the newspaper so she’d have something other than the kids to talk about with Gio tonight. How did she always manage to get so far behind before the day had really begun?
I want my mom,
Tina thought, feeling the familiar grief rise in her chest and settle into a hard knot. It had been six years since her mother died from breast cancer, and not a day passed that Tina didn’t ache for her. Sometimes, like now, the memories slapped into her like rogue waves at the beach; other times they pulled her deep into a murky undertow that made breathing a struggle.
“Hang on, baby.” Tina ran to the basement, got a fresh washcloth from the dryer, and rinsed it in warm water before hurrying back to wipe down Jessica’s face and lips. “I’m going to get you apple juice,” she promised. She found a blanket crumpled on the floor and made an executive decision to ignore the fact that it was covered in dog hair. She shook it out and covered Jessica. “Just wait a minute, honey. Mommy’s going to fix everything.”
She ran back to the phone and dialed Allie’s cell number.
“Can you grab a couple of those little boxes of apple juice from Starbucks?” she asked. “Jessie’s sick.”
“Oh, my poor goddaughter,” Allie said. “Of course. Anything else? A muffin?”
Tina caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror on the dining room wall. Still in her grape-jelly-stained nightgown, her too-long dark curls bouncing wildly around her face, evidence of the four children she’d carried forever imprinted in the roll around her stomach.
“Yes,” she said, defying the promises she’d made to herself to begin a diet today—
another
diet. “Can you make it two muffins? Blueberry Streusel for Jess and low-fat bran for me. No, screw it, two blueberry. I’ll pay you back.”
She put the phone back in its charger, feeling beyond grateful that she and Allie had become best friends in junior high school and had both settled in their original hometown, less than five miles away from each other in Alexandria, Virginia. They’d shared all the milestones in life—first boyfriends, proms, weddings, childbirth, the loss of Tina’s mom . . . Their husbands, Giovanni and Ryan, even worked in the same general field, since Gio was a construction manager and Ryan an architect, and they’d become buddies, too. Allie was the only person Tina could imagine inviting over before she’d had a chance to clean up and take a shower.
Tina reached for the invitation and read it one final time, then dropped it into the trash can, feeling a pang as it landed on top of toast crusts and stained paper towels. She thought about what it would be like to sleep as late as she liked, to sit down at a table and savor a gourmet meal—rather than gobble leftover mac-n-cheese—to sink into the soft sand and read an entire book. She used to love reading; when was the last time she’d actually cracked the cover of anything longer than a pamphlet of potty-training tips? She could almost feel the sun’s warmth tickling her skin, taste the sweetness of a pineapple-rum drink, smell the coconut suntan lotion . . . They hadn’t been on a vacation, other than a few family trips to the shore, since their kids were born. Money was far too tight.
